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1882        i 

Channing, 

William  Ellery, 

1780-1842. 

The  life 

of  Will 

iam  Ellery 

Channing,  D.D 

THE    LIFE 


OF 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING,  D.D. 


Cfje  Centenarg  iHemortal  litiition. 


BY  HIS   NEPHEW, 

WILLIAM   HENRY   CHANNING. 


BOSTON: 
AMERICAN  UNITARIAN  ASSOCIATION. 

1882. 


Copyriyht,  1880, 
By  the  Amekican  Unitarian  Association. 


Untv'ERSity  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


INTRODUCTION. 


A  Life  op  Channing,  in  one  volume,  appears  among  the 
memorials  of  his  hundredth  birthday,  with  the  hope  of  mak- 
ing this  great-souled  and  free-thoughted,  this  largely-loving 
and  loftily-aspiring  prophet  of  humanity  more  widely  known 
by  fellow-Christians  of  all  communions,  and  by  the  people, 
not  of  our  Republic  only,  but  of  every  nation  throughout 
Christendom  and  the  world. 

For  his  compeers,  friends,  and  followers  are  gratefully  con- 
fident, that  among  the  illustrious  lives  which  have  shed 
truth,  love,  and  quickening  influence  through  the  nineteenth 
century  none  will  be  found  more  bright  with  promise  of 
a  reconciled  human  race  than  that  of  William  Ellery 
Channing. 

Truly  he  was  the  morning-star  of  a  better  day  for  man 
made  one  around  our  globe,  by  universal  equity  and 
brotherly-kindness,  by  integral  culture  and  refinement,  by 
heroic  works  of  beneficence  and  beauty,  and  above  all  by 
living  communion  with  the  Living  God,  the  Father,  Sov- 
ereign, and  Friend  of  His  whole  family  on  earth  and  in 
heaven,  united  in  spirit  with  His  Beloved  Son,  and  growing 
in  His  image,  to  perfection. 

w.  H.  c. 


PREFACE. 


This  work  is  an  autobiography,  in  so  far  as  the  materials 
at  my  command  have  enabled  me  to  give  it  that  character, 
and  consists  of  extracts  from  private  papers,  sermons,  and 
letters,  with  such  remarks  only  interwoven  as  seemed  needed 
for  purposes  of  illustration.  Its  plan  is  very  simple.  After  a 
somewhat  full  and  minute  notice  of  Channing's  early  years, 
which  will  be  found  to  present  many  interesting  facts,  and 
which  no  one  hereafter  could  so  well  supply,  the  selections 
from  his  manuscripts  have  been  arranged  according  to  the 
twofold  order  of  subject  and  of  time.  This  method  was 
chosen  as  the  one  best  fitted  to  convey  an  adequate  impression 
of  the  steadiness  with  which  he  held  all  objects  of  thought 
before  his  mind,  until  his  views  became  consistent  and  com- 
plete ;  and  the  growth  of  his  opinions  is  in  this  way  made 
clear,  as  well  as  the  result  of  his  progress.  A  thorough  reader 
will  consider  any  loss  of  vivacity  in  the  narrative  more  than 
compensated  for  by  the  knowledge  thus  gained  of  the  mental 
and  moral  processes  of  an  earnest  seeker  after  truth  and 
right. 

It  was  the  original  design  to  present  a  finished  portrait  of 
William  Ellery  Changing,  regarded  as  a  man,  a  minister 
of  religion,  a  philosopher,  a  reformer,  and  a  statesman,  —  to 
point  out  his  place  among  the  leading  persons  of  the  age,  — 
and,  by  exhibiting  his  relations  to  various  parties,  to  sketch 
his  life  and  times.   Extensive  preparations  were  made  accord- 


vi  PREFACE. 

ingly.  But  experiment  at  length  satisfied  me  that  it  was  far 
more  difficult  than  had  been  supposed  to  shun  the  dishonesty 
of  making  my  honored  relative  the  exponent  of  my  prejudices, 
without  sinking  into  a  tone  of  non-committal  yet  more  at  vari- 
ance with  his  character  and  with  the  truth.  The  biographer 
has  therefore  preferred  silence  to  partiality  or  tameness,  has 
limited  himself  to  brief  hints  and  descriptions,  has  stated  for 
Channing  such  opinions  only  as  there  could  be  no  risk  of  mis- 
apprehending or  misrepresenting,  and,  in  a  word,  has  left  him 

to  be  his  own  interpreter. 

W.  H.  C. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


PART    FIRST. 


Chapter  I.  — PARENTAGE  AND  BIKTH. 


Birth 

Wm.  Ellery  and  Ann  Remington     . 
John  Channing  and  Mary  Chaloner 


Page 
.      1 

.      1 
.      4 


William  Channing 
Lucy  Ellery 


Page 
.      4 


Chapter  II.  —  BOYHOOD. 


Childhood 10 

Schoolmistress 11 

Mr.  Rogers 11 

Intellectual  traits 12 

Home  education 12 

Political  influences 13 


Religious  influences 14 

Character 16 

New  London 19 

Death  of  his  father 19 

Rev.  Henrj'  Channing 21 

Revival  .  " 21 


Chapter  III.  —  COLLEGE  LIFE. 


General  influences 22 

Appearance  and  character       ....  24 

Washington  Allston 24 

Literary  societies 27 

Infidelity 30 


New  birth 32 

Favorite  studies 33 

Politics 34 

Choice  of  profession 38 

College  friendships 40 


Chapter  IV.— RICHMOND. 


David  Meade  Randolph 43 

Letter  to  his  mother 43 

Society 44 

Slavery 45 

Politics 47 

School 52 

Poverty 53 


Studies 55 

Musing 58 

Enthusiasm 59 

Perfect  society 63 

Preparation  for  the  ministry  ....  69 

Self-consecration 74 

Return 76 


Chapter  V.  — STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT. 


Domestic  character 77 

Self-discipline 77 

Rev.  Dr.  Hopkins 80 

Regent  at  Harvard  University    ...  84 

Theological  studies 86 


Habits  as  a  student 88 

Doctrinal  opinions 91 

First  sermon 92 

Invitation  to  settle 93 

Ordination 96 


VUl 


CONTENTS. 


PART    SECOND. 


Chapter  I.  — EARLY  MINISTRY. 


Page 

Seriousness 98 

Private  papers 103 

Removal  of  his  family  to  Boston      .     .  110 

Disinterestedness Ill 

111  health 115 

Power  as  a  preacher IIG 

Character  as  a  pastor 120 


Page 
Friends,  Rev.  Dr.  Kirkland,  Rev.  J.  S. 
Buckminster,  Rev.  S.  C.  Thacher    .  122 

Correspondence 125 

Charities 129 

Political  sermons 134 

Manners       136 

The  good  minister 137 


Chapter  II.  —  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH. 


Moral  and  mental  unity 141 

The  key-note 142 

Section  I. — Religion 143 

Section  II.  —  Human  Nature  .    .    .  154 


Section  III. — Christ  and  Christian- 
ity   161 

Section  IV.  —  Society 171 


Chapter  III— THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY. 


Holiness,  Truth,  Humanity    ....  181 

Letters  to  friends 182 

Freedom  of  inquiry 191 

Letter  to  Rev.  Samuel  C.  Thacher  .     .  194 
Remarks  on  Rev.  Dr.  Worcester's  let- 


ter   205    Confirreffationalism 


Remarks  on  Rev.  Dr.  Worcester's  sec- 
ond letter 212 

Christian  union 215 

Christian  liberty 216 

Berrv-street  conference 218 


223 


Chapter  IV.  — SPIRITUAL  GROWTH. 

Section  III.  —  Christ  and  Christian- 


Distaste  for  Controversy 225 

Section  I.  —  Religion 225 

Section  H. — Human  Nature  .     .     .  238 


ity  .     .    . 
Section  IV. 


250 

■Society 257 


Chapter  V. —  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY. 


Free  inquiry 268 

Treatment  of  opponents 271 

Arianism 274 

German  writers 275 

Wordsworth 275 

Fall  of  Bonaparte 277 

War  with  l^nglaiid 280 

Peace  movements 282 

The  Seniinole  war 287 

Privateering 288 

Missions     ' 288 

Bible  Society 281) 

Theological  school 291 


Harvard  University 293 

Benevolence 295 

Vestry 296 

Growing  celebrity 299 

Private  papers 300 

Invitation  to  New  York 312 

Family  relations 313 

Death  of  his  brother 314 

Heath  of  his  sister 317 

His  marriage 319 

Children.  ' 323 

Baptism 326 

His  sickness 327 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


Chapter  VI. 


-EUROPEAN  JOURNEY, 
Page 


Journey  in  New  Hampshire  and  Ver- 
mont   329 

Parting  words 333 

Ocean 333 

The  Lakes 337 

Wordsworth 341 


Page 

Coleridge 343 

Switzerland 344 

Reflections  on  society 345 

Care  for  his  children 348 

Death  of  his  youngest  son 350 

Return     .    / 354 


PART    THIRD. 


Chapter  I.— THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 


Devotedness  to  his  duties 357 

Views  of  the  ministry 361 

Theological  students 380 

Dr.  Channing  as  a  preacher    ....  383 

Continued  debility 389 

Settlement  of  a  colleague 392 

Relations  to  Federal  Street  Society     .  393 


Views  of  pastoral  duties 402 

His  function 404 

Dr.  Channing  as  an  author    ....  405 

His  literary  character 408 

Miscellanies 411 

Literary  correspondence 413 


Chapter  II.  —  RELIGION  AND   PHILOSOPHY. 


Plan  of  a  work  on  Man 417 

His  position  of  thought 419 

Self-reliance 423 

Longing  for  light 425 

"  I  am  little  of  a  Unitarian  "      ...  427 


Principles  of  moral,  religious,  and  po- 
litical science 436 

Correspondence  on  religion  and  philos- 
ophy     440 


Chapter  IIL  —  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 


Character  as  a  reformer 456 

Spirit  of  reform 457 

\   Society  and  Christianity 459 
Practical  applications  of  the  principle 

of  love 464 

Non-resistance      ..•."....  466 

Treatment  of  criminals 470 

\  Intemperance 474 

^Relations  between  poor  and  rich      .     .  477 

Ministry  at  Large 479 

4   Congregation  of  working-men     .     .    .  481 


The  laboring  classes 483  J 

Seamen 487 

Education 488 

Freedom  of  speech,  —  the  Kneeland  pe- 
tition     504 

Hollis  Street  pulpit,  — Rev.  John  Pier- 
pout     507     , 

Power  of  combined  capital      ....  508  "^ 
Relations  of  industry  and  property  .     .  510  -^ 

Creed  as  a  social  reformer 515 

Bright  prophecies 515  ^ 


Chapter  IV.  — THE   ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

Early  impressions 520 

Residence  in  Santa  Cruz 521 

Address  on  returning 524 

The  eventful  year  of  1831      ....  525 
Relations  to  the  Abolitionists      .     .     .  527 

The  struggle 532 

Mobs 533 


Book  on  Slavery 537 

Meeting  of  the  New  England  Antislav- 

ery  Convention 540 

Persecution  of  Birney 543 

Right  of  petition 543 

The  religious  side  of  antislavery      .     .  544 
The  Texas  plot "...  547 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
The  Union 551 

Murder  of  Lovejoy 551 

Fancuil  Hall  meeting 552 

Letter  to  the  Abolitionists      ....  564 


Page 

Antislavery  and  the  Federal  Street 
Society  " 570 

Final  view  of  Dr.  Channing's  relations 
to  the  antislavery  movement  .    .    .  571 


Chapter  V.  — POLITICS. 


Religion  and  politics 574 

Youth  and  manhood  of  the  political  re- 
former      574 

Patriotism 574 

Faith  in  free  institutions 575 

Native  Americanism 577 

The  political  lesson  taught  by  mobs     .  579 
Strength  of  free  governments      .     .     .  579 

Universal  suffrage 580 

Republican  institutions 582 

Existing  parties 584 


Reign  of  commerce 585 

Repudiation  and  speculation   ....  587 
Claims  of  the  United  States  to  respect .  590 

Politics  in  Great  Britain 594 

The  Liberal  partj'  in  Europe  ....  600 

"  Three  Days  "  in  Paris 600 

Poland  and  Russia 601 

Germany 602 

Relations  of  the  Old  World  and  the 

New  World 604 

"  Always  young  for  liberty "      .    .    .604 


Chapter  VI.  — FRIENDS. 


Friendship  with  Mr.  Jonathan  Phillips, 
Rev.  Dr.  Tuckerman,  and  Charles 
FoUen G07 


Other  friends 609 

Regard  for  women 609 

Miscellaneous  correspondence     .     609-633 


Chapter  VIL  — HOME  LIFE. 


Affectionateness 634 

Rhode  Island 634 

Chronic  debility 635 

Action  and  inaction 638 

Religion  of  meditation 642 

Devoutness 645 

Love  of  nature 649 

Youtlifulness  of  spirit 650 

Relations  to  his  children 654 

Interest  in  the  young 658 

Hospitality 659 

Conversational  power 661 

A  day  at  Oakland 663 

Sunday 666 

Return  to  Boston 666 

Relations  to  his  mother 666 

Her  death  and  character 667 


Relations  to  his  family 669 

Reserve 670 

Self-distrust 671 

Dislike  of  fault-finding 672 

Self-command 674 

Forbearance  under  injuries     ....  675 

Liberality 676 

Relations  to  society 677 

Boston 680 

A  day  in  Boston 681 

Habits  of  study  and  ^vriting  ....  681 

Journeys 686 

Summer  at  Lenox 689 

Bennington 694 

Last  days 695 

Funeral 698 

Monument 700 


NOTES 701' 

INDEX 703 


MEMOIR. 

PART    FIRST. 


Chapter  I.— PARENTAGE  AND  BIRTH. 

1780. 

ON  the  7th  of  April,  1780,  William  Ellery  Channing,  the 
third  child  of  William  Channing  and  Lucy  Ellery,  was 
born  in  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  U.  S.  A. 

His  grandparents,  upon  the  father's  and  the  mother's  side  alike, 
were  persons  of  more  than  common  energy,  both  in  character  and 
intelligence. 

William  Elleiy,  liis  mother's  father,  was  a  man  of  singular  hearti- 
ness, honest}-,  good  sense,  and  simplicit}'.  "  Graduated  at  Harvard 
College  in  1747,  he  entered  upon  business  as  a  merchant  in  his 
native  town,  Newport,  which  then  offered  every  encouragement 
to  an  enterprising  man,  and  was  full  of  attractions  to  one  of  his 
social  temper-.  He  married,  earl}'  in  life,  Ann,  the  daughter  of 
Judge  Remington,  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  an  excellent 
woman,  prudent,  affable,  and  hospitable,  ever  watchful  over  her 
children,  and  careful  that  her  husband  should  find  no  place  so 
agreeable  to  him  as  his  home. 

"  Mr.  Eller}^,  though  urging  the  young  to  keep  to  a  single  busi- 
ness, to  love  it,  and  find  distinction  in  it,  and  though  inclined  in 
his  own  habits  to  stead}',  systematic  application,  was  obliged  to 
give  up  merchandise  in  the  time  of  embarrassing  revenue  acts  and 
non-importation  agreements,  when  there  was  little  or  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  to  join  heart  and  hand,  as  he  did,  with  the  '  Sons 
of  Liberty,'  and  in  1770  began  the  practice  of  the  law.  He  was, 
as  he  says  in  a  letter,  a  '  stanch  friend  to  political  liberty,  and 
that  liberty  with  which  the  Gospel  has  made  us  free.'  And  his 
sense  of  the  worth  of  freedom  could  be  the  more  relied  on,  as  it 
did  not  spring  from  eager  sympathy  with  the  sudden  excitements 

1 


2  PARENTAGE  AND  BIRTH. 

of  the  da}',  but  from  principles  which  his  experience  and  reflection 
had  prudentl}-  developed  and  confirmed.  It  was  a  deep-seated 
passion  and  a  moral  preference.  To  forward  political  liberty  was, 
in  his  view,  to  follow  every  individual  to  his  own  heart  and  home 
with  a  blessing.  According  to  his  own  strong  language,  he  placed 
his  obligations  to  uphold  libert}'  as  high  as  those  which  bound  him 
to  his  wife  and  children.  He  had  thus  far  held  no  political  or  judi- 
cial office  ;  but  he  was  known  to  the  people  for  his  firmness,  judg- 
ment, and  devotion  to  the  public  cause  ;  had  shown  himself  a 
public-hearted  man  in  the  first  struggles  against  encroachments 
upon  the  rights  of  the  colonies  ;  had  been  upon  important  com- 
mittees, whose  business  was  to  procure  the  repeal  of  oppressive 
revenue  acts ;  was  acquainted  with  the  active  spirits  who  were 
preparing  themselves  and  the  people  for  a  separation  from  the 
mother  country  ;  and  had  inspired  a  general  confidence  in  his  fit- 
ness for  a  high  civil  trust,  let  the  aspect  of  afl!airs  be  ever  so  per- 
plexing. Thus  approved,  he  was  chosen  as  delegate  of  Rhode 
Island  in  the  memorable  Congress  of  1776,  and  with  his  venerable 
colleague,  Stephen  Hopkins,  set  his  name  to  the  Declaration  of 
Independence. 

"  Mr.  Ellery  was  in  Congress  from  1776  to  1786,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  3'ears  1780  and  1782;  and  while  there  had  universal 
confidence  for  his  prudent,  straightforward,  practical  view  of  afl'airs, 
and  for  his  consistent,  independent,  decided  conduct.  Besides  the 
respect  which  his  abilities  and  character  thus  obtained,  his  social 
spirit  and  powers  of  conversation,  his  wit,  pleasantr3%  and  good- 
humored  satire,  which  could  enliven  a  party  of  friends  at  their 
lodgings,  or  sweep  away  the  fallacies  and  whims  of  members  in  a 
debate,  brought  him  into  delightful  intimacy  with  leading  men. 

' '  His  character  bore  the  marks  of  habitual  self-inspection  and 
self- resistance.  Humility  was  the  virtue  which  he  seemed  to  prize 
as  the  most  comprehensive  and  productive.  His  effort  was  to  bring 
every  tliouglit  and  desire  into  subjection  before  God,  and  to  find 
security  and  motive  in  a  fixed  sense  of  his  deficiencies  and  liis  obli- 
gations. This  constant  study  of  humility  was  his  light  and  strength. 
It  cleared  and  simplified  the  purpose  of  human  life.  It  gave  him 
more  and  more  the  connnand  of  his  faculties,  and  the  exercise  of 
his  affections,  and  the  power  of  devoting  himself  to  duty.  It  showed 
him  on  what  false  principles  men  are  commonly  pronounced  great, 
and  how  monstrous  are  arrogance  and  oppression  in  a  mortal.  But 
this  moral  warfare  never  threw  an  air  of  constraint  or  austerity 
upon  his  intercourse  with  others.  It  seemed  as  if  his  spirits  were 
kept  elastic  by  his  constant  guard  over  them.     His  very  kindness 


WILLIAM  ELLERY.  3 

and  gentleness  had  none  of  the  inertness  of  mere  good  temper,  but 
were  animated  b}-  an  active,  cherished  principle  of  love,  wliich  dis- 
criminated its  objects  and  was  all  alive  for  the  happiness  of  another. 

"In  the  pursuit  of  truth,  he  seemed  more  anxious  for  the  cer- 
tainty than  tlie  amount  and  variety  of  results.  lie  was  not  fond  of 
indulging  in  conjectures,  that  he  might  fill  the  void  where  he  had 
in  vain  looked  for  satisfying  truth  ;  nor  was  he  unhappy  because  of 
the  uncertainties  which  cannot  be  cleared  up  in  an  imperfect  state 
of  being.  His  feelings  and  wishes,  and  ever^'  extraneous  or  acci- 
dental circumstance,  were  as  if  they  did  not  exist,  in  his  sober- 
minded  inquiry.  Or  rather,  the  ver}-  influences  that  are  most  apt  to 
mislead  did  but  sound  the  alarm  to  him  to  be  single-hearted,  and 
made  his  power  of  discerning  the  keener.  He  had  the  plainest  com- 
mon-sense, and  the  most  prudent  judgment  in  common  affairs  ;  and 
not  so  much  from  having  lived  long  in  the  world,  as  from  his  right 
temper  of  mind,  and  his  habit  of  going  far  into  the  reason  of  things. 
This  honest}'  or  fairness  of  mind  was  his  great  distinction,  and  an 
explanation  of  his  character.  It  was  a  proof  of  his  moral  and  in- 
tellectual vigor.  It  was  a  religious  principle.  It  ran  through  all 
his  studies  and  experience,  restraining  him  from  injustice,  and  com- 
pelling him  to  condemn  injustice  ;  opening  the  way  through  ancient 
errors  of  whatever  kind,  and  for  the  admission  of  light  from  what- 
ever quarter ;  and  making  it  absoluteh'  impossible  that  he  should  be 
a  partisan  or  idolater  in  anj-thing. 

"  His  kindness  and  warmth  of  affection  were  especialh'  manifest 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  young.  A  plain  man,  in  years,  living 
in  retirement,  and  obtruding  his  opinions  upon  no  one,  lie  drew 
them  to  hin)  as  if  he  were  their  dependence ;  and  they  felt  that 
they  owed  to  him,  not  only  some  of  their  best-remembered  seasons 
of  pleasure,  but  in  no  small  degree  the  direction  and  coloring  of 
their  thoughts.  When  he  saw  anything  to  blame,  he  spoke  plainl}^ 
and  earnestly,  and  suffered  no  weakness  of  affection  to  conceal  or 
impair  the  force  of  what  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  say.  If  thej' 
neglected  his  admonitions  and  disappointed  his  expectations,  his 
regret  was  unmingled  with  selfishness,  and  his  affection  unabated. 
They  might  need  it  the  more."  ^ 

After  leaving  Congress,  Mr.  Ellery  was  for  many  years  collector 
of  the  customs  in  Newport,  where  he  lived  to  the  age  of  ninet}'- 
three,  beloved  b}-  a  large  circle  of  relatives  and  friends,  and  affec- 
tionately honored  by  his  fellow-citizens.     He  was  remarkable,  to 

1  Life  of  William  Ellery.  By  Edward  Tyrrel  Channiug.  Sparks's  American 
Biograpliy,  Vol.  VI.,  1st  Series. 


4  PARENTAGE   AND   BIRTH. 

the  vciy  close  of  liis  long  life,  for  youthfulness  of  feeling,  bi-ight- 
ness  of  mind,  and  read}-  interest  in  nature,  people,  literature,  events. 

This  sketcli  of  the  grandfather  will  be  found  to  illustrate  in  no 
unimportant  degree  both  the  character  and  intellect  of  his  distin- 
guished grandson  ;  for  William  but  recorded  his  own  experience, 
when,  after  he  had  reached  mature  life,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Eller\' : 
"  You  have  hardly  a  grandchild  who  cannot  trace  back  some  of 
his  sentiments  and  principles  to  your  instructive  and  condescending 
conversation." 

John  Channing,  William's  grandfather  on  the  paternal  side,  was 
a  respectable,  and,  till  towards  the  close  of  life,  a  prosperous 
merchant  of  Newport.  He  was  son  of  John  Channing,  of  Dorset- 
shire, PLngland,  — the  first  of  the  name  who  came  to  America,  — 
and  of  Mary  Antram,  who  arrived  in  Boston  in  1712,  and  were 
soon  after  married.  The  wife  of  John  Channing,  Jr.  was  Mary 
Chaloner  (the  widow  of  Dr.  James  Robinson,  physician),  who 
was  long  remembered  in  Newport  for  her  energy  of  character 
and  dignity  of  manner.  She  was  a  high-spirited  and  ardent, 
yet  religious  and  conscientious  woman,  and  remarkable  for  activit}' 
and  method. 

William  Channing,  their  second  son,  was  born  in  Newport,  June 
11,  1751,  and  educated  at  Nassau  Hall,  Princeton  College,  New 
Jersey,  where  he  graduated  in  1769.  He  read  law  with  Oliver 
Arnold,  at  Providence;  in  1771,  began  the  practice  of  his  pro- 
fession at  Newport;  in  1773,  married  Lucj'  Ellery,  the  daughter 
of  William  Ellery;  in  1777,  became  attorney-general  of  his  native 
State,  and  upon  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  without 
an}'  solicitation  on  his  part,  was  appointed  to  the  office  of  district 
attorney  for  the  district  of  Rhode  Island. 

Hon.  Asher  Robbins,  late  member  of  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States  from  Rhode  Island,  writes  of  him  thus  :  — 

"  Mr.  Channing  was  very  well  read  in  the  law,  especially  in  the 
forms  of  pleading ;  law  cases  were  his  favorite  reading,  even  for 
amusement.     He  had  a  large  library,  and  one  ver}'  well  selected. 

'^Ile  interested  himself  much  in  State  politics,  and  his  office 
was  the  central  point  of  rendezvous,  where  the  leading  men  con- 
gregated for  their  consultations. 

"  He  was  ver}'  poi)ular  in  the  State,  was  attorney-general  and 
district  attorney  at  the  same  time,  and  held  both  offices  at  the  time 
of  his  death. 

"His  manner  of  speaking  at  the  bar  was  rapid,  vehement,  and 
impressive  ;  never  studied,  nor  exactly  methodical  in  his  pleadings  ; 


"WILLIAM   CHANNING.  5 

but  he  always  came  well  prepared  as  to  matter  and  authority.  He 
had  an  extensive  practice,  attended  all  the  courts  regularly,  and 
was  considered,  for  several  years  before  his  death,  as  the  leading 
counsel  of  the  State. 

"  In  person,  he  was  of  the  middle  stature,  well  made,  erect,  and 
of  an  open  countenance ;  he  was  lively  and  pleasant  in  his  con- 
versation, and  much  disposed  to  social  intercourse ;  he  was  hos- 
pitable and  kind-hearted.  His  agreeable  manner  was  one  great 
source  of  his  general  popularity. 

"  His  temper  was  remarkably  good,  as  were  his  manners,  mild, 
liberal,  generous  ;  his  habits  were  also  correct,  temperate,  indus- 
trious, mindful  and  observant  of  all  the  duties  and  proprieties  of 
life." 

In  addition,  his  father-in-law,  Mr.  P:ilery,  says  of  him:  — 

"He  repeatedly  served  as  a  deputy  for  his  native  town;  and 
such  was  his  regard  for  its  interests,  that  he  did  not  decline  that 
service,  until,  by  the  extensiveness  of  his  practice,  and  the  in- 
crease of  his  famdy,  he  was  compelled  to  give  to  them  his  whole 
attention. 

"He  early  became  the  head  of  a  family.  He  married  in  the 
twenty-third  3ear  of  his  age,  and  performed  the  offices  and  char- 
ities of  a  husband  and  father  with  strict,  constant,  and  tender 
attention,  and  was  beloved  and  respected. 

"  The  law  of  kindness  and  benevolence  was  in  his  heart  and  on 
his  tongue.  The  persons  employed  by  him  as  domestics,  and  in 
other  services,  he  treated  >vith  great  humanity,  and  rewarded  with 
a  liberal  punctuality-.  He  was  an  obedient  and  respectful  son,  and 
a  most  affectionate  brother  and  friend.  To  the  poor  he  was  com- 
passionate. The  needy  never  went  away  from  his  house  empty. 
His  table  and  his  purse  were  always  open  to  their  wants,  and  his 
mmiificence  was  ever  accompanied  with  a  sweetness  in  the  manner, 
winch  doubled  the  obligations  of  gratitude. 

"His  religious  sentiments  were  liberil.  He  was  particularly 
attached  to  the  Congregational  denomination  of  Christians,  but 
he  treated  all  good  men  of  all  denominations  with  kindness  and 
respect.  He  generously  contributed  to  the  support  of  Chi-istian 
worship  in  the  society  to  which  he  belonged,  and  countenanced  and 
encouraged  it  by  a  constant  and  reverential  attendance,  and  the 
ministers  of  religion  experienced  his  hospitahty. 

"  His  political  sentiments  were  displayed  in  a  warm  attachment 
to  the  rights  of  mankind,  chastened  by  a  love  of  peace  and  order. 
"His  countenance  and  deportment  expressed  the  amiableness 


6  PARENTAGE   AND  BIRTH. 

and  benevolence  of  his  disposition,  and  his  morals  corresponded 
with  his  manners.  He  was  temperate  and  honest;  he  was  cour- 
teous and  respectful.  As  he  keenly  felt  the  distresses  of  mankind, 
so  was  he  as  strongly  disposed  to  relieve  their  sutfcrings.  He 
looked  down  with  such  pity  on  the  poor  and  afflicted  as  encouraged 
them  to  look  up  to  him  for  succor  as  to  a  brother." 

These  reminiscences  of  the  father  are  confirmed  and  completed 
bv  the   following  beautiful  notice,   written    in   1841,  by  his   son 

William :  ^  — 

"  Boston,  December  18,  1841. 

"  My  recollections  of  my  father  are  imperfect,  as  he  died  when  I 
was  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  I  had  been  sent  from  home  before 
that  event.  But  the  many  testimonies  which  I  have  received  to  his 
eminence  as  a  lawyer,  as  well  as  to  his  private  virtues,  make  me 
desirous  that  there  should  be  some  memorial  of  him. 

•'  My  father  retained  much  attachment  to  Princeton  College, 
where  he  was  educated,  so  that  he  thought  of  sending  me  there. 
He  was  the  classmate  and  friend  of  Samuel  8,  Smith,  afterwards 
distinguished  as  a  theologian,  and  as  the  president  of  that  institu- 
tion, "in  the  last  part  of  his  collegiate  days  he  enjoyed  the  instruc- 
tions of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Witherspoon. 

"  His  early  marriage  and  the  rapid  increase  of  his  family  obliged 
him  to  confine  himself  rigidly  to  liis  profession.  He  was  too  busy 
to  give  much  time  to  general  reading,  or  even  to  his  fannly.  Still. 
I  have  distinct  impressions  of  his  excellence  in  his  social  relations. 
He  was  the  dolicrht  of  the  circle  in  which  he  moved.  His  mother, 
brothers,  and  sisters  leaned  on  him  as  on  no  other.  I  well  remem- 
ber the  benignitv  of  his  countenance  and  voice.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian  at  home,  and,  according  to  the  mis- 
taken notions  of  tliat  time,  kept  me  at  too  great  a  distance  from 
him.  In  trutlu  the  prevalent  notions  of  education  were  mucli  more 
imperfect  than  in  our  day. 

"  I  often  went  into  courts,  but  was  too  young  to  understand  my 
father's  merits  in  the  profession  ;  yet  I  had  always  heard  ot  him  as 
standing  at  its  head.  Mv  brother  says  that  Judge  Dawes  used 
to  speak  of  his  style  and  manner  as  '  mellifluous  ; '  but  at  times  he 
was  veliement,  for  I  well  recollect  that  I  left  the  court-house  in 
fear,  at  hearing  him  indignantly  reply  to  what  seemed  to  him  un- 
worthy language  in  the  opposite  counsel. 

"  liis  parents  were  religious,  and  the  impressions  made  on  his 
young   mind   were    never   lost.     He   was   the   main  pillar  of  the 
1  Memoirs  of  the  Ilhode  Island  Bar.    By  Wilkins  Updike,  Esq. 


WILLIAM   CHANNING.  7 

religious  society  to  which  he  belonged.  The  house  of  worship  had 
suffered  much  from  the  occupation  of  Newport  b}'  the  British  army, 
so  as  to  be  unfit  for  use  ;  and  I  recollect  few  things  in  my  child- 
hood more  distinctly  than  his  zeal  in  restoring  it  to  its  destination, 
and  in  settling  a  minister.  I  cannot  doubt  that  his  religious  char- 
acter received  important  aid  from  the  ministry-  and  friendship  of 
Dr.  Stiles,  who  was  as  eminent  for  piety  as  learning,  and  under  whose 
teachings  he  grew  up.  He  had  a  deep,  I  may  say  peculiar,  abhor- 
rence of  the  vice  of  profaneness ;  and  such  was  his  influence,  that 
his  large  famil}'  of  sons  escaped  this  taint  to  a  remarkable  degree, 
though  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  it.  1  recollect,  with  gratitude, 
the  strong  impression  which  he  made  on  m}-  own  mind.  I  owed  it 
to  him,  that,  though  living  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  vice,  no  pro- 
fane word  ever  passed  my  lips. 

"  On  one  subject  I  think  of  his  state  of  mind  with  sorrow.  His 
father,  like  most  respectable  merchants  of  that  place,  possessed 
slaves  imported  from  Africa.  They  were  the  domestics  of  the 
family  ;  and  my  father  had  no  sensibilit}-  to  the  evil.  I  rememl^er, 
however,  with  pleasure,  the  affectionate  relation  which  subsisted 
between  him  and  the  Africans  (most  of  them  aged)  who  continued 
to  live  with  my  grandfather.  These  were  liberated  after  the  Kevo- 
lution  ;  but  nothing  could  remove  them  from  their  okl  home,  where 
they  rather  ruled  than  served.  One  of  the  females  used  to  speak 
of  herself  as  the  daughter  of  an  African  prince ;  and  she  certainly 
had  much  of  the  bearing  of  royalty.  The  dignity  of  her  aspect 
and  manner  bespoke  an  uncommon  woman.  She  was  called 
Duchess,  probabl}^  on  account  of  the  rank  she  had  held  in  her  own 
country'.  I  knew  her  onl}-  after  she  was  free,  and  had  an  establish- 
ment of  her  own.  Now  and  then  she  invited  all  the  children  of 
the  various  families  with  which  she  was  connected  to  a  party,  and 
we  were  Uberally  feasted  imder  her  hospitable  roof.  My  father 
won  the  hearts  of  all  his  domestics.  One  of  the  sincerest  mourners, 
at  his  death,  was  an  excellent  woman  who  had  long  lived  with  us, 
and  whom  he  honored  for  her  piet^-. 

"  I  recollect,  distinctly,  the  great  interest  he  took  in  the  political 
questions  which  agitated  the  country-.  Though  but  eight  or  nine 
3'ears  of  age,  I  was  present  when  the  Rhode  Island  Convention 
adopted  the  Federal  Constitution  ;  and  the  enthusiasm  of  that 
moment  I  can  never  forget.  My  father  entered  with  his  whole 
heart  into  that  unbounded  exultation.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
devoted  members  of  the  Federal  part}-.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
French  Revolution  he  shai-ed  in  the  universal  hope  and  jo}-  which 
it  inspired  ;  but  I  well  recollect  the  sadness  with  which  he  talked  to 


8  PARENTAGE  AND  BIRTH. 

,us,  one  Sunda}'  afternoon,  of  the  execution  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth ; 
and  from  that  moment  his  hopes  died. 

"You  speak  of  the  testimon}'  borne  to  him  by  the  late  Elisha  R. 
Potter,  P2sq.  M}'  ftitlier  was  among  the  first  to  discover  the  abil- 
ities of  that  remarkable  man,  and  I  remember  the  kindness  with 
which  he  used  to  receive  him.  His  spirit  was,  in  truth,  the  kindest. 
He  was  ever  read}'  to  see  and  appreciate  superior  talents,  and  to 
attach  himself  to  worth.  His  friendship  seemed  to  me  singularly 
strong  for  a  man  so  immersed  in  business.  Anions  his  friends 
were  George  Champlin,  Esq.,  a  politician  of  singular  capacity,  and 
who  was  said  to  have  ruled  tlie  State  for  years  without  forfeiting 
his  integritj' ;  Dr.  Isaac  Senter,  a  physician  of  extensive  practice, 
who  was  thought  to  unite  with  great  exi)erience  a  rare  genius  in 
his  profession,  and  whose  commanding  figure  rises  before  me,  at  the 
distance  of  forty- five  3'ears,  as  a  specimen  of  manl}-  beaut}-  worthy 
the  chisel  of  a  Grecian  sculptor ;  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hitchcock,  of 
Providence,  a  man  of  great  sweetness  of  temper,  and  who  deserves 
the  grateful  remembrance  of  that  city  for  his  zealous  efforts  in  the 
cause  of  public  education.  My  father  took  a  great  pleasure  in  the 
society  of  ministers,  and  always  welcomed  them  to  his  hospitable 
dwelling. 

"■  I  remember  his  tastes  with  pleasure.  He  had  two  gardens, 
one  of  them  quite  large,  and  as  he  sought  to  have  everything  which 
he  cultivated  of  the  best  kind,  our  table,  otherwise  simple,  was, 
in  this  respect,  luxurious.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  what  con- 
tented his  neighbors,  but  introduced  new  varieties  of  vegetables 
into  the  town.  He  also  took  great  interest  in  sacred  music.  On 
Sunday  evening,  the  choir  of  the  congregation,  which  included 
most  of  the  younger  members,  and  other  amateurs,  met  in  his  office 
for  practice  in  singing.  The  apartment,  somewhat  spacious,  was 
filled  ;  and  the  animation  of  the  meeting,  to  which  his  zeal  contrib- 
uted not  a  little,  made  the  occasion  one  of  my  weekly  pleasures. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  trust  my  recollections  of  my  lather's  person,  it 
must  have  been  very  prepossessing ;  but  to  me  his  api)earance,  at 
the  time,  was  more  venerable  than  beautiful.  His  head  was  bald, 
and  his  cocked  hat,  and  the  other  parts  of  his  dress,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  fashions  of  the  day,  differed  much  from  the  costume  of 
the  3-oung,  made  liim  seem  from  the  first  an  old  man. 

"  He  prospered  in  life,  but  Avithout  being  able  to  leave  a  compe- 
tence to  his  large  family.  His  labors  were  great,  but  1  havo  no 
recollection  of  seeing  liim  depressed.  I  should  place  him  among 
the  happy.  He  was  taken  away  in  the  midst  of  usefulness  and 
hope.     The  disease  of  wliich  he  died  was  not  understood.     I  re- 


LUCY  ELLERY.  9 

member  that  he  used  to  complain  of  feelings  which  we  now  should 
consider  as  dyspepsia ;  but  that  disease  was  little  thought  of  then, 
and  the  name  never  heard. 

"These  are  ver^-  scanty  reminiscences  ;  but  as  I  hardly  saw  my 
father  after  reaching  m}-  twelfth  year,  and  as  nearly  fifty  years 
have  passed  since  that  time,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  can 
recall  no  more  of  his  calm,  uniform  life.  The  career  of  a  profes- 
sional man,  occupied  with  the  support  of  a  large  family,  otters  no 
great  events. 

"I  little  thought,  when  I  began,  of  writing  so  much;  but  the 
pleasure  which  all  men  take  in  the  virtues  of  parents  has  led  me  on 
insensibly. 

"  My  father  died  before  I  could  requite  him  for  his  toils  for  my 
support  and  his  interest  in  my  moral  well-being ;  and  I  feel  as  if, 
in  this  present  instance,  I  was  discharging  some  part,  though  a 
very  small  one,  of  my  great  debt.  I  owed  him  much,  and  it  is  not 
my  smallest  obligation  that  his  character  enables  me  to  join  att"ec- 
tionate  esteem  and  reverence  with  my  instinctive  gratitude. 

"  Very  truly  yours,  W.  E.  Channing." 

Lucy  Eller}',  William's  mother,  resembled  her  father  in  energy, 
judgment,  practical  skill,  and  integrity.  But  she  added  to  these 
traits  a  tenderness  of  sensibility  and  a  deep  enthusiasm,  which 
threw  a  charm  of  romance  over  her  conduct  and  conversation.  She 
was  small  in  person,  but  erect  in  bearing  and  elastic  in  movement ; 
and  strongly  marked  features,  with  a  singularly  bright  and  pene- 
trating eye,  gave  her  an  air  of  self-reliance  and  command.  Her 
manner  was  generally  benignant,  often  tenderly  affectionate,  and 
marked  b^-'  the  dignified  courtesj-  of  the  old  school ;  but  if  pi^e ten- 
sion and  fraud,  in  any  of  their  manifold  disguises,  crossed  her  path, 
she  became  chillingly  reserved  and  blunt  to  the  verge  of  severit}'. 
Her  feelings  were  quick,  her  humor  was  lively,  and  so  did  she 
clothe  sagacious  thoughts  in  quaint  dialect,  that  she  was  as  enter- 
taining a  companion  as  she  was  a  wise  counsellor.  The  whole  tone 
of  her  mind  and  temper  was  original ;  blending,  in  a  rare  union, 
shrewdness  and  sympath}',  caution  and  fresh  impulse,  devoted  gen- 
erosit}'  and  strict  conscience,  stern  straightforwardness  and  cordial 
love.  In  a  word,  there  was  a  rough  nobleness  in  her  ways,  which 
irresistibly  won  affection  and  respect,  and  made  her  influence  pow- 
erful for  good  on  all  within  her  sphere.  The  following  sketch,  by 
her  son  William,  ma}'  best  introduce  her. 

"The  most  remarkable  trait  in  my  mother's  character  Avas  the 
rectitude  and  simplicity  of  her  mind.     Perhaps  I  have  never  known 


10  BOYHOOD.  liET.  1-14. 

her  equal  in  this  respect.  She  was  true  in  thought,  word,  and  hfe. 
She  had  the  firmness  to  see  the  truth,  to  speak  it,  to  act  upon  it. 
She  was  direct  in  judgment  and  conversation,  and  in  my  long  inter- 
course with  her  I  cannot  recall  one  word  or  action  betra3ing  the 
slightest  insincerit}'.  She  had  keen  insight  uito  character.  She 
was  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by  others,  and,  what  is  rarer,  she  prac- 
tised no  imposition  on  her  own  mind.  She  saw  things,  persons, 
events,  as  they  were,  and  spoke  of  them  by  their  right  names. 
Her  partialities  did  not  blind  her,  even  to  her  children.  Her  love 
was  without  illusion.  She  recognized  unerringly,  and  with  delight, 
fairness,  honesty,  genuine  uprightness,  and  shrunk  as  by  instinct 
from  everything  specious,  the  factitious  in  character,  and  plausible 
manners." 

Born  of  parents  thus  rich  in  natural  gifts,  and  well  trained,  Wil- 
liam mlierited  a  physical  organization  at  once  delicate  and  vigorous, 
and  tendencies  of  heart  and  mind  in  wliicli  tiie  virtues  of  both  Avere 
most  happily  balanced.  He  is  remembered  as  having  been  an  in- 
fant of  rare  loveUness,  and  was  from  the  first  an  idol.  Such  pro- 
phetic affection  tends  naturally  to  bring  the  fulfilment  of  its  hopes  ; 
and  certainly,  in  the  present  instance,  the  expectant  trust  of  the 
mother  was  an  exhaustless  incentive  to  the  son.  She  lived  for 
more  than  fifty  years  after  his  birth,  and  their  relation  throughout 
this  long,  and  for  the  most  part  unbroken,  period  of  intercourse 
was  as  beautiful  as  it  was  rich  in  mutual  blessing. 


Chapter  II.  —BOYHOOD. 

^T.  1-14.     1780-1794. 

The  earliest  description  given  of  WiUiam  is  from  an  aged  rela- 
tive, who  says:  "I  remember  him  as  a  boy  three  or  four  years 
old,  with  brilliant  eyes,  glowing  cheeks,  and  light-brown  hair  falling 
in  curls  upon  his  shoulders,  dressed  in  a  green  velvet  jacket,  with 
ruffled  collar  and  white  under-clotlies,  standing  by  his  mother's 
side  on  the  seat  of  the  pew,  and  looking  round  upon  the  con- 
gregation. I  tliought  him  the  most  splendid  child  I  ever  saw." 
Allowance  must  of  course  be  made,  in  our  estimate  of  such  a  sketch, 
for  any  reflected  brightness  which  success  in  after  life  may  have 
thrown  ui)on  the  memory.  But  all  testimony  confirms  this  impres- 
sion of  the  beaming  beauty  of  AVilliam's  childhood  ;   and  to  those 


1780-1794.]  SCHOOL  DAYS.  H 

who  have  associations  only  with  the  wasted  form,  thin  features,  and 
sunken  eyes  of  the  preacher,  whose  spirit  seemed  alwut  to  cast 
aside  the  body,  this  picture  of  the  blooming  bo}  will  not  be  witliout 
the  charm,  at  least,  of  contrast. 

Owing  to  his  mother's  poor  state  of  health,  the  children  were 
earl}'  placed  at  school,  and  William  was  sent  when  yet  so  young 
that  he  was  often  carried  in  the  arms  of  a  colored  man.  One  of  his 
first  recollections  was  of  being  taken  to  the  school-room  one  morn- 
ing after  the  good  mistress  had  died.  The  stillness  which  prevailed 
in  place  of  the  usual  bustle,  the  slow  steps,  the  luished  voices,  and 
the  sight  of  the  dead  body,  left  a  feeling  of  awe  so  strong  that  he 
vividly  recalled  the  scene  in  the  very  last  year  of  hi.s  life. 

As  he  grew  older,  William  was  advanced  to  the  boarding  and  day 
school  of  Mr.  Rogers,  which  was  considered  the  best  in  the  town, 
and  indeed  had  so  high  a  reputation,  that  boys  from  a  distance,  es- 
pecially from  the  South,  were  sent  to  his  charge.  It  was  the  habit 
of  that  time  to  use  flogging  as  the  common  penalty,  and  no  master 
would  then  have  responded,  as  all  good  ones  must  now  do,  to  the 
words  of  Vogel,  —  "  When  we  teachers  become  fulty  competent  to 
our  work,  the  necessity  of, corporeal  punishment  will  cease  alto- 
gether." ^  This  is  mentioned,  because  it  is  certain  tljat  what  he 
then  experienced  outraged  his  sensitive  honor,  and  served  to 
arouse  the  feeling  of  indignation  against  any  form  of  violence  used 
towards  children,  which  grew  so  strong  in  him  in  later  years.  He 
would  often  tell  an  anecdote  of  a  little  boy  in  school  trying  to 
shield  with  his  arms  a  larger  one,  whom  the  master  was  a1)out 
to  whip.  The  contrast  of  the  great  heart  with  the  small  physi- 
cal power,  the  noble  position  of  the  young  remonstrant  against 
tyranny,  produced  an  indelible  impression  upon  his  childish  im- 
agination, and  made  the  severity  of  the  teacher  and  the  quarrelling 
of  the  children  detestable  and  hideous.  He  had  through  life  an 
utter  contempt  and  horror  for  every  arbitrary-  inrtiction  of  bodily 
pain ;  and  once,  when  conversing  with  a  person  who  advocated  the 
use  of  the  lash  in  the  arm}',  navy,  and  prisons,  broke  forth  with, 
"What!  strike  a  man/"  with  such  a  thrilling  tone,  that  it  com- 
pletely' overwhelmed  his  hearer,  and  awakened  in  him  an  entirely 
new  sense  of  the  dignity  of  a  human  being. 

In  connection  with  this  degradation  of  boys  by  whipping,  he 
sometimes  remarked  that  his  first  feeling  of  the  sacredness  of  wo- 
man was  called  out  b}*  observing  that  the  delicate  hands  of  the 
girls  at  school  were  never  marked  b}-  the  ferule.     But,  indeed,  this 

1  Hon.  H.  Mann's  Seventh  Report,  as  Secretary  of  the  Massachusetts  Board 
of  Education. 


12  BOYHOOD.  [^T.  1-14. 

earl}'  sentiment  of  reverence  for  women  was  probably  owing  to  his 
lively  sensibility  to  female  loveliness.  For  once,  while  gazing  on 
his  daughter,  as  she  danced  pla3fully  round  him,  he  said,  with  a 
tone  of  deep  tenderness:  "She  brings  so  to  mind  the  days  when 
her  mother,  then  a  gay  little  girl,  used  with  her  com[)anions  to 
creep  from  the  school-room  unnoticed  b}'  the  master,  and  I,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  would  watch  her  as  she  skipped  down  the  street, 
and  with  boastful  gesture  mocked  the  boys  who  could  not  follow. 
She  seemed,  with  her  hair  floating  on  her  shoulders,  as  she  lightly 
moved,  so  very  beautiful.  I  have  a  clearer  notion  of  the  bliss  of 
a  seraph  in  heaven  now  than  I  had  then,  of  the  joyous  spirit  which 
buoyed  up  that  form." 

As  a  pupil,  it  is  said  that  William  was  patient  and  diligent,  but 
not  remarkable  for  quickness  of  perception.  He  rather  examined 
oarefuUj'^  the  subject  offered  to  his  attention,  listening  to  his 
teacher,  till  satisfied  that  he  thoroughly  vuiderstood  his  meaning, 
than  comprehended  it  at  once  by  rapid  insight.  Considerate- 
ness,  reflection,  thoroughness,  rather  than  brilliancy,  originality, 
or  force,  seem  to  have  been  his  mental  manifestations  at  school. 
But  so  much  depends  upon  the  skill  of  the  teacher,  upon  pen- 
etration to  detect,  and  readiness  of  s3-mpathy  to  foster,  the 
peculiar  genius  of  a  child,  that  but  small  reliance  can  be  placed 
upon  such  indications  as  he  then  gave  of  his  intellectual  biases. 
All  that  is  actually  known  is,  that  he  gained  the  respect  of  his  in- 
structors, held  a  high  rank  among  his  fellows,  and  awakened  the 
wai-m  hopes  of  his  friends  ;  for,  in  a  letter  written  towards  the 
close  of  his  school  days,  his  father,  using  the  stately  style  of  ex- 
pressing affection  then  common,  says  to  him:  "We  expect  much 
from  our  son  William,  and  flatter  ourselves  that  we  shall  not  be 
disappointed." 

Of  the  more  important  education  which  William  received  from 
the  influences  of  home  and  of  society,  he  has  himself  given  a 
graphic,  though  slight  sketch,  in  the  letter  descriptive  of  his 
father.  But  it  may  be  well  to  dwell  on  these  influences  for  a 
moment,  as  they  did  much  to  give  direction  to  his  moral  energies. 
Ills  father's  dignified  reserve  towards  his  children  has  been  noticed 
with  regret  b}-  the  son  ;  but  still  the  pervading  sweetness  of  his 
manner  must  have  captivated  them,  and  won  their  confidence,  for, 
by  universal  report,  his  presence  was  like  a  sunbeam,  —  so  did 
clieerfulness,  screnit}^  good-humor,  pleasantr}',  kind  regard  for 
others'  rights  and  feelings,  and  assiduity  to  i)lease,  surround  him 
with  an  atmosphere  of  love.  And  though  little  under  the  direct 
influence  of  his    father's  character,  William's  principles  were  yet 


1780-1794,]  SOCIAL  INFLUENCES.  13 

permanentl}'  fashioned  b}-  his  example.  From  him,  and  from  liis 
grandfather,  and  their  conversations  on  public  questions,  at  the 
critical  period  when  our  nation  was  settling  into  order  after  the 
upheaval  of  the  Revolution,  and  when  Europe  was  shaken  from  end 
to  end  by  the  first  waves  of  the  grand  social  earthquake,  he  doubt- 
less derived  that  spirit  of  patriotism  and  interest  in  political  move- 
ments by  which  he  was  afterwards  characterized.  His  father,  as 
a  leading  lawyer,  and  an  earnest  supporter  of  the  Federal  party, 
necessarily  received  at  his  house  various  eminent  men  who  visited 
Newport.  Washington  dined  there  when  on  his  Nortliern  tour ; 
and  it  can  be  readily  understood  how  much  a  boy's  enthusiasm, 
alread}'  fervent  from  hearing  him  alwa3's  spoken  of  in  terms  of 
honor,  was  heightened  by  thus  seeing  the  Father  of  the  Nation 
face  to  face.  Jay,  too,  and  otlier  men  remarkable  for  political, 
professional,  and  literary  talent,  were  there,  waking  by  their 
presence  generous  ambition.  And  by  Dr.  Stiles,  once  pastor  in 
Newport,  and  afterwards  President  of  Yale  College,  William  was 
so  moved,  that  late  in  life  he  used  in  relation  to  him  this  strong 
language:  "To  the  influence  of  this  distinguished  man  in  the 
circle  in  which  I  was  brought  up,  I  may  owe  in  part  the  indigna- 
tion which  I  feel  towards  every  invasion  of  human  rights.  In  my 
earliest  years  I  regarded  no  human  being  with  equal  reverence.  I 
have  his  form  before  me  at  this  moment  almost  as  distinctly  as  if 
I  had  seen  him  yesterday,  so  strong  is  the  impression  made  on  a 
child  through  the  moral  affections."  ^ 

While  thus  in  an  atmosphere  of  freedom,  tempered  b}-  respect 
for  order,  the  traits  were  developed  which  made  him  in  manliood  a 
patriot  and  philanthropist ;  yet  deeper  influences  were  unfolding 
William's  spiritual  aflfections.  He  seems  from  the  first  to  have 
shown  a  bent  towards  the  pursuit  that  occupied  his  mature  years, 
and  early  earned  the  title  of  "  Little  Minister."  When  yet  very 
small,  he  was  wont  to  arrange  a  room  with  seats  and  desk,  and  to 
summon  the  family,  with  blows  upon  the  warming-pan  by  way  of  a 
bell,  to  a  religious  meeting,  where  he  preached  with  much  serious- 
ness and  energy.  At  other  times,  he  would  assemble  his  play- 
mates for  a  similar  purpose  upon  the  steps  of  the  door.  This 
development  of  religious  sensibilit}'  may  have  been  owing  in  a 
measure  to  the  influence  of  an  aunt  of  his  father's,  who  was  an 
invalid,  and  a  woman  of  much  piet}''  and  sweetness,  to  whose  room 
the  nephews  and  nieces  went  on  a  Sunda}-  afternoon  to  read  in  the 
Bible   or   some  good  book,  repeat  h3'mns,   and  join  in  a  simple 

1  Discourse  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Unitarian  Congregational  Church,  New- 
port, 1836,     AVorks,  Vol.  IV.  p.  341.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  423. 


14  BOYHOOD.  [JEt.  1-14. 

prayer.  At  home,  too,  his  mother  was  accustomed  to  call  the 
children  together  in  the  best  parlor,  which  was  open  onl}'  once  a 
week,  or  on  great  occasions,  and  to  read  witli  them  from  the  Scrip- 
tures. He  was  influenced,  too,  not  a  little  b}-  a  respected  confi- 
dential servant,  Rachel  De  Gilder,  a  woman  of  masculine  energy, 
kind,  though  firm,  and  of  strong  religious  principle,  who  exerted  a 
sway  over  the  children  second  only  to  their  mother's,  and  to  whom 
"William  felt  a  gratitude  so  warm  that  he  befriended  her  through 
a  long  life.  Rachel  was  a  Baptist,  converted  and  instructed  1)y 
Mv.  Kdd}',  of  Newport,  who  was  afterward  known  to  have  been  a 
Unitarian.  Her  views  were  uncommonl}"  cheerful ;  and  it  would 
be  hiteresting  to  learn  how  far  suggestive  words,  dropped  by  her 
in  conversation,  became  germs  in  the  boy's  receptive  heart,  which 
ripened  into  the  theology  of  his  manhood. 

Man}-  elevating  influences,  indeed,  were  around  him,  to  which  he 
has  thus  borne  grateful  testimon}' :  — 

"  I  can  well  remember  how  the  name  of  Dr.  Stiles  was  cherished 
among  his  parishioners,  after  3'ears  of  separation.  His  visit  to  this 
place  was  to  many  a  festival.  When  little  more  than  a  child,  I  was 
l)resent  at  some  of  his  private  meetings  with  the  more  religious 
part  of  his  former  congregation,  and  I  recollect  how  I  was  moved 
by  the  tears  and  expressive  looks  with  which  his  affectionate  exhor- 
tations were  received.  In  his  faith,  he  was  what  was  called  a  mod- 
erate Cah  inist ;  but  his  heart  was  of  no  sect.  He  carried  into  his 
religion  the  spirit  of  lil)erty,  which  then  stirred  the  whole  country. 
Intolerance,  church  tyranny,  in  all  its  forms,  he  abhorred.  He 
respected  the  right  of  private  judgment,  where  others  would  have 
thought  themselves  authorized  to  restrain  it.  A  young  man,  to 
whom  he  had  been  as  a  fatlier,  one  day  communicated  to  him 
doubts  concerning  the  Trinity.  He  expressed  his  sorrow,  but 
mildly,  and  with  undiminished  affection,  told  him  to  go  to  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  to  seek  his  faith  there  and  only  there.  His  friendships 
were  confined  to  no  parties.  He  desired  to  heal  the  wounds  of  the 
divided  church  of  Christ,  not  by  a  common  creed,  but  by  the  spirit 
of  love.  He  wished  to  break  every  yoke,  civil  and  ecclesias- 
tical." 

Of  Dr.  Hopkins,  also,  whom  he  used  to  hear  preach,  as  well  as 
often  to  meet  at  his  father's  table,  he  has  left  recollections  full  of 
affectionate  respect.  It  was  from  him  that  he  first  gained  his  con- 
victions of  the  iniquity  of  slavery  ;  for  this  was  a  subject  on  which 
Dr.  Hopkins,  without  heeding  the  strong  prejudices  and  passions 
enlisted  on  the  side  of  wrong,  bore  faithful  testimonj*  from  the  press 


1780-1794.]  FATHER  THURSTON.  15 

and  the  pulpit,  while  at  the  same  time  he  labored  for  the  education 
of  the  colored  people  with  energy  and  success. 

"My  recollections  of  Dr.  Hopkins,"  he  writes,  "go  back  to  my 
earliest  years.  As  the  Second  Congregational  Church  was  closed  in 
my  childhood,  in  consequence  of  Dr.  Stiles's  removal  to  New  Haven, 
m}-  father  was  accustomed  to  attend  on  the  ministry  of  Dr.  Hopkins. 
Perhaps  he  was  tlie  first  minister  1  heard,  but  I  heard  him  with  no 
profit.  His  manner,  which  was  singularly  unattractive,  could  not 
win  a  child's  attention ;  and  the  circumstances  attending  the  ser- 
vice were  repulsive.  The  church  had  been  much  injured  by  the 
British  during  their  occupation  of  the  town,  and  the  congregation 
were  too  poor  to  repair  it.  It  had  a  desolate  look,  and  in  winter 
the  rattling  of  the  windows  made  an  impression  which  time  has  not 
worn  out.  It  was  literally  '  as  cold  as  a  barn,'  and  some  of  the 
most  painful  sensations  of  ni}-  childhood  were  experienced  in  that 
comfortless  building.  As  I  grew  up,  I  was  accustomed  to  attend 
worship  in  our  own  church,  where  Dr.  Patten  was  settled,  so  that 
for  years  I  knew  little  of  Dr.  Hopkins.  My  first  impressions  were 
not  very  favorable.  I  think  it  probable  that  his  strong  reprobation 
of  the  slave-trade  excited  ill-will  in  the  place,  and  I  can  distinctly 
recollect  that  the  prevalence  of  terror  in  his  preaching  was  a  very 
common  subject  of  remark,  and  gave  rise  to  ludicrous  stories  among 
the  boys."  ^ 

It  was  at  this  period,  too,  that  he  received  lessons,  never  to  be 
forgotten,  on  the  virtue  of  temperance,  from  a  Baptist  minister, 
called  Father  Thurston.  This  worthy  man  gave  striking  evidence 
of  his  zeal  for  reforming  the  vice  of  drunkenness,  at  a  time  when 
all  classes  of  society  there,  as  elsewhere,  were  debased  by  it,  and 
when  the  citizens  of  Newport  were  largely  engaged  in  the  manufac- 
ture and  traffic  in  ardent  spirits.  He  was  very  poor,  and  eked  out 
a  scanty  support,  in  addition  to  a  small  ministerial  salary,  by  work- 
ing during  the  week  as  a  cooper.  But  though  hogsheads  and  barrels 
were  the  articles  most  in  demand  for  the  West  India  trade,  the  old 
gentleman  would  make  nothing  but  pails. 

A  significant  anecdote  illustrating  the  religious  impressions  made 
upon  his  mind  in  childhood  is  thus  related  by  himself.  His  father, 
with  the  view  of  giving  him  a  drive,  took  AVilliam  in  his  chaise  one 
day,  as  he  was  going  to  hear  a  famous  preacher  in  the  neighborhood. 
Impressed  with  the  notion  that  he  might  learn  glad  tidings  from  the 
unseen  world,  he  listened  attentivel}'  to  the  sermon.  With  glowing 
rhetoric,  the  lost  state  of  man  was  described,  his  abandonment  to 

1  Works,  Vol.  IV.  p.  341.    One  Volume  Edition,  p.  423. 


16  BOYHOOD.  [^T.  1-14. 

evil,  helplessness,  dependence  upon  sovereign  gi-ace,  and  the  need  of 
earnest  pra^'er  as  the  condition  of  receiving  divine  aid.  In  the  view 
of  the  speaker,  a  curse  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  earth,  and  darkness 
and  horror  to  veil  the  face  of  nature.  William,  for  his  part,  sup- 
posed that  henceforth  those  who  believed  would  abandon  all  other 
things  to  seek  this  salvation,  and  that  amusement  and  earthly  busi- 
ness would  no  longer  occupy  a  moment.  The  service  over,  they 
went  out  of  the  church,  and  his  father,  in  answer  to  the  remark  of 
some  person,  said,  with  a  decisive  tone:  "Sound  doctrine.  Sir." 
"It  is  all  true  then,"  was  the  boy's  inward  reflection.  A  hcav}' 
weight  fell  on  his  heart.  He  wanted  to  speak  to  his  father ;  he 
expected  his  father  would  speak  to  him  in  relation  to  this  tremen- 
dous crisis  of  things.  They  entered  the  chaise  and  drove  along,  but, 
absorbed  in  awful  thoughts,  he  could  not  raise  his  voice.  At  length 
thej'  reached  home  ;  but  instead  of  calhng  the  family  together,  and 
telling  them  of  the  appalling  intelligence  which  the  preacher  had 
given,  his  father  quietl}'  read  a  newspaper.  All  things  went  on  as 
usual.  At  first,  he  was  surprised  ;  but  not  being  given  to  talking, 
he  asked  no  explanations.  Soon,  however,  the  question  rose, — 
"Could  what  he  had  heard  be  true?  No!  his  latlier  did  not  be- 
lieve it ;  people  did  not  believe  it !  It  was  not  true ! "  He  felt 
that  he  had  been  trifled  with  ;  that  the  preacher  had  deceived  him  ; 
and  from  that  time  he  became  inclined  to  distrust  everything  ora- 
torical, and  to  measure  exactly  the  meaning  of  words  ;  he  had 
received  a  profound  lesson  on  the  worth  of  sincerity. 

External  aids  were  useful,  however,  in  unfolding  William's  re- 
ligious nature,  only  because  this  was  so  rich  in  high,  generous, 
conscientious  feeling.  He  was  remarkable,  from  the  first,  for  purity 
and  self-command,  and  for  an  air  of  dignity,  which  abashed  the 
frivolousness  of  rude  companions,  and  guarded  him  from  the  famil- 
iarities of  less  delicate  spirits.  And  it  was  well  that  conscience 
was  thus  earl}'  quickened,  and  that  this  mantle  of  modesty  was 
wrapped  about  him  ;  for,  to  use  his  own  words,  there  was  then  "  a 
corruption  of  morals  among  those  of  my  own  age,  which  made  boy- 
hood a  critical  and  perilous  season." 

In  disposition,  William  was  for  the  most  part  grave  and  reflective. 
He  was  fond  of  lonely  rambles  on  the  beach  ;  liked  to  go  apart  into 
some  l)cautiful  scene,  with  no  other  i)laymatc  than  his  kite,  which 
he  delighted  in  flying;  indulged  in  reverie  and  contemplation,  and 
according  to  his  own  statement  owed  the  tone  of  his  character 
more  to  the  influences  of  solitary  thought  than  of  companionship. 
Indeed,  he  often  said  that  he  understood  the  happiness  of  childhood 
rather  from  observation  than  experience,  that  his  early  life  was  sad. 


1780-1794.]  COURAGE.  17 

that  conscious  want  of  virtue  and  knowledge  then  depressed  him, 
that  friendship  seemed  tame  and  cold,  that  life  looked  desolate,  and 
that  ever^^  year  had  been  brighter  to  him  than  the  last. 

Among  his  playmates  he  seems  to  have  been  alwa3-s  noted  for 
a  certain  greatness  of  character.  The}'  called  him  "  Peacemaker" 
and  "  Little  King  Pepin."  He  is  described  as  having  been  small 
and  delicate,  yet  muscular  and  active,  with  a  very  erect  person, 
quick  movement,  a  countenance  that,  while  sedate,  was  cheerful, 
and  a  singularly  sweet  smile,  which  he  never  lost  through  life. 
When  with  companions,  he  was  exuberant  in  spirits,  overflowing 
with  energy,  ready  to  join  heartily  in  all  amusements,  but  never 
boisterous.  He  was  much  beloved  b}'  the  children  of  the  school 
and  neighborhood,  though  even  then  acting  as  an  exhorter ;  for  he 
used  to  rebuke  among  them  all  profaneness  or  obscenit}' ;  but  this 
was  done  with  a  gentle  tone,  that  manifested  rather  sorrow  than 
anger,  and  was  well  received.  His  character  was  thus  earlj-  marked 
by  mingled  strength  and  sweetness,  though  b}-  some  accounts  it 
would  appear  that  he  was  by  no  means  free  from  irritabilit}-.  He 
loved  power,  too  ;  and  such  was  his  sway,  among  even  the  quarrel- 
some, that  when  his  voice  was  heard,  persuading  them  to  order,  he 
was  readil}'  obeyed.  Sufficient  fire,  however,  was  latent  under  liis 
mildness  to  give  him  energy.  On  one  occasion  he  flogged  a  bo}' 
larger  than  himself,  who  had  imposed,  as  he  thought,  upon  one 
weaker.  And  on  another,  when  the  pupils  of  Mr.  Rogers's  school 
had  collected  in  expectation  of  an  attack  from  the  boj's  of  a  diflferent 
part  of  the  town,  William  urged  them  to  go  and  meet  the  others 
and  settle  the  matter  at  once  ;  he  disapproved  of  dela}'  and  mere 
talking.  He  was  a  remarkable  wrestler  also,  excelled  in  pitching 
the  quoit,  liked  adventui'ous  sports,  was  fond  of  climbing  to  the 
masthead  of  vessels  at  the  wharf,  and  once,  when  sliding  rapidl}' 
down  a  sta}',  narrowly  escaped  being  dashed  on  deck,  the  swift 
descent  tearing  the  skin  from  his  hands.  Through  life,  indeed,  he 
had  unflinching  physical  as  well  as  moral  courage,  and  seemed 
unconscious  of  fear.  He  was  officer,  too,  it  seems,  in  a  company 
of  boys  that  marched  to  salute  Count  Rochambeau  when  he  was 
on  a  visit  at  Newport,  upon  which  occasion  the  young  commander 
made  an  address,  and  marshalled  his  troop,  with  a  spirit  that  won 
much  admiration. 

If  these  trifling  mementos  indicate  a  generous  and  high-spirited 
character,  there  are  others  which  illustrate  his  thoughtfulness  and 
disinterestedness.  Among  them,  one  ma}'  be  worth  noting,  be- 
cause it  proves  that  he  had  instinctively  adopted  in  earl}'  j'ears  the 
rule  which  strictlj'  governed  his  manhood,  of  "  letting  not  his  left 

2 


18  BOYHOOD.  [^T.  1-14. 

hand  know  what  his  right  hand  did."  A  man  sick  and  in  distress 
begged  one  da}^  at  the  door.  William  observed  him,  but  was  silent, 
and  gave  nothing  at  the  time.  When  the  beggar  had  gone,  how- 
ever, he  was  seen  to  follow  him  out,  and  to  put  into  his  hand  some 
pieces  of  money,  which  must  have  been  all  that  he  had.  It  is 
remembered,  too,  that  he  used  to  visit  a  friendless  and  desolate  old 
man  in  the  neighborhood,  carrying  with  him  such  comforts  as  he 
could  command ;  and  interest  generally'  in  the  poor,  deference  for 
the  aged,  and  considerate  regard  for  the  feelings  and  rights  of 
domestics  in  the  family,  gained  for  him  the  warm  affection  due 
to  the  liberal  and  loving. 

A  gentle  and  kind  disposition  manifested  itself  also  in  his  treat- 
ment of  animals,  as,  in  a  letter  written  soon  after  leaving  college, 
he  thus  himself  declares  :  — 

"  Thanks  that  I  can  sa}'  I  have  never  killed  a  bird.  I  would  not 
crush  the  meanest  insect  which  crawls  upon  the  ground.  They 
have  the  same  right  to  life  that  I  have,  the^-  received  it  from  the 
same  Father,  and  1  will  not  mar  the  works  of  God  b}'  wanton  cruelty. 

"I  can  remember  an  incident  in  m}'  childhood,  which  has  given  a 
turn  to  my  whole  life  and  character.  I  found  a  nest  of  birds  in  m}- 
father's  field,  which  held  four  young  ones.  The}'  had  no  down  when 
I  first  discovered  them.  They  opened  their  little  mouths  as  if  they 
■vyere  hungry,  and  I  gave  them  some  crumbs  which  were  in  m}- 
pocket.  Every  day  I  returned  to  feed  them.  As  soon  as  school 
was  done,  I  would  run  home  for  some  bread,  and  sit  by  the  nest  to 
see  them  eat,  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  The}'  were  now  feathered, 
and  almost  ready  to  fly.  When  I  came  one  morning,  I  found  them 
a,lL  cut  up  into  quarters.  The  grass  round  the  nest  was  red  with 
blood.  Their  little  limbs  were  raw  and  bloody.  The  mother  was 
on  a  tree,  and  the  father  on  the  wall,  mourning  for  their  young.  I 
cried,  myself,  for  I  was  a  child.  I  thought,  too,  that  the  i)arents 
looked  on  me  as  the  author  of  their  miseries,  and  this  made  me  still 
more  unhappy.  I  wanted  to  undeceive  them.  I  wanted  to  sym- 
pathize with  and  comfort  them.  When  I  left  the  field,  they  followed 
me  with  their  eyes  and  with  mournful  reproaches.  I  was  too  young 
and  too  sincere  in  my  grief  to  make  any  apostrophes.  But  I  can 
never  forget  my  feelings.  The  impression  will  never  be  worn  away, 
nor  can  I  ever  cease  to  abhor  every  species  of  inhumanit}'  towards 
inferior  animals." 

This  sketch  of  William's  boyhood  cannot  be  more  fitly  closed 
than  with  the  following  letter  from  his  friend  in  j'outh,  and  friend 
till  dieath,  our  poet-painter,  Washington  AUston. 


1780-1794.]  DEATH  OF   HIS  FATHER,  19 

"  I  know  not  that  I  could  better  describe  him  than  as  an  open, 
brave,  and  generous  borj.     The    characters  of  boys  are,  I  beheve, 
ahiiost  always  truly  estimated  by  their  companions,  —  at  least  mor- 
ally, though  perhaps  seldom  intellectually  ;  and  these  are  generally 
assigned  to  the  several  classes  of  the  open  or  the  cunning,  the  gen- 
erous or  the  mean,  the  brave  or  the  cowardly.     And  I  well  remem- 
ber, though  he  was  several  months  my  junior  (a  matter  of  some 
importance  among  children) ,  that  I  always  looked  up  to  him  even 
in  boyhood  with  respect ;   nor  can  I  recall  a  single  circumstance 
that  ever  weakened  that  feeling.     In  our   games,  he  was  never 
known  to  take  any  undue  advantage,  but  would  give  way  at  once, 
where  there  was  the  least  doubt  on  the  point  at  issue.    And  though 
he  was  but  scantily  provided  with  pocket-money  his  little  chance 
supplies  seemed,  in  the  school-boy  phrase,  alwa3^s  to  '  burn  in  his 
pocket' ;  he  could  neither  keep  it  there,  nor  ever  expend  it  wholly 
on  himself.     On  one  occasion,  when  quite  a  little  boy,   he  had  a 
present  from  a  relative  of  a  dollar.     Such  an  excess  of  wealth  was 
never  before  in  his  possession  ;  and  I  can  now  bring  before  me  the 
very  expression  of  glee  with  which  he  came  among  us,  to  disencum- 
ber himself  of  the  load.     This  is  the  only  incident  that  I  can  now 
recall,  and  this  must  have  been  full  fifty  j-ears  ago.    He  had  the 
same  large  heart  when  a  boy,  that  animated  him  to  the  last.     His 
intellectual  endowments  are  known  to  the  Avorld  ;  but  only  his  early 
companions,  who  have  survived  him,  can  bear  witness  to  the  rare 
uniformity  of  his  moral  worth  ;  man  and  b'oy,  he  was,  in  their  true 
sense,  high-minded  and  noble-hearted." 

At  the  age  of  twelve,  William  was  sent  to  New  London,  to  pre- 
pare for  college,  under  the  care  of  his  uncle,  the  Rev.  Henry  Chan- 
ning.  And  it  was  while  he  was  residing  there,  that,  on  the  21st  of 
September,  1793,  his  father  died.  He  was  sent  for  to  come  home  ; 
and  an  aged  friend  of  the  family  still  describes  the  deep  and  general 
sympathy  called  out  by  the  appearance  of  the  funeral  procession, 
when  Francis,  the  eldest  son,  then  in  college,  and  William,  now  a 
boy  of  thirteen  years,  with  their  widowed  mother  and  the  younger 
children,  followed  the  coffin  of  their  beloved  and  universally  hon- 
ored parent  through  the  streets  of  Newport. 

This  death  made  a  momentous  change  in  the  condition  of  the 
family,  and  threw  a  heavy  load  of  responsibility  on  the  elder  sons ; 
for  the  father,  though  most  industrious  in  his  profession,  and  en- 
gaged in  large  business,  had  been  thus  far  able  to  lay  up  but  a  small 
property ;  and  the  mother,  thougli  wise  and  energetic,  found  her- 
self oppressed  with  a  weight  of  care  in  the  charge  of  nine  children. 


20  BOYHOOD.  [^T.  1-14. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  effect  of  such  a  loss  upon  a  boy  full  of 
sensibility,  conscientious  and  resolute,  like  WiUiam,  must  have 
been  to  stimulate  him  to  the  exercise  of  every  power,  and  to  the 
most  rapid  preparation  for  a  time  when  he  might  maintain  himself 
and  assist  his  famil}'.  From  easy  independence  and  cheering 
worldly  prospects,  he  and  his  had  suddenly  become  poor ;  and  at 
the  earliest  moment  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  free  his  mother 
from  the  burden  of  his  support.  More  than  that,  the  head  of  the 
house  was  taken  ;  and  he  and  his  elder  brother  must  now  become 
their  mother's  advisers,  and  guardians  of  those  younger.  The 
character  of  independent  energy,  and  thoughtful  oversight  for  every 
member  of  his  family,  thus  early  awakened,  grew  stronger  through 
life.  Doubtless,  however,  a  shade  of  premature  seriousness  was 
given  to  his  temper.  The  effect  of  this  bereavement  is  shown  by 
an  extract  from  a  letter  of  his  grandfather  EUery,  who  says  :  — 

"Your  letters  have  afforded  me  great  delight,  for  they  have  all 
discovered  that  affectionate  regard  for  30ur  mother,  your  bi-others 
and  sisters,  and  your  other  relatives,  which  naturally  flows  from  a 
feeling  and  ingenuous  mind,  and  indicates  an  amiable  disposition." 

His  brother,  too,  writes  :  — 

"  The  goodness  of  heart  which  j-ou  possess  will,  I  doubt  not, 
ever  keep  3'ou  desirous  of  liberating  our  mother  from  her  cares. 
Pass  witii  her  all  the  moments  you  can  steal  from  healthful  recrea- 
tions and  necessary  studies,  and  let  the  kind  attentions  of  filial 
affection  be  a  return  for  the  unrequitable  tenderness  which  we,  her 
beloved  children,  have  received.  Your  brothers  and  sisters  esteem 
you  for  your  friendly  disposition.  Yes,  William,  you  are  happy  in 
possessing  the  good-will  of  all." 

At  New  London  he  remained  a  year  and  more ;  and  his  uncle, 
writing  to  him  soon  after  he  entered  college,  thus  describes  the 
impression  which  his  character  and  conduct  had  left :  — 

"  It  gave  me  sensible  pleasure  to  find  3'ou,  my  dear  nephew, 
retaining  the  same  animated  sonsibilit}-  which  rendered  you  cai)able 
of  receiving  and  communicating  happiness,  and  secured  you  cordial 
welcome  while  resident  in  my  family.  Your  aunt  loves  you,  ten- 
derly, and  often  expresses  her  feelings  while  recounting  your  affec- 
tionate respect  and  attention.  Never  did  you  excite  one  painful 
emotion  in  our  breasts,  but  always  with  ^-ou  our  hearts  were 
made  glad.  We  never  can  forget  such  a  nephew,  or,  rather,  such 
a  son." 

That  he  was  earnest  and  successful  in  his  studies  also  appears  by 


1780-1794.]  REVIVAL.  21 

the  following  extract  from  another  letter  of  his  uncle,  who  was  his 
instructor :  — 

"  Without  flattery,  I  can  onl}-  sa}^  that  your  progress  was  more 
the  result  of  ^our  assiduit}'  than  of  my  attention. 

"  I  am  pleased  with  your  observations  upon  the  expectations  of 
3-our  friends,  and  your  determination  to  endeavor  to  realize  them. 
We  know  that  your  situation  and  your  genius  justify  us  in  forming 
the  most  flattering  ideas  of  the  future  eminence  of  our  nephew.  .  .  . 
Permit  me  to  indulge  the  hope  that  j'ou  will  continue  to  possess  and 
cherish  that  modesty  and  deference  to  superiors  which  has  hitherto 
been  a  distinguishing  trait  in  your  character." 

These  were  strong  words  of  praise  to  draw  from  one  singularly 
exacting  of  courteous  respect,  and  who,  though  kind  in  heart,  was 
severely  precise  in  manners.  To  this  uncle  he  owed  much  in  every 
way,  and  especially-  for  the  tone  given  to  his  religious  feelings. 
Mr.  Henry  Ciianning  had  then  been  settled  for  many  years  in  New 
London  ;  and  amid  the  gloomy  Calvinism  of  Connecticut  had  pre- 
served a  spirit  free  and  bright,  cheerful  in  hope,  and  utterly  intol- 
erant of  bigotr3'.  New  Loudon  was  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the 
"  Revivals,"  which  then  were  quite  generally  oversweeping  New 
England.  And  Mr.  Ciianning,  though  of  the  more  liberal  bod^-, 
sympathized  so  far  in  the  excitement,  tliat  a  new  spiritual  interest 
was  awakened  in  his  own  society ;  and  the  mind  of  William  received 
such  deep  and  lasting  impressions,  that  he  dated  back  to  that  period 
the  commencement  of  a  decidedly  religious  life.  His  feelings 
towards  New  London  were,  in  consequence  of  this  era  in  his  in- 
ward experience,  always  strong ;  and  we  find  a  college  classmate 
writing  to  him  thus  on  the  occasion  of  his  revisiting  it:  "I  hope 
that  tlie  poor  pilgrim  has  ere  this  trod  on  the  consecrated  ground 
of  Palestine.  New  London  you  view  with  a  partial  eye,  as  the 
place  where  30U  acquired  those  habits  of  virtue  and  morality  which 
have  always  influenced  your  conduct.  Pleasant  it  must  be  to  re- 
trace these  scenes  of  former  times." 

From  New  London,  William  went  to  Cambridge,  Massachusetts, 
where  he  entered  Harvard  College,  as  P^reshman,  in  1794,  being 
then  in  his  fifteenth  year.  And  thus  closed  a  boyhood  that,  in  its 
ekMuents  and  results,  in  the  blending  of  generous  impulses  and  fine 
powers  with  high  principle  and  pure  habits,  gave  promise  of 
greatness  which  the  future  was  amply  to  redeem. 


22  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [^t.  14-18. 

Chapter  III.  —  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

JEt.  14-18.     1794-1798. 

In  tracing  the  growth  of  WiUiam's  mind  and  character  during  the 
important  period  of  college  life,  it  is  of  interest  to  understand  the 
influences  which  surrounded  him ;  and  of  these  a  brief  sketch  is 
presented  in  the  following  extracts  from  a  letter  of  his  classmate 
and  friend,  Judge  Story.^ 

' '  You  express  a  desire  '  to  obtain  some  general  views  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  the  students  lived.'  I  believe  that  this  can 
be  best  done  b}-  giving  you  a  brief  sketch  of  the  state  of  the  college, 
and  the  relation  which  the  students  had  with  the  existing  college 
government.  Things  are  so  much  changed  since,  that  it  is  soihe- 
what  difficult  to  realise  all  the  influences  which  then  surrounded 
them 

"  In  respect  to  academical  intercourse,  the  students  had  literally 
none  that  was  not  purel}'  official,  except  with  each  other.  The 
different  classes  were  almost  strangers  to  each  other ;  and  cold  re- 
serve generallj-  prevailed  between  them.  The  system  of  '  fagging' 
(as  it  was  called)  was  just  then  dying  out,  and  I  believe  that  ni}' 
own  class  was  the  first  that  was  not  compelled  to  perform  this 
drudgery  at  the  command  of  the  Senior  class,  in  the  most  humble 
services.  The  students  had  no  connection  whatsoever  with  the 
inhabitants  of  Cambridge  by  private  social  visits.  There  was  none 
between  the  families  of  the  president  and  professors  of  the  college 
and  the  students.  The  regime  of  the  old  school  in  manners  and 
habits  then  i)revailed.  The  president  and  pi'ofessors  were  never 
approached  except  in  the  most  formal  way,  and  npon  official  occa- 
sions ;  and  in  the  college  yard  (if  I  remember  rightly)  no  student 
was  permitted  to  be  with  his  hat  on,  if  one  of  the  professors  was 

there I  must  do  all  our  instructors,  the  professors  as  well  as 

the  tutors,  the  justice  to  say,  that  their  instructions  were  very  valua- 
ble to  us,  and  that  they  all  took  a  deep  and  earnest  interest  in  our  ad- 
vancement. For  myself,  I  must  own  that  at  this  distant  day  I  enter- 
tain the  liveliest  gratitude  to  them  for  the  aid  given  by  them  to  me 
in  awakening  and  guiding  my  love  of  letters.  But  private  social 
access  to  them  did  not  belong  to  the  habits  of  the  times,  and  a  free 
and  easy  intercourse  witli  them,  which  would  now  not  be  considered 
unbecoming,  would  at  that  time  have  Jjeen  thought  somewhat  obtru- 

1  Letter  to  W.  F.  Clianning. 


1794-1798.]  RECITATIONS.  23 

sive  on  one  side,  and,  on  the  other,  would  have  exposed  the  student 
to  the  imputation  of  being  what  in  technical  language  was  called  a 
'  fisherman,'  — a  rank  and  noxious  character  in  college  annals. 

' '  These  suggestions  may  at  once  put  you  in  possession  of  the 
intra-mcenial  influences  of  college  life.  In  general,  the  students 
were  then  moral,  devoted  to  their  studies,  and  ambitious  of  dis- 
tinction. There  would  be  then,  as  now,  an  occasional  outbreak ; 
but  I  am  not  aware  that  either  immoralit}'  or  dissipation  or  habitual 
indolence  was  more  in  fashion  than  in  succeeding  times.  There 
will  alwa3's  be  a  little  sprinkling  of  these  among  students  of  an 
ardent  and  reckless  character.  In  one  particular  a  sahitar}'  change 
in  the  habits  of  life  has  taken  place.  There  is  universally  far  more 
tem[)erance  now  than  then,  in  the  use  of  wine  and  spirituous  liquors. 
But  the  instances  of  excess  were  rare,  and  were  always  frowned 
upon  by  classmates 

"  One  circumstance  is  brought  to  my  thoughts,  on  which  I  would 
for  a  moment  dwell,  because  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  gave  a  power- 
ful impulse  to  3'oung  Channing's  ambition.  At  that  period,  all  the 
scholars  of  the  class  attended  together  in  the  recitation-room  at 
the  same  time,  and  of  course  recited  their  lessons  in  the  presence 
of  each  other.  The  average  number  in  the  classes  did  not  gen- 
erally vary  in  any  important  degree  from  the  numl)ers  now  in 
college,  —  at  least  not  to  a  degree  which  would  even  now  make  the 
assemblage  of  the  whole  class  in  the  same  room  inconvenient  or 
burdensome.  This  general  assemblage  of  the  whole  class  in  the 
same  room  at  the  same  time  had,  in  my  judgment,  the  most  bene- 
ficial influence.  In  the  first  place,  it  enabled  the  whole  class  clearly 
and  accuratel}"  to  ascertain  the  relative  scholarship  and  attainments 
of  each  scholar ;  and  thus  one  great  source  of  jealous3',.the  sus- 
picion of  partiality  on  the  part  of  the  college  facult}',  was  either 
extinguished  or  greatly  mitigated,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
the  relative  rank  then  assigned  to  the  various  members  of  the  class 
by  their  own  classmates  was  generally'  correct,  impartial,  and  satis- 
factor}'.  In  the  next  place,  a  generous  spirit  of  emulation  pervaded 
the  whole  class.  We  were  proud  of  our  best  scholars,  and  awarded 
them  just  praise  with  a  liberal  courtes}' ;  and  those  wlio  were  thus 
distinguished  were  stimulated  by  high  motives  to  deserve  and  to 
secure  this  approbation.  No  man,  I  am  persuaded,  felt  more,  or 
appreciated  more  justly-,  than  your  father,  this  truly  valuable  incen- 
tive to  exertion.  He  had  then,  as  in  his  after  life,  a  lofty  ambition 
for  excellence  ;  and  he  sought  reputation  by  aims  as  pure  and 
moral  as  they  were  enlightened.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  never 
ceased  to  regret  that  the  old  system,  the  advantages  of  which  I 


24  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [^t.  14-18. 

have  thus  briefl}'  alhuled  to,  has  ever  been  departed  from  in  tlie 
college  arrangements.  If  this  were  the  proper  time  or  place  I 
would  state  many  reasons  win*  I  hold  this  opinion,  and  which,  at 
least  in  m}'  own  judgment,  make  the  change  more  than  a  doubtful 
innovation." 

It  was  amid  these  influences  and  opportunities  that  William's 
genius  and  faculties  were  to  Ije  matured.  He  was  now  in  his 
fifteenth  year,  vigorous  in  health,  elastic  in  spirits,  in  temper,  as 
we  have  seen,  enthusiastic  yet  self-governed,  with  powers  active 
and  well  disciplined  ;  and  thus  in  every  way  fitted  to  enter  upon 
this  critical  era  of  life.  AU  who  then  remember  him  speak  with 
especial  pleasure  of  his  animated  expression,  of  his  buoyant  yet 
dignified  manner,  and  of  his  general  appearance  of  overflowing  life. 
Washington  Allstou  writes  :  — 

"Though  small  in  stature,  his  person  at  that  time  was  rather 
muscular  than  slender ;  I  should  think  it  was  even  athletic,  from 
the  manner  in  which  he  prolonged  the  contests  with  heavier  antag- 
onists in  the  wrestling-matches  that  were  then  common  among  tlie 
students.  And  for  animal  spirits  he  was  no  less  remarkable  than 
for  his  intellectual  enthusiasm,  amounting  occasionall}'  to  unre- 
strained hilarity-,  but  never  passing  the  bounds  of  propriety.  I 
well  rememljer  his  laugh,  which  could  not  have  been  heartier  with- 
out being  obstreperous." 

This  laughter  is  said  to  have  been  not  rarely  called  out  by  this 
very  friend,  who,  possessed  of  the  most  radiant  humor,  penetration, 
and  sweetness,  charming  from  his  courtesy  of  manner  and  noble- 
ness of  feeling,  endowed  with  an  imagination  that  threw  a  lustre 
round  every  theme  he  touched,  was  then,  as  through  life,  a  centre 
of  attraction  to  all  who  could  appreciate  rare  genius,  eloquence, 
and  refinement  almost  feminine  in  delicac}'.  Allston's  room  was 
on  the  way  from  the  house  where  William  lived  to  the  college  ;  and 
there  he  used  to  stop  for  friendly  chat,  while  going  to  or  coming 
from  the  lecture-room.  One  da}-  he  had  a  lesson  to  be  accom- 
panied with  original  designs  in  mensuration,  and  Allston,  who  was 
already  skilful  in  the  use  of  his  pencil,  proposed  to  give  him  an 
illustration.  It  consisted  of  pyramids  of  figures  heaped  upon  one 
another's  shoulders  in  various  attitudes,  each  of  which  was  a 
slightly  caricatured  portrait  of  the  professors  and  tutors.  This 
William  ofl^ered  at  recitation  ;  and  the  drawing  was  so  spirited,  and 
the  jest  in  itself  so  harmless,  that  the  instructor  could  not  but  join 
heartily  with  the  class  in  the  merriment  it  excited.  This  slight 
anecdote  is  mentioned,  because  it  indicates  a  latent  vein  of  humor, 


1794-1798.J  SCHOLARSHIP.  25 

which,  though  hidden  in  after  years  under  a  manner  habitually 
serious,  did  yet  occasionally  emit  scintillations. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Pierce,  who  was  his  tutor,  adds  the  following 
description  of  William  as  a  student :  — 

"I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  him,  as,  at  that  time,  a  fine- 
looking,  healthy,  muscular  young  man.  But  what  I  best  remember 
was  his  excellence  as  a  scholar.  My  department  was  the  Latin 
language  ;  and  never  shall  I  forget,  while  memory  lasts,  with  what 
promptitude  and  elegance  he  rendered  into  P^nglish  the  passages 
from  the  classics  which  he  was  called  to  recite.  I  also  heard  his 
class  in  history.  He  was  alwa3's  in  his  place,  and  I  invariably 
gave  him  the  highest  mark  for  good  recitations.  The  government 
of  the  Universit}'  were,  I  believe,  unanimous  in  assigning  him  the 
first  rank  among  his  classmates.  This,  in  a  class  containing  such 
men  as  Judge  Story,  William  AVilliams,  Artemas  Sawyer,  Joseph 
P^merson,  Dr.  Tuckerman,  &c.,  was  no  small  honor." 

The  classmate,  from  whom  has  been  already  quoted  the  sketch  of 
the  influences  which  surrounded  the  students,  thus  beautifully  com- 
pletes his  friend's  portrait  as  he  was  in  college  :  — 

"  I  became  a  member,"  writes  Judge  Stor^',  "  of  the  same  class 
in  January,  1795,  and  was  then  first  introduced  to  him.  He  resided 
during  the  whole  of  his  collegiate  course  with  his  uncle,  whose 
house  was  at  some  distance  from  the  colleges  ;  and  partly-  from  this 
fact,  and  parti}'  from  his  reserved,  although  bland  deportment,  he 
did  not  associate  much  with  his  classmates  generally,  at  tlie  same 
time  that  he  drew  about  him  a  circle  of  choice  and  select  friends 
from  the  moBt  distinguished  of  his  class,  with  whom  he  indulged  in 
the  most  frank  social  intercourse,  and  b}'  whom  he  was  greatl}' 
beloved  and  respected.  So  blameless  was  his  life,  so  conciliator}' 
his  manners,  and  so  unobtrusive  his  conduct,  that  he  enjoyed  the 
rare  felicity  of  being  universally  esteemed  b}'  all  his  classmates, 
even  by  those  to  whom  he  was  least  known,  except  in  the  lecture- 
room  as  a  fellow-student.  The  little  strifes  and  jealousies  and 
rivalries  of  college  life,  in  those  days,  scarcely  reached  him  ;  and 
his  own  rank  in  scholarship  was,  from  the  beginning  to  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  academical  career,  admitted  to  be  of  the  highest  order. 
I  do  not  believe  tliat  he  had  a  single  personal  enemy  during  that 
whole  period,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  never  deserved  to  have  any  ; 
and  his  early  rei)utation,  as  it  budded,  and  blossomed,  and  bore  its 
fruits,  was  cherished  by  all  his  class  as  common  proper!}'.  We 
were  proud  of  his  distinctions,  and  gratified  when  he  was  praised. 
We  all  then  prophesied  his  future  eminence,  in  whatever  profession 


26  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [^t.  14-18. 

he  should  make  his  choice.  Speaking  for  myself,  I  can  trul^-  say 
that  the  qualities  of  mind  and  character  which  then  were  unfolded 
to  my  own  view  were  precisely  the  same  which  in  after  life  gave 
him  such  celebrit}'. 

"Perhaps  in  no  single  study  was  he  superior  to  all  his  class- 
mates.    In  the  classical  studies  of  that  da}-  he  was  among  the  first, 

if  not  the  first ;  in  Latin  more  accomplished  than  in  Greek 

His  principal  love  was  for  historical  and  literary  studies  ;  for  English 
literature  in  its  widest  extent,  and  for  those  comprehensive  gener- 
alizations upon  human  life,  institutions,  and  interests,  which  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  advancement  of  his  race  and  his  purit}"  of  heart 
led  him  to  cherish  and  cultivate  with  profound  attachment.  I 
remember  well  with  what  a  kindling  zeal  he  spoke  on  all  such  sub- 
jects ;  and  one  might  almost  then  see  playing  about  him  the  gentle 
graces  and  the  rai)t  devotion  of  a  Fenelon. 

"In  one  particular  he  far  excelled  all  his  classmates,  and  I 
mention  it  because  it  is  precisely  that  which  in  after  life  constituted 
the  basis  of  his  fame,  —  I  mean  his  power  of  varied  and  sustained 
written  composition.  It  was  racy,  flowing,  full,  glowing  with  life, 
chaste  in  ornament,  vigorous  in  structure,  and  beautiful  in  finish. 
It  abounded  with  eloquence  of  expression, — the  spontaneous 
effusion  of  a  quick  genius  and  a  cultivated  taste,  —  and  was  as 
persuasive  as  it  was  imposing.  All  of  us  —  by  which  I  mean  his 
academical  contemporaries  —  listened  to  his  discourses  at  the  liter- 
ary exhibitions,  and  at  Commencement,  with  admiration  and  delight. 
If  I  might  venture  to  rely  on  the  impressions  of  those  days,  which 
yet  fasten  on  my  memory  as  truths  unaffected  by  youthful  excite- 
ment, I  should  be  tempted  to  say  that  we  all  listened  to  him  on 
these  occasions  with  the  most  devoted  attention  ;  and  that  tlie  mel- 
lifluous tones  of  his  voice  fell  on  our  ears  with  somewhat  of  the 
power  which  Milton  has  attributed  to  Adam  when  the  angel 
ended,  so 

'  that  we  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear.' 

I  need  scarcely  add,  that  at  the  public  exhibitions  of  his  class  he 
received  the  first  and  highest  part ;  and  on  receiving  his  degree  at 
Commencement,  took  also  the  first  and  highest  oration,  with  the 
approval  of  all  his  class  that  he  was  the  worthiest  of  it,  and  that 
he  was  truly  princeps  inter  pares.  Honors  thus  early  Avon  and  con- 
ceded are  not  without  their  value  or  their  use  as  prognostics  of  an 
auspicious  and  brilliant  day." 

It  will  please  the  generous  to  know,  that,  while  Judge  Story  thus 


1794-1798.]  LITERARY  SOCIETIES.  27 

SO  cloail}-  bore  testimony  to  his  friend's  pre-eminence  as  a  scholar, 
Dr.  Channing  was  equally  decided  in  assigning  the  first  place  of 
honor  to  his  distinguished  classmate.  He  often  said,  "Judge 
Story  was  entitled  to  the  first  part ;  but  he  chose  a  poem,  and  the 
oration  fell  to  me." 

It  may  be  encouraging  to  students,  also,  to  learn  that  young 
Channing  did  not  gain  the  charm  of  style  referred  to  without 
efibi-t.  He  said  that  his  first  attempts  were  most  awkward,  and 
that  he  accustomed  himself  to  compose  mentally  while  walkino-  to 
and  from  the  college.  He  also  studied  elocution  and  rhetoi'ic  as 
an  art,  with  the  aid  of  Longinus,  Harris,  Watts,  and  Sheridan. 
He  met  friends,  too,  in  private,  to  read  and  criticise  each  other's 
writings.  Above  all,  he  zealously  took  a  part  in  the  various  lit- 
erary societies,  of  his  connection  with  which  the  Hon.  D.  A.  White 
of  Salem,  who,  though  in  the  class  before  Channing,  3'et  knew  him 
well,  has  communicated  the  following  detailed  account. 

"  His  connection  with  these  societies  could  not  fail  to  have  an 
important  influence  in  his  education, —  scarcely  less,  perhaps,  taken 
in  all  its  bearings,  than  the  established  course  of  college  studies. 
The  literary  exercises  and  the  social  communion  which  these  so- 
cieties afforded  were  hapi)ily  suited  to  the  development  of  his  fine 
powers  and  ardent  sympathies,  his  free  and  independent  spirit, 
his  social,  friendly,  and  benevolent  heart.  You  will  therefore  be 
interested,  1  think,  to  know  something  of  them. 

"The  first  literary  society  in  which  we  met  as  members  was  the 
Speaking  Club,  since  called  the  Institute  of  1770,  the  principal 
object  of  whicli  was  mutual  improvement  in  elocution  and  oratoiy. 
The  society 'consisted  of  members  from  the  two  middle  classes, 
twelve  to  fifteen  from  each,  chosen  near  the  close  of  the  Freshman 
year,  and  retiring  at  the  close  of  the  Junior  year,  with  a  valedictory 
address  from  one  of  the  members  previously  appointed  for  the 
purpose.  I  find  '  Channing' first  mentioned  among  those  chosen 
from  his  class.  Young  as  he  was,  he  was  also  elected  their  pres- 
ident. To  show  the  impression  which  at  that  early  period  he  made 
upon  me,  and  I  doubt  not  equally  upon  others,  I  may  observe, 
which  I  now  distinctly  remember,  tliat,  in  delivering  the  valedictory 
address  in  I)ohalf  of  the  members  from  my  class,  as  my  eye  rested 
on  him,  I  felt  a  respect  for  his  taste  and  judgment,  for  his  authority 
in  criticism,  which  no  other  auditor  inspired.  I  might  apply  the 
same  remark  to  another  occasion  afterwards,  in  a  different  societ}', 
when  I  stood  in  a  similar  relation  to  him.  The  authority  which  he 
thus  early  acquired  among  us  arose  not  more  from  his  general  rep- 


28  COLLEGE  LIFE.  \JEt.  H-18. 

Illation  as  a  scholar  and  critic,  tlian  from  the  active  part  which  he 
took  in  all  our  meetings,  and  the  sound  judgment  and  earnest 
eloquence  which  often  distinguished  his  remarks.  His  whole  de- 
portment and  conversation  among  his  associates  tended  to  the 
same  result.  With  his  natural  ardor  and  enthusiasm  were  united 
so  much  dignit}-  and  sweetness  of  manner  and  disposition,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  be  acquainted  with  him,  however  transiently, 
without  feeling  for  him  a  sincere  respect  and  esteem. 

''  The  practice  of  the  Speaking  Club,  at  their  meetings,  which 
were  held  in  the  evening  at  some  retired  room  in  the  town  of 
Cam])ridge,  was,  for  a  portion  of  the  members  to  declaim  in  rota- 
tion, while  each  declaimer,  after  his  performance,  stood  aside  to 
receive  the  remarks  which  an}'  of  his  brethren  might  think  proper 
to  offer.  All  apparent  faults  of  the  speaker,  which  he  might 
correct,  or  which  others  should  avoid,  were  freely  pointed  out  and 
commented  upon,  yet  alwa^^s  in  a  spirit  of  candor  and  kindness. 
Sometimes  different  ^iews  would  be  taken  by  various  members, 
oiving  rise  to  interesting  discussions.  Thus  these  meetings  became 
schools  of  mutual  improvement  in  extemporaneous  s[)eaking,  as 
well  as  correct  elocution.  No  one  could  be  better  qualified  to  be 
both  teacher  and  learner  in  such  schools  than  young  Channing. 
Full  of  life  and  energy,  and  actuated  alike  by  an  ardent  love  of 
knowledge  and  b}-  social  benevolence,  his  noble  powers  of  thought 
and  feehng  were  never  suffered  to  sleep  when  any  intellectual  or 
moral  good  was  attainable  for  himself  or  others. 

"But  improvement  in  pnblic  speaking  was  not  the  only,  nor 
indeed  the  chief,  advantage  derived  from  being  a  member  of  this 
society.  The  general  influence  upon  an  ingenuous  young  man, 
arising  from  a  liberal  intercourse  with  so  many  of  the  most  intel- 
ligent and  virtuous  scholars  of  various  classes,  engaged  in  a  course 
of  interesting  exercises  for  their  common  benefit,  could  scarcely 
be  too  highly  appreciated.  His  interest  in  the  proper  objects  of 
education  would  be  increased,  and  his  motives  and  views  elevated 
above  all  unworthy  pursuits,  while  he  enjoyed  the  l)cst  means  of 
knowing  the  real  character  of  his  most  respectable  classmates,  and 
wisely  forming  those  friendships  which  naturally  spring  from  col- 
lege intimacies,  and  which,  when  wisely  formed,  become  blessings 
through  life. 

"  Nearly  at  the  same  time  that  Mr.  Channing  left  the  Speaking 
Club,  he  was  chosen  into  the  society  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  and 
continued  to  enjoy,  during  his  Senior  year,  the  advantages  of  an 
intimate  literary  intercourse  with  the  distinguished  scholars  of  his 
own  class.     You  are  too  well  ac(|uaintcd  with  the  character  of  this 


1794-1798.]  RELIGIOUS  INFLUENCES.  29 

society,  which  has  always  been  a  public  one,  to  make  it  necessary 
for  me  to  say  anything  more  about  it  than  to  give  a  general  idea 
of  the  literary  exercises  and  discussions  wlucli  engaged  tlie  atten- 
tion of  its  resident  members  at  their  regular  meetings,  during  the 
last  3'ear  at  college.  The  object  of  these  meetings  was  improve- 
ment in  English  composition,  the  art  of  reasoning,  and  the  practice 
of  speaking ;  and  the  principal  exercises  were  dissertations  and 
forensic  arguments,  previously  written,  and  read  at  the  meetings, 
witli  occasional  debates  and  colloquial  discussions. 

"There  was  another  society',  of  a  similar  intellectual  character, 
into  which  Clianning  was  elected,  called  the  Adelphi,  instituted  in 
1785,  designed  for  religious  improvement,  but  consisting  princi- 
pally of  those  membei's  of  the  Senior  class  who  expected  to  study 
theology  as  a  profession.  Their  meetings  were  liekl  on  Sunday 
evenings,  and  their  exercises,  which  were  of  a  devotional  and 
religious  character,  were  chiefly  dissertations,  or  discourses,  and 
discussions  on  topics  connected  with  theology  and  the  clerical 
profession.^ 

"  The  Hasty-Pudding  Club,  composed  of  members  of  the  Junior 
class,  was  formed  more  exclusively  for  social  enjoyment  and  rec- 
reation. It  originated  with  my  class  in  1795,  at  the  beginning  of 
our  Junior  year,  numbering  about  twent}'  associates.  Being  trans- 
mitted to  the  next  class,  as  they  commenced  Juniors,  it  became  a 
permanent  institution.  I  well  remember  the  animating  presence 
of  Clianning  among  those  to  whom  we  committed  the  society  on 
the  delivery  of  the  first  anniversary  address 

"  I  cannot,  therefore,  easily  imagine  a  more  eligible  situation  for 
3'oung  Clianning  than  the  one  he  enjoyed  while  a  student  in  Har- 
vard College,  —  considering,  too,  his  peculiar  advantage  of  living 
in  the  family  of  his  uncle,  the  late  Chief  Justice  Dana,  where  the 
want  of  refined  domestic  societ}',  the  principal  defect  of  an  academic 
residence,  was  so  entirely  supplied  to  him.  Most  faithfully  did  he 
improve  the  various  privileges  he  enjoyed,  making,  undoubtedl}', 
more  rapid  progress  in  good  learning  and  intellectual  accomplish- 
ments than  any  of  his  fellow-students,  or  than  he  himself  ever  made 
in  any  other  equal  portion  of  his  life." 

TIius  far  a  view  has  been  offered  of  the  general  influences,  only, 
wliich  helped  to  form  young  Channing's  mind.  But  far  more  fruit- 
ful germs  were  planted  in  him  by  the  religious  and  social  excite- 
ments of  the  time,  which  were  scattering,  as  by  the  hands  of  the 

^  Clianning  delivered  before  this  society  a  discourse,  wliich  was  so  much 
liked  that  he  was  strongly  urged  by  his  fellows  to  print  it. 


30  COLLEGE   LIFE.  [Mr.  14-18. 

tempest,  the  seecLs  of  new  views  of  man,  societ}',  and  human  life. 
He  has  fortunately  left  the  following  mementos  of  the  power  which 
this  stirring  period  exerted  upon  himself :  — 

"  College  was  never  in  a  worse  state  than  when  I  entered  it. 
Society'  was  passing  through  a  most  critical  stage.  The  French 
Revohition  had  diseased  the  imagination  and  unsettled  the  under- 
standing of  men  everywhere.  The  old  foundations  of  social  order, 
loyalt}',  tradition,  habit,  reverence  for  antiquit}',  were  everywhere 
shaken,  if  not  subverted.  The  authority  of  the  past  was  gone. 
The  old  forms  were  outgrown,  and  new  ones  had  not  taken  their 
place.  The  tone  of  books  and  conversation  was  presumptuous  and 
daring.  The  tendency  of  all  classes  was  to  sce[)ticism.  At  such 
a  moment,  the  difficulties  of  education  were  necessarily  multiplied. 
The  work  required  men  of  comprehensive  and  original  minds,  able 
to  adapt  themselves  to  the  new  state  of  the  world.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  that  the  government  and  teachers  of  the  college,  most 
of  them  of  mature  years,  and  belonging  to  the  old  school,  should 
understand  little  of  the  wants  of  the  times.  The  system  of  govern- 
ment and  instruction  went  on  very  much  as  it  had  done  for  years 
before,  and  the  result  was  a  state  of  great  insubordination,  and 
the  almost  total  absence  of  the  respect  due  to  individuals  of  so 
much  worth.  The  state  of  morals  among  the  students  was  any- 
thing but  good  ;  but  poverty,  a  dread  of  del)t,  well-chosen  friends, 
the  pleasures  of  intellectual  improvement,  regard  to  my  surviving 
parent,  and  an  almost  instinctive  shrinking  from  gross  vice,  to 
which  natural  timidity  and  religious  principle  contributed  not  a 
little,  i)roved  effectual  safeguards.  I  look  back  on  the  innocence 
of  my  early  life  with  no  self-complacency,  and  with  no  disi)osi- 
tion  to  exalt  myself  above  those  who  yielded  to  temptation,  and 
among  whom  I  doubt  not  were  much  nobler  characters  than  my 
own.  But  I  do  recollect  it  with  great  satisfiiction,  and  with  fer- 
vent gratitude  to  Divine  Providence.  Had  the  bounds  of  purity 
once  been  broken,  I  know  not  that  I  should  ever  have  returned  to 
virtue." 

Judge  "White  bears  a  similar  testimon}'.     He  writes  :  — 

"To  give  yon  some  idea  of  the  lively  interest  taken  in  these 
subjects  by  him  and  the  students  generally  at  that  time.  I  will 
cop3'  a  passage  respecting  it  from  my  journal :  —  '  "When  1  entered 
college,  the  French  Revolution  had  broken  up  the  foundations  of 
religion  and  morals,  as  well  as  government,  and  contiiuied  to  rage 
for  some  years  with  its  utmost  fury,  spreading  its  disastrous  influ- 
ence throughout  the  civilized  world,  and  pouring  upon  our  country' 


1794-1798.1  PREVALENT   SCEPTICISM.  31 

a  flood  of  infidel  and  licentious  principles.  Our  colleges  could  not 
escape  the  contagion  of  these  principles  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
to  these,  and  the  pernicious  books  embodying  thera,  much  of  the 
disorderly  conduct,  and  most  of  the  infidel  and  irreligious  spirit, 
which  prevailed  at  tliat  period  among  the  students  at  Cambridge,  may 
justly  be  attributed.  The  patrons  and  governors  of  the  college 
made  efforts  to  counteract  the  effect  of  these  fatal  principles  by 
exhortation,  and  preaching,  and  prayer,  as  well  as  by  the  publica- 
tion and  distribution  of  good  books  and  pamphlets. 

"  'Watson's  Apology  for  the  Bible,  in  answer  to  Paine's  Age  of 
Reason,  was  published  or  furnished  for  the  students  at  college,  by 
the  Corporation,  in  1796,  and  every  one  of  them  was  presented 
with  a  copy.  8o  deeply  and  so  generally  had  the  French  mania 
seized  upon  the  popular  mind  in  this  country,  and  so  susceptible  of 
its  fiery  influence  were  the  ardent  spirits  of  young  men,  all  alive 
to  freedom  of  thought,  of  action,  and  indulgence,  that  reason, 
argument,  and  persuasion  had  for  a  time  no  power  against  it.  Its 
own  horrible  manifestation  of  itself  at  length  gave  them  power  to 
overcome  it,  and  scholars  as  well  as  people  were  roused  from  their 
delusion,  and  brought  to  look  back  upon  it  with  shame  and  amaze- 
ment.' " 

It  was  the  native  tone  of  young  Channing's  spirit,  however, 
which  made  these  movements  of  the  age  instructive  to  him.  Judge 
Story  most  justly  adds  :  — 

"  From  what  has  been  alread}^  stated,  j-ou  will  readil}'  be  enabled 
to  comprehend  the  general  influences,  the  genius  of  the  place, 
which  surrounded  your  father  during  his  college  life.  If  I  were  to 
venture,  however,  upon  giving  an  opinion  upon  such  a  subject, 
necessarily  conjectural,  I  should  say  that  there  were  few  or  none, 
of  an  external  character,  either  powerful  or  active.  What  he  then 
was,  was  mainly  owing  to  the  impulses  of  his  own  mind  and  heart, 
—  warm,  elevated,  ambitious  of  distinction,  pure,  and  energetic. 
His  associations  were  with  the  best  scholars  of  his  class.  His 
friendships  were  mainly  confined  to  them.  He  neither  loved  nor 
courted  the  idle  or  the  indifferent ;  and  with  the  vicious  he  had  no 
communion  of  pursuit  or  feeling.  He  then  loved  popularity,  but 
it  was  the  popularity  (as  has  been  well  said  on  another  occasion) 
that  follows,  and  is  not  sought  after.  It  is  that  which  is  won  by 
the  pursuit  of  noble  ends  by  noble  means.  But  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  external  influences  were  not  those  which  mainly  con- 
tributed to  fix  the  character  of  his  life.  The  influences  which  seem 
to  me  to  have  regulated  his  pursuits,  his  taste,  his  feelings,  and 


32  COLLEGE   LIFE.  [JEr.  14-18. 

his  principles  were  chiefly  from  within,  —  the  workings  of  genius 
upon  large  materials,  a  deep  and  wakeful  sensibility-,  an  ardent  love 
of  truth  and  moral  purit}',  a  conscience  quickened  and  chastened 
by  an  earnest  sense  of  religious  obligation,  and  a  spirit  elevated  by 
a  warm  interest  in  the  human  race." 

And  this  leads  to  what  was  his  most  vital  experience  in  college. 
The  more  his  character  and  mind  matured,  the  more  earnestl}'  did 
he  devote  himself  to  aspirations  after  moral  greatness.  He  read 
with  delight  the  Stoics,  and  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  stern 
purity  which  they  inculcated.  But  the  two  authors  who  most 
served  to  guide  his  thoughts  at  this  period  were  Hutcheson  and 
Ferguson.  It  was  while  reading,  one  da}',  in  the  former,  some 
of  the  various  passages  in  which  he  asserts  man's  cai)acit3'  for 
disinterested  affection,  and  considers  virtue  as  the  sacrifice  of 
private  interests  and  the  bearing  of  private  evils  for  the  public 
good^or  as  self-devotion  to  absolute,  universal  good,  that  there 
suddenly  burst  upon  his  mind  that  view  of  the  dignity  of  human 
nature  which  was  ever  after  to  "uphold  and  cherish"  him,  and 
thenceforth  to  be  "the  fountain  light  of  all  his  da}-,  tlie  master 
light  of  all  his  seeing."  He  was,  at  the  time,  walking  as  he  read, 
beneath  a  clump  of  willows  3-et  standing  in  the  meadow  a  little 
to  the  north  of  Judge  Dana's.  This  was  his  favorite  retreat  for 
study,  being  then  quite  undisturbed  and  private,  and  offering  a  most 
serene  and  cheerful  prospect  across  green  meadows  and  the  glisten- 
ing river  to  the  Brookline  hills.  The  place  and  the  hour  were 
always  sacred  in  his  memory,  and  he  frequently  referred  to  them 
with  grateful  awe.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  then  passed  through 
a  new  spiritual  birth,  and  entered  upon  the  day  of  eternal  peace  and 
jo}-.  The  glory  of  the  Divine  disinterestedness,  the  privilege  of 
existing  in  a  universe  of  progressive  order  and  beauty,  the  pos- 
sibilities of  spiritual  destiny,  the  sublimity  of  devotedness  to  the 
will  of  Infinite  Love,  penetrated  his  soul ;  and  he  was  so  borne 
away  in  rapturous  visions,  that,  to  quote  his  own  words,  as  spoken 
to  a  friend  in  later  j-ears,  "  I  longed  to  die,  and  felt  as  if  heaven 
alone  could  give  room  for  the  exercise  of  such  emotions  ;  but  when 
I  found  I  must  live,  I  cast  about  to  do  something  worthv  of  these 
great  thoughts  ;  and  my  entlmsiasm  at  that  age,  being  tlien  but 
fifteen,  turning  strongl}-  to  the  female  sex,  I  considered  that  they 
were  the  powers  which  ruled  the  world,  and  that,  if  they  would 
bestow  their  favor  on  the  right  cause  only,  and  never  be  diverted 
by  caprice,  all  would  be  fitly  arranged,  and  triumph  was  sure. 
Animated  with  this  view,  which  unfolded  itself  with  great  rapidity 


1794-1798.]  HUTCHESON  AND  FERGUSON.  33 

and  in  man}'  bearings,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  this  lad}*,"  —  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  his  wife's  arm,  who  was  listening  liy  his  side,  — 
"  but  I  never  got  courage  to  send  the  letter,  and  have  it  3'et." 
This  holy  hour  was  but  the  first  wind-flower  ol"  the  spring,  how- 
ever, the  opening  of  a  long  series  of  experiences  by  which  he  was 
to  be  led  up  to  perfect  consecration.  It  is  a  significant  fact,  that 
in  this  time  of  exaltation,  when  the  young  moral  kniglit-errant 
took  his  vow  of  fidelit}'  and  was  girt  with  the  sword  of  love,  his 
heart  should  have  instinctivel}'  sought  the  concert  in  action  of 
woman.  This  faith  in  her  power  of  disinterested  virtue,  so  early 
felt,  grew  alwa3-s  stronger  ;  and  if  disa})pointment  in  the  characters 
and  deeds  of  men  made  him  ever  falter  for  a  moment  in  his  gener- 
ous aims,  he  found  his  hope  and  heroism  renewed  by  woman's 
purity  and  earnestness. 

As  Hutcheson  was  the  medium  of  awakening  within  him  the 
consciousness  of  an  exhaustless  tendency  in  the  human  soul  to 
moral  perfection,  so  Fei-guson  on  Civil  Society  was  the  means  of 
concentrating  his  energies  upon  the  thought  of  social  progress. 
Years  afterwards,  his  rememl)rance  of  the  enthusiasm  in  the  cause 
of  humanity,  first  called  out  in  him  li}'  this  book,  was  so  strong, 
that  he  recommended  it  in  terms  Avhich  would  certainl}'  be  thought 
by  most  readers  greatly  to  exaggerate  its  merits.  But  it  is  instruc- 
tive thus  to  learn  the  agency  whence  the  mind  and  will  of  a  man 
who  in  after  life  made  himself  so  widely  felt  received  tiieir  peculiar 
direction.  In  his  Junior  year  he  had  alread}'  become  a  moral  and 
social  reformer. 

In  the  letter  describing  his  classmate's  position  as  a  student, 
Judge  Story  aays  he  had  but  little  relish  for  mathematics  and  meta- 
physics. This  was,  however,  a  misconception,  and  is  contradicted 
by  his  own  explicit  statements.  Indeed,  his  taste  was  prematurely 
developed  for  philosophical  investigation.  His  very  earliest  at- 
tempt at  sustained  composition  was  an  essay  on  Electricit}',  and 
his  love  of  natural  science  was  alwajs  strong.  He  delighted,  too, 
in  geometiy,  and  felt  so  rare  a  pleasure  in  the  perfection  of  its  dem- 
onstrations, that  he  took  the  fifth  book  of  Euclid  with  him  as  an 
entertainment  during  one  vacation.  In  relation  to  this  point,  his 
classmate,  W.  Williams,  writes  :  — 

"  The  Sophomore  j-ear  gave  us  Euclid  to  measure  our  strength. 
Manj- halted  at  the  ^  pons  asinornm.'  But  Channing  could  go  over 
clear  at  the  first  trial,  as  could  some  twelve  or  fifteen  of  us.  This 
fact  is  stated  to  show  that  he  had  a  mind  able  to  comprehend  the 
abstrusities  of  mathematics,  though  to  my  apprehension  he  excelled 

3 


34  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [JEt.  14-18. 

more  decidedly  in  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  and  had  a  stronger 
inclination  to  polite  literature." 

But  it  was  man's  spiritual  nature  and  relations  which  chiefly  at- 
tracted his  attention.  He  carcfuU}'  studied,  at  this  time,  Locke, 
Berkeley,  Rcid,  Hume,  Priestley',  and  especially  Price.  And  while 
reading  JoufTroy,  in  1840,  he  said  to  a  friend:  ''I  have  found 
here  a  fact  which  interests  me  personally  very  much.  Jouflroy  says 
that  Dr.  Price's  Dissertations  were  translated  into  German  at  the 
time  of  their  first  appearance,  and  produced  a  much  greater  impres- 
sion there  than  they  did  in  England  ;  and  he  thinks  the}-  were  the 
first  movers  of  the  German  mind  in  the  transcendental  direction. 
Now,  I  read  Price  when  I  was  in  college.  Piice  saved  me  from 
Locke's  Philosophy.  He  gave  me  the  doctrine  of  ideas,  and  during 
my  life  I  have  written  the  words  Love,  Right,  &c.,  with  a  capital. 
That  book  probably  moulded  my  philosophy  into  the  form  it  has 
alwa3's  retained." 

One  other  intellectual  influence,  which  took  strong  hold  of  him, 
deserves,  too,  special  notice.  This  was  the  newl,y  revived  interest 
in  Shakespeare.  The  young  men  at  Harvard  were  just  then  i)as- 
sionatcly  given  up  to  the  study  of  the  great  dramatist ;  and  Chan- 
ning's  taste  was  so  much  moulded  by  the  impression  of  his  genius, 
that  through  life  he  was  delighted  by  few  intellectual  treats  so 
highly  as  by  recitations  from  England's  first  poet. 

The  political  questions  of  the  day,  however,  were  the  most  quick- 
ening excitement  to  a  spirit  so  philanthropic  and  hopeful,  and 
through  his  whole  college  course  Chauning  was  a  fervent  politician. 
As  has  before  been  said,  one  of  his  most  favorite  studies  was  his- 
tory, and  among  his  manuscripts  of  this  period  is  a  long,  minute, 
and  carefully  prepared  essay  on  the  English  Revolution.  In  public 
and  private,  in  friendly  conversation,  debating  societies,  themes, 
and  college  parts,  he  took  every  occasion  to  manifest  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  social  agitations  of  the  age.  But  the  most  def- 
inite evidence  of  his  political  zeal  may  be  found  in  the  two 
following  incidents,  the  first  of  which  is  thus  narrated  by  Judge 
8tory  :  — 

"  There  was  one  circumstance  of  a  public  and  political  character, 
which  was  felt  with  no  small  intensity  among  us  near  the  close  of 
our  collegiate  life.  I  allude  to  the  i)olitiial  controversies  between 
our  national  government  and  that  of  France,  which  then  agitated 
the  whole  country,  and  ultimately  led  to  that  sort  of  quasi  war  and 
non-intercourse  which  the  public  history  of  the  times  has  fully  ex- 
plained.    The  party  then  known  by  the  name  of  Federalists  pos- 


1794-1798.J  INTEREST  IN  TOLITICS.  35 

sessed  a  very  large  portion  of  the  wealth,  the  talents,  and  the 
influence  of  the  country.  President  Adams  was  then  at  the  head 
of  tlie  national  administration;  a  majority  of  Congress  supported 
a  I  his  leading  measures  ;  and  in  New  England  his  popularitN"  was 
almost  unbounded,  and  sustained  by  a  weiirht  of  opinion  and  of 
numbers  which  is  without  example  in  our  country.  The  opposition 
to  Ins  administration  here  was  comparatively  small,  although  in  the 
Southern  States  it  was  formidable.  Party  spirit  ran  exceedinalv 
high,  and,  indeed,  with  almost  irrepressible  furv.  Badges  of  lo\-- 
alty  to  our  own  government  and  of  hatred  to  France  were  every- 
where worn  in  New  England,  and  the  cockade  was  a  sio-nal  of 
patriotic  devotion  to  '  Adams  and  libertj-.'  ° 

"It  was  impossible  that  the  academical  walls  could  escape  the 
common  contagion.     The  students  became  exceedingly  interested 
in  the  grave  questions  then  before  the  country.     They  were  nearly 
all  united,  heart  and  hand,  in  favor  of  the  national  administration, 
and  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of  their  country.     In  our  Senior 
year  (1798),  your  father,  who  was  among  the  most  wann  and  de- 
cided in  his  political  opinions,  procured  a  meeting  to  be  had  of  tlie 
students,  with  the  sanction  of  the  College  government,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  expressing  their  opinions  on  the  then  existing  crisis  of  our 
public  affairs.     The  meeting  was  held.     He  made  a  very  eloquent 
and  powerful  speech,  and  was  seconded  with  great  zeal  and  ear- 
nestness by  myself  and  others.     The  result  was,  that  a  committee 
was  appointed  to  draw  up  an  address  to  President  Adams,  of  which 
your  lather  was  the  chairman.     The  address,  with  the  exception  of 
a  single  passage,  afterwards  added,  was  written  by  himself;  it  was 
reported  to  the  students,  and  was  by  them  accepted  by  acclamation. 
It  was  sent  to  President  Adams,  who  made  a  written  reply  in  a 
very  commendatory  style  ;   and  both  the  address  and  the  answer 
were  published  in  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  and  received  general 
applause." 

In  the  Boston  Centinel  of  May  19,  1798,  it  is  found  thus  re- 
ported :  — 

"Harvard  University. 

"  The  committee  of  the  students  of  Harvard,  mentioned  in  the 
last  Centinel,  offered  the  following  address,  which  was  immediately 
signed  by  one  hundred  and  seventy  students.^ 

^  The  College  contained  at  that  time  about  173  students,  according  to  the 
number  of  graduates  in  the  Triennial  Catalogue  for  1798,  1799,  1800,  and 
1801. 


36  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [-^t.  14-18. 

"ADDRESS 

TO    ITTS    EXCELLENCY    JOHN    ADAMS, 
PRESIDENT  OF  THE  ITXITED  STATES. 

**  Sir,  — "We  flatter  ourselves  you  will  not  be  displeased  at  hearing 
that  the  walls  of  your  native  seminary  are  now  inhabited  bv  youth 
possessing  sentiments  congenial  witli  \-our  own.  A\^e  do  not  i)re- 
tend  to  great  political  sagacity' ;  we  wish  only  to  convince  mankind 
that  we  inherit  the  intrepid  spirit  of  our  ancestors,  and  disdain  sub- 
mission to  the  will  of  a  rapacious,  lawless,  and  imperious  nation. 
Though  removed  from  active  life,  we  have  watched  with  anxiety 
the  interests  of  our  country.  We  liave  seen  a  nation  in  Europe 
grasping  at  universal  conquest,  trampling  on  the  laws  of  God  and 
nations,  s^'stematizing  rapine  and  plunder,  destroying  foreign  gov- 
ernments by  the  strength  of  her  arms  or  the  pestilence  of  her  em- 
braces, and  scattering  principles  which  subvert  social  order,  raise 
the  storms  of  domestic  faction,  and  perpetuate  the  horrors  of  revo- 
lution. We  have  seen  this  same  nation  violating  our  neutral  riglits, 
spurning  our  pacific  proposals,  her  piratical  citizens  sweeping  our 
ships  from  the  seas,  and  venal  presses  under  her  control  pouring 
out  torrents  of  abuse  on  men  who  have  grown  gray  in  our  service. 
We  have  seen  her  ministers  in  tliis  country  insulting  our  govern- 
ment by  a  daring,  unprecedented,  and  contemptuous  appeal  to  the 
people,  and  her  agents  at  home  offering  conditions  which  slaves 
whose  necks  have  grown  to  the  yoke  would  reject  with  indignation. 
We  have  seen  this.  Sir,  and  our  youthful  blood  has  boiled  within 
us.  When,  in  opposition  to  such  conduct,  we  contem[)late  tlie 
measures  of  our  own  government,  we  cannot  but  admire  and  ven- 
erate the  unsullied  integrity,  the  decisive  prudence,  and  dignified 
firmness  wliicli  liave  uniformly  characterized  your  administration. 
Impressed  witli  these  sentiments,  we  now  solemnly  oM'er  the  un- 
wasted  ardor  and  unimpaired  energies  of  our  youth  to  the  service 
of  our  country-.  Our  lives  are  our  only  property* ;  and  we  were  not 
the  sons  of  those  who  sealed  our  liberties  with  their  Itlood,  if  we 
would  not  defend  with  these  lives  that  soil  which  now  affords  a 
peaceful  grave  to  the  mouldering  bones  of  our  forefixthers." 

The  other  incident  referred  to  at  once  illustrates  the  state  of  feel- 
ing in  those  times,  and  gives  proof  that  the  unconquerable  love 
of  free  thought  and  speech,  which  characterized  Channing's  man- 
hood, was  strong  in  youth. 

At  the  graduation  of  his  class,  the  highest  honor,  that  is,  the 
closing  oration  at  Commencement,  was  assigned  to  him.  Tlie  sub- 
ject was  "The  Present  Age."     But  a  condition  was  added,  that  all 


1794-1798.]  ORATION.  37 

political  discussion  should  be  excluded.  The  reason  for  this  re- 
striction was,  that  the  students  of  the  previous  j-ear  had  given  great 
offence  to  the  Democratic  part}-  by  the  severity  of  their  remarks. 
And  as  the  college  faculty  were  on  the  Federal  side,  candor  seemed 
to  demand  that  Commencement  day  should  not  be  imbittered  by 
political  jealousies.  Thej'  therefore  prohibited  the  introduction  of 
part}'  questions.  The  class,  however,  were  highly  incensed  at  what 
they  thought  an  intolerable  infringement  of  their  rights  ;  and  one  of 
them  wrote  to  Channing  in  the  following  fiery  strain :  — 

"  I  could  join  you,  my  friend,  in  offering  an  unfeigned  tear  to  the 
manes  of  those  joys  which  are  forever  fled ;  but  indignation  has 
dried  up  the  source  from  which  that  tear  must  flow.  The  govern- 
ment of  college  have  completed  the  climax  of  their  despotism. 
They  have  obtained  an  arret,  which  from  its  features  I  could  swear 
is  the  offspring  of  the  French  Directory.  Although  they  pretend 
to  be  firm  friends  to  American  libert}-  and  independence,  their  em- 
bargo on  politics,  which  has  subjected  you  to  so  many  inconveniences, 
is  strong  proof  to  me  that  they  are  Jacobins,  or  at  best  pretended 
patriots,  who  have  not  courage  to  defend  the  rights  of  their  countrj'. 

"  William,  should  you.  be  deprived  of  a  degree  for  not  performing 
at  Commencement,  every  friend  of  liberty'  must  consider  it  as  a 
glorious  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  your  country." 

The  "  inconveniences  "  referred  to  arose  from  the  fact  that  Chan- 
ning, so  soon  as  he  learned  the  restrictions,  formall}'  declined  to 
receive  his  part.  The  President  at  first  accepted  his  resignation, 
thinking  it  improbable  that  a  young  man  would  be  willing  to  give 
up  the  honors  of  the  day,  and  even  to  endanger  his  degree,  for  such 
a  trifle.  But  after  a  fortnight,  flnding  him  resolute,  the  govern- 
ment sent  for  him,  insisted  upon  his  performing  his  part,  and  made 
such  concessions,  that  his  brother,  in  writing  to  him,  said:  "I 
think  3'ou  have  gained  a  most  complete  triumi)h.  The  government 
have  certainly  treated  3-ou  with  a  most  flattering  courtes}^ ;  how 
could  you  expect  them  to  j'ield  more  ?  "  His  grandfather,  uncles, 
mother,  all  joined,  too,  in  urging  him  to  rest  contented  with  the 
concessions  alreadv  made,  declaring  that  "such  advice  would  be 
approved  in  the  ver}^  acadeni}^  of  honor ;  that  even  the  pride  of  a 
knight-errant  would  not  be  wounded  b}-  the  course  ;  that  he  had 
struggled  long  enough  for  glory,  and  that  3'ielding  in  this  manner 
was  rather  a  triumph  than  a  defeat."  Thus  constrained  b}'  the  en- 
treaties of  all  who  loved  him,  he  finall}'  agreed  to  comply  with  the 
terms  which  the  government  had  granted  to  his  firmness,  and  went 
to  Newport  to  pass  the  vacation  and  write  his  oration.     The  expla- 


38  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [^t.  14-18. 

nations  and  assurances  of  the  President  permitted  him  to  exjiress 
himself  freely  ;  and  though  he  softened  and  shortened  what  other- 
wise he  would  have  said,  he  did  not  sacrifice  conscience  or  self- 
respect.  Throughout,  it  was  a  bold  and  earnest  discussion  of  the 
exciting  topics  suggested  by  the  French  Revolution.  In  delivering 
it,  he  spoke  with  much  dignitj'  and  decision  ;  and  rising,  toward  the 
close,  to  an  impassioned  burst  of  feeling,  he  said,  with  great  energy, 
and  a  look  directed  to  the  faculty,  which  showed  how  earnestly  he 
was  inclined  to  protest  against  any  restraint  upon  free  speech : 
"But  that  I  am  forbid,  I  could  a  talc  unfold,  which  would  har- 
row up  your  souls."  As  the  circumstances  thus  referred  to  were 
generally  known,  this  sally  was  received  with  unbounded  applause  ; 
and  when  he  left  the  stage,  some  time  elapsed  before  the  cheering 
ceased.  "Many  years,"  writes  the  distinguished  classmate  so 
often  quoted,  "have  passed  since  then,  but  the  impression  left  on 
my  mind  of  the  brilliancy,  vividness,  and  eloquence  of  that  oration 
is  3'et  fresh." 

With  this  characteristic  act,  at  which,  in  later  years,  he  was  much 
amused  for  its  excess  of  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Channing  closed  his  col- 
lege career  in  the  summer  of  1798. 

Mr.  Channing  was  now  to  select  a  profession.  He  had  been  a  hard 
student,  "not  a  mere  seeker  of  a  diploma,"  as  his  uncle  Henry  approv- 
ingly wrote,  "  but  a  real  worker,"  and  had  gained  universal  respect  for 
his  rare  powers  and  attainments  ;  his  memory  had  been  stored  by 
extensive  reading,  and  his  judgment  enlarged  by  constant  corre- 
spondence Avith  his  sound-headed  and  sound-hearted  grandfather 
EUery ;  he  had  joined  cordially  in  social  pleasures,  though  with 
strict  regard  to  temperance,  —  it  being  remembered  that  Story  and 
he  invariably  declined  the  use  of  wine,  even  at  convivial  entertain- 
ments,—  and  he  had  won  the  love  of  his  associates  by  generous 
sentiments,  cheerfulness,  and  unassuming  courtesy ;  though  so 
3'oung,  he  had  already  taken  decided  ground  as  the  advocate  of  high 
principles  in  religion,  morals,  and  politics  ;  he  was  all  alive  to  his 
responsibilities,  especially  to  his  family  in  their  poor  estate  ;  and 
now  in  what  way  could  he  best  em[)loy  his  energies  and  gifts?  He 
did  not  hesitate  as  to  his  true  calling.  In  his  Junior  year,  indeed, 
he  had  written  to  Allston,  "  I  have  no  inclination  for  either  divin- 
ity, law,  or  physic"  ;  and  still  later  he  had  so  seriously  thought  of 
becoming  a  physician,  that  his  grandfather  wrote  to  him  at  length 
in  relation  to  the  duties  and  oi)portunities  of  that  profession,  and 
sent  to  him  lists  of  the  medical  books  which  he  should  read.  Even 
at  the  time  when  he  graduated,  most  of  his  classmates  su[)posed 
that  he  would  choose  the  law,  as  the  occupation  best  fitted  to  give 


1794-1798.]  CHOICE  OF  A  PROFESSION.  39 

free  field  for  the  exercise  of  liis  powers  of  eloquence,  and  urged  him 
to  take  that  course ;  but  to  all  such  appeals  to  his  ambition  he  v-/ 
answered,  "I  think  there  is  a  wider  sphere  for  usefulness  and 
honor  in  the  ministr}'."  The  path  of  duty  marked  out  for  him  by 
higher  wisdom  was  plain.  "  In  m}-  Senior  3^ear,"  he  writes,  "  the 
prevalence  of  infidelity,  imported  from  France,  led  me  to  inquire 
into  the  evidences  of  Christianitj^,  and  then  I  found  for  what  I  was 
made.  Mj'  heart  embraced  its  great  objects  with  an  interest  which 
has  been  mcreasing  to  this  hour."  He  was  the  same  man  then  that 
he  manifested  himself  to  be  in  mature  life.  As  his  classmate,  the 
Hon.  Richard  Sullivan,  bears  witness,  "  there  was  in  him  the  same 
clear  and  quick  apprehension  of  truth,  and  the  tendenc}'  to  look 
higher  than  to  human  authority,  the  same  warm  interest  in  the  good 
and  beautiful,  the  same  temperate  earnestness  and  independence 
in  maintaining  opinions,  the  same  perfect  purity,  simplicity,  and 
orderly  course  of  life.  He  seemed  destined  by  Providence  to  influ- 
ence largely  the  character  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived." 

He  returned,  unmediately  on  leaving  Cambridge,  to  his  mother's 
house  in  Newport,  there  to  arrange  his  future  plans  ;  and  the  follow- 
ing letters  will  show  at  once  the  temper  of  his  college  life,  and  the 
feelings  with  which  he  adopted  his  profession.  The  first  is  one 
written  many  years  later  to  a  young  friend,  whom  he  hoped  his  own 
experience  might  aid. 

"  At  3'our  age  I  was  poor,  dependent,  hardly  able  to  buy  clothes, 
biit  the  great  idea  of  improvement  had  seized  upon  me.  I  wanted 
to  make  the  most  of  myself.  I  was  not  satisfied  with  knowing 
things  superficially  or  by  halves,  but  tried  to  get  some  comprehen- 
sive views  of  what  I  studied.  I  had  an  enrf,  and,  for  a  boy,  a  high 
end  in  view.  I  did  not  think  of  fitting  myself  for  this  or  that  par- 
ticular pursuit,  but  for  any  to  which  events  might  call  me.  I  now 
see  that,  had  I  had  wiser  direction,  I  might  have  done  more  ;  but  I 
did  something.  The  idea  of  carrying  myself  forward  did  a  great 
deal  for  me.  ...  I  never  had  an  anxious  thought  about  my  lot 
m  life.  When  I  was  poor,  ill,  and  compelled  to  work  with  little 
strength,  I  left  the  future  to  itself.  I  was  not  buoyed  up  by  any 
hopes  of  promotion.  I  wanted  retirement,  obscurity.  My  after 
distinction  has  indeed  been  forced  on  me.   .   .   . 

"  You  are  in  danger  of  reading  too  fast.  In  studying  history,  I 
sometimes  made  an  abstract  fi-om  recollection,  sometimes  thought 
over  what  I  had  read.  .  .  .  Walk  out  in  the  pleasant,  still  au- 
tumnal days.  Such  days  did  a  great  deal  for  my  mind  and  heart, 
when  I  was  in  Cambridge.   .   .   . 


40  COLLEGE  LIFE.  [^t.  14-18. 

"I  want  3-011  to  find  immediate  pleasure  in  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge,  in  the  works  of  genius  and  art,  in  poetry,  in  beauty 
everywhere,  and  in  vigorous  action  of  the  intellect.  In  youth  it  is 
not  a  good  sign  to  inciuire  peri)etually,  What  good  will  this  or  that 
study  do  ?  Our  kind  Creator  then  allures  us  to  the  useful,  by  join- 
ing an  immediate  satisfaction  to  studies  or  pursuits  which  refine  or 
elevate  us.  .  .  . 

"Supi)ose  a  boy  to  choose  to  be  a  blacksmith,  and  to  prepare 
himself  for  his  bushiess  by  exercising  his  arm  perpetually,  to  the 
neglect  of  his  other  limbs  and  muscles,  would  he  become  another 
Vulcan  ?  Would  he  not  do  more  for  himself  by  invigorating  his 
whole  system,  and  getting  general  health?  You  can  easily  apply 
this  to  the  mind.  What  you  want  is  to  give  tone,  freedom,  life,  to 
all  your  faculties,  to  get  a  disposable  strength  of  intellect,  a  i)ower 
to  use  in  whatever  course  you  may  })ursue.  A  professional  educa- 
tion, or  one  designed  to  fit  you  for  a  particular  profession,  would 
make  but  half  a  man  of  3-ou.  You  are  not  to  grow  up  merely  for  a 
particular  occupation,  but  to  perform  all  the  duties  of  a  man,  to  mix 
in  society,  to  converse  with  intelligent  men  of  all  pursuits,  to  meet 
emergencies,  to  be  prepared  for  new  and  unexpected  situations. 
A  general,  liberal,  generous  education  is  what  you  need.  Every 
study  into  which  you  throw  your  soul,  in  which  you  gain  truth  and  ex- 
ercise your  faculties,  is  a  preparation  for  your  future  course.  I  have 
found  a  good  in  everything  I  have  learned.  By  degrees  ^our 
destiny  will  open  before  you.  You  will  learn  what  you  are  good  for, 
what  you  are  made  for.  I  can  sa}^  nothing  more  definite,  and  tliis 
is  definite  enough  and  full  of  animation.  Do  jour  duty,  and  you 
cannot  fail  to  fit  yourself  for  an  honorable  work." 

The  next  is  from  his  classmate,  Arthur  Maj-nard  Walter,  who 
died  too  earl}-  for  his  rare  genius  to  be  full}-  known  and  prized.  It 
illustrates  in  an  agreeable  way  the  warmth  of  Mr.  Channing's  col- 
lege friendships. 

"  I  have  just  taken  your  letter  from  the  office  with  all  the  fervor 
of  a  brother.  I  paid  for  it  twenty-five  cents,  and  would  have  paid 
twent.y-five  guineas,  had  I  had  them.  It  is  full  of  the  enthusiasm 
that  I  always  admired  in  you,  and  occasioned  all  those  indescriba- 
ble sensations  which  arise  froui  seeing  opened  to  us  the  heart  of  a 
friend.  I  cannot  agree  to  the  i)resent  moral  system  of  things,  li' 
we  are  to  form  connections  at  fourteen  which  are  to  be  broken  at 
eighteen,  —  connections  which  involve  the  best  feelings  of  the  soul, 
and  which  may  affect  in  a  great  measure  the  future  happiness  or 
future  misery  of  our  lives,  — we  had  better  be  without  feeling,  and 


1794-1798.]  COLLEGE  FRIENDSHIP.  41 

live  in  a  state  of  solitude.  I  have  enjoyed  no  nights  equal  to  those, 
when  3'ou  used  to  call  at  my  window,  and  I  blew  out  the  candle, 
and  we  went  over  to  Shaw's.  What  nights  those  were  !  And  the 
da3'S,  too,  you  well  know.  Our  classic  ground,  Channing,  I  dare 
say,  is  overrun  with  weeds  and  with  grass.  The  careless  passer-l)}' 
never  thinks  that  every  inch  of  ground  was  consecrated  to  attection, 
and  every  rock  on  which  we  sat,  and  every  rail  on  which  we  leaned, 
had  a  value  such  as  vulgar  souls  can  never  know.  This  is  a  theme 
on  which  I  could  dwell  long." 

The  closeness  of  the  bond  which  united  these  young  friends  is 
thus  also  testified  to  by  Mr.  Channing  :  — 

"  Newport,  October,  1798. 

"My  dear  Shaw, — I    can   clearly  discover   from 's    last 

letter,  that  you  doubt  the  sincerit}-  and  continuance  of  my  friend- 
ship. Have  you  lived  four  3-ears  with  me,  and  do  30U  know  so 
little  of  me  as  to  think  that  time  or  any  new  attachment  can  tear 
from  me  the  memor}-  of  '  jo3-s  that  are  past '  ?  They  are  intwined 
with  the  threads  of  my  existence  ;  and  it  is  onl}-  by  rending  these 
asunder,  that  you  can  destroy  the  melancholy'  recollection  of  our 
mutual  happiness.  I  still  remember  3'our  social  fire,  —  how  we 
collected  round  it,  —  shortened  the  long  winter  nights  113^  nuts, 
cigars,  and  social  converse,  and  strengthened  the  ties  of  our  friend- 
ship. I  was  then  supremel3'  happ3\  I  can  still  remember  our 
walks  b3'  moonlight,  —  how  we  strolled  over  the  Common,  or  took 
the  solitar3'  road  to  the  Judge's.  We  leaned  on  each  other's  arms 
for  support ;  we  grew  warm  in  friendl3'  argument ;  the  jarrings 
which  sometimes  prevailed  among  us  onl3'  sweetened  the  concord 
and  harmon3'  which  succeeded.  O  William  !  the  memory  of  those 
da3'S  will  be  ever  fresh  within  me.  It  has  drawn  many  tears  down 
my  cheek.  I  am  sensil)le  that  my  happ3'  days  have  passed,  and  I 
can  onl3'  weep  for  them.  My  walks  now  are  solitary  ;  no  friendly 
voice  to  cheer  me  ;  no  congenial  soul  to  make  a  partner  of  m3'  joy^ 
or  sorrow.  I  am,  indeed,  in  the  midst  of  m3-  family,  with  the  best 
of  mothers,  brothers,  and  sisters.     But  alas!  1  have  no  friend. 

"  There  is  a  beach  about  a  mile  from  the  town.  I  never  saw 
elsewhere  such  magnificence,  grandeur,  and  sublimity  as  the  wild 
scener3'  of  nature  here  presents.  The  towering  and  cragg3'  rocks, 
the  roar  of  the  waves,  the  foam  with  which  they  dash  on  the  shore, 
their  irregular  succession,  and  the  boundless  ocean  before,  all  con- 
tribute to  inspire  one  with  awe  and  delight.  Here  I  go  once  a  day. 
(Sometimes  I  comi)ai-e  my  fortune  to  the  billows  before  me.  I  ex- 
tend m3'  arms  towards  them,  I  run  to  meet  them,  and  wish  myself 


V 


42  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

buried  beneath  their  waters.  Sometimes  m}'  whole  soul  ascends  to 
the  God  of  nature,  and  in  such  a  temple  I  cannot  but  be  devout. 
Thus  I  am  either  borne  to  heaven  on  '  rapture's  wing  of  fire,'  or  else 
I  am  plunged  into  the  depths  of  despair.  How  different  from  m^^ 
situation  at  college !  There  I  had  friends  to  fl}'  to,  when  the  world 
looked  gloomy,  and  forgot  my  miseries  in  the  cu'clc  of  my  equals. 
Here  I  brood  over  melanchol}'. 

"I  am  now  on  the  point  of  changing  my  mode  of  life.  New 
prospects  have  dawned  upon  me.  A  field  has  opened  for  exertion. 
I  mean  to  rouse  all  ni}'  energies,  shake  off  this  lassitude  of  soul, 
and  lose  my  sorrows  in  business.  God  alone  knows  what  success 
will  attend  me.  I  mean  to  do  m}'  duty^  and  I  feel  careless  about 
the  event.  I  love  misfortunes  when  they  spring  from  a  resolute 
adherence  to  virtuous  conduct.  I  trust  that  ray  burdens  will  be  no 
heavier  than  I  can  bear,  and  I  shall  be  cheered  when  I  think  that 
the  struggles  which  I  make  are  the  struggles  of  honest  industry. 

"  I  suppose  3'ou  know  the  profession  which  I  mean  to  follow. 
Yes,  Shaw,  I  shall  be  a  minister,  a  shepherd  of  the  flock  of  Jesus, 
a  reformer  of  a  vicious,  and  an  instructor  of  an  ignorant  world.  I 
look  forward  to  a  better  country,  and,  while  I  am  journeying  toward 
it  myself,  I  vvish  to  lead  others  the  same  way.  I  know  that  30U 
revere  religion  ;  and  I  wish  that  in  your  political  career  you  would 
sometimes  look  be3'ond  the  strife,  crimes,  and  intrigues  of  nations, 
to  the  harmony  and  blessedness  of  the  Christian  society  in  another 
state.  We  shall  take  different  courses  in  life,  but  we  shall  meet  in 
the  grave.  AVe  shall  bow  before  the  same  tribunal,  and,  1  trust, 
shall  rejoice  forever  in  the  same  heaven,  and  join  in  the  same  cele- 
bration of  Almighty  love.  You  will  think  I  have  grown  quite  min- 
isterial, but,  believe  me,  I  cherished  the  same  sentiments  in  college 
as  I  do  now.  In  my  view,  religion  is  but  another  name  for  happi- 
ness, and  I  am  most  cheerful  when  I  am  most  rehgious." 


Chapteu  IV.  —  RICHMOND. 

Mt.  18-20.     1798-1800. 

Mr.  Ciiannino  was  now  in  his  nineteenth  3-ear ;  and  feeling  that 
his  friends  had  done  all  for  him  tliat  was  in  their  power,  and  yet 
more,  that  the  whole  of  his  mother's  small  income  was  needed  for 
the  family,  he  determined  to  secure  some  means  of  maintenance 


1798-1800.J  LETTER  TO  HIS  MOTHER.  43 

while  pursuing  his  professional  studies.  His  state  of  mind  he  thus 
discloses  to  his  uncle  :  "  I  am  happy  to  hear  that  3'ou  approve  of 
the  step  I  have  taken.  It  has  always  been  a  favorite  wish  of  m}' 
heart  to  support  myself.  Bitter  is  the  bread  of  dependence.  All 
I  had  a  riglit  to  expect  from  my  friends  was  an  education.  This  I 
have  obtained,  and  I  trust  that  Heaven  will  smile  on  ni}-  ex- 
ertions." He  was  most  happ}',  therefore,  to  receive  an  invitation 
from  David  Meade  Randolph,  Esq.,  of  Richmond,  Virginia,  who 
was  then  on  a  visit  at  Newport,  and  was  struck  with  the  3'oung 
man's  intelligence,  refinement,  and  liberal  spirit,  to  reside  in  his 
family,  as  tutor;  and  in  October  of  1798,  he  left  Newport  for  the 
South. 

How  much  his  family  mourned  this  necessary  separation  appears 
by  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  his  brotlier  Francis,  then 
residing  as  a  lawyer  at  Newport:  "William  has  gone,  and  most 
of  my  joys  have  gone  with  him.  You  know  not  the  worth  of  this 
'  amiable  and  almost  divine  fellow,'  as  one  of  his  classmates  calls 
him.  Where  shall  I  find  his  equal?  In  vain  do  I  search  the  whole 
round  of  my  acquaintance.  So  pure  a  mind,  united  with  so  noble 
a  spirit,  and  such  exquisite  feelings,  I  nowhere  discern."  To  his 
mother,  especially,  his  departure  was  a  source  of  the  deepest  sorrow. 
And  to  this  overflowing  affection  he  thus  touchingly  alludes  in  the 
first  letter  after  his  arrival :  — 

"  RiCHiMOND,  November,  1798. 
"  My  DEAR  Mother,  —  A  favorable  opportunity  has  just  offered, 
by  which  I  can  write  to  all  my  friends  without  subjecting  them  to 
the  expense  of  postage.  I  begin  witli  you.  To  you  I  owe  the 
higliest  obligations.  Tiie  anxiety  and  tenderness  which  you  dis- 
covered at  m^'  departure  from  Newport  will  never  be  forgotten.  I 
wish  that  my  friends  were  not  so  deeply  interested  in  my  welfare.  . 
It  makes  both  them  and  me  unhappy.  Every  misfortune  I  expe- 
rience is  aggravated  by  thinking  on  the  pain  which  it  will  occasion 
tliem.  I  often  wish  that  I  had  been  thrown  loose  on  the  wide  ocean 
of  hfe,  witliout  one  eye  to  watch  with  friendly  care  my  various 
successes,  or  shed  a  tear  over  my  follies  and  miseries.  When  I 
was  dasliing  over  the  billows,  on  my  passage,  I  felt  no  fear  for  my- 
self; but  I  was  distressed  when  I  remembered  that  I  had  left  a 
mother  behind  me  who  was  trembling  witli  anxiety  lest  her  son 
might  be  buried  in  the  merciless  waves.  I  understand  fi'om 
P'rancis's  letter,  that  you  had  many  high  winds  after  I  left  you  ; 
and  did  not  every  gale  come  to  me  loaded  with  tlie  sighs  of  a 
mother  ?     I  mention  this  because  I  wish  you  not  to  make  j-ourself 


44  RICHMOND.  [JEt.  18-20. 

unhappy  by  3'our  concern  for  me.  I  know  that  I  am  far  from  home, 
where  nothing  but  j'our  good  wishes  can  reach  me.  I  am  far  from 
your  social  fireside.  I  am  neither  a  sharer  in  30ur  joys,  nor  the 
object  of  your  fond  attentions.  But  still  the  same  sun  shines  upon 
us,  the  same  providence  is  extended  to  both  of  us,  and  the  same 
God  who  protects  and  blesses  3'ou  will  watch  over  me,  and  mete 
me  out  a  portion  of  happiness.  Our  distance  from  each  other  can- 
not remove  either  of  us  from  our  common  Parent.  It  is  this  truth 
which  consoles  me  in  my  absence  from  home,  and  I  wish  that  it 
might  banish  from  your  bosom  those  corroding  fears  for  m}'  safety 
which,  added  to  the  load  of  your  domestic  cares,  must  make  life 
wearisome  to  you.  I  feel  ever}^  day  more  and  more  attached  to  my 
new  abode.  I  am  treated  with  every  attention  which  hospitality 
can  bestow.  M3'  duties  are  neither  numerous  nor  irksome,  and  I 
can  find  time  enougli  for  study.  I  am  resolved  to  prosecute  divinity. 
My  highest  hopes  of  happiness  are  beyond  the  grave,  and  1  cannot 
do  more  good  to  mankind  than  b}'  teaching  them  also  to  lay  up 
treasures  where  neitlier  moth  nor  rust  can  corrupt  them.  My  dear 
mother,  though  I  have  so  lately-  left  you,  I  begin  already  to  antici- 
pate the  moment  when  I  shall  see  3'ou  again.  Time  has  swifter 
wings  than  the  eagle.  Months  and  years  will  fly  awa}*,  —  and 
with  what  rapture  shall  I  press  3'ou  all  to  my  bosom  !  Ho[)e  is  the 
anchor  of  the  soul.  I  lean  upon  it  perpetualh'.  I  paint  more 
blissful  scenes  in  prospect  than  I  have  ever  3-et  experienced  ;  and 
should  they  prove  as  baseless  as  the  fabric  of  a  vision,  I  can  still 
boast  of  the  happiness  which  the3'  give  in  antici[)ation,  I  dare  not 
ask,  but  I  should  like  to  receive,  a  few  lines  from  you. 

"  Your  affectionate  son." 

In  Mr.  Randolph's  familv  Mr.  Channing  resided  as  an  honored 
guest,  and  found  there  a  circle  of  warm  friends.  Mr.  Randolph 
was  at  this  time  the  Marshal  of  the  United  States  for  Virginia,  and 
his  house  was  frequented  b3'  the  most  eminent  citizens  of  Richmond 
and  of  the  State,  first  among  whom  to  be  mentioned  with  honor 
was  the  late  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  Avho  was  then  in  the  full  vigor 
of  his  manhood,  and  conunanded  universal  respect  for  his  upright- 
ness, wisdom,  and  dignit3'  of  presence.  How  much  a  young  man 
of  Mr.  Channing's  energy  appreciated  opportunities  so  rare,  for 
enlarging  his  experience  and  acquaintance  with  mankind,  can  be 
readily  understood.  lie  visited  freely  in  Richmond,  availed  him- 
self of  the  liospitalities  offered  by  the  neighboring  gentry,  and  on 
various  occasions  passed  periods  of  leisure  at  plantations,  besides 
travelling  with  the  Randol[)hs    in  the  summer  season.     Virginia 


1798-1800.]  SLAVERY.  45 

was  at  this  time  still  in  her  prosperit}-,  and  scarcely-  beginning  to 
reap  the  penalt}-  which  slavery  at  length  brought,  in  blasted  fields, 
deserted  mansions,  ruined  estates,  and  scattered  f:\nnlies ;  and 
INIr.  Channing  felt  deeply  the  charm  of  the  cordial  and  elegant 
courtesy  which  everywhere  greeted  him.  With  more  enthusiasm 
certainl^^  than  discrimination,  he  wrote  to  his  brother :  — 

"  I  believe  I  have  before  told  you  that  the  manners  of  the  Vir- 
ginians are  more  free  than  ours.  There  is  one  circumstance  which 
particularly  pleases  me.  The  men  do  not  forget  the  friendship 
and  feelings  of  their  youth.  They  call  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names.  They  address  each  other  and  converse  together  with  the 
same  familiarity  and  frankness  which  they  used  to  do  when  thej- 
were  boys.  How  different  from  our  Northern  manners  !  There 
avarice  and  ceremony  at  the  age  of  twenty  graft  the  coldness  and 
unfeelingness  of  age  on  the  disinterested  ardor  of  youth." 

And  again,  to  Mr.  Shaw,  he  saj's  :  — 

"  I  believe  I  have  praised  the  Virginians  before,  in  mj'  letters, 
for  their  hospitality.  I  blush  for  my  own  people,  when  I  compare 
the  selfish  prudence  of  a  Yankee  with  the  generous  confidence  of 
a  Virginian.  Here  I  find  great  vices,  but  greater  virtues  than  I 
left  behind  me.  There  is  one  single  trait  which  attaches  me  to  the 
people  I  live  with,  more  than  all  the  virtues  of  New  England. 
They  love  money  less  than  we  do.  The}'  are  more  disinterested. 
Their  patriotism  is  not  tied  to  their  purse-strings.  Could  I  onl}^ 
take  from  the  Virginians  their  sensuality  and  their  slaves,  I  should 
think  them  the  greatest  people  in  the  world.  As  it  is,  Shaw,  with 
a  few  great  virtues,  they  have  innumerable  vices." 

But  pleasing  social  relations  did  not  deaden  his  conscience,  as 
in  the  case  of  others  they  have  too  often  done,  to  the  iniquity  and 
miseries  of  slavery.  He  saw  the  institution,  it  is  true,  under  its 
most  lenient  form  ;  for  the  Randolphs  were  as  humane  as  it  is 
possible  to  be  in  relations  so  intrinsically  unjust,  and  sought  to 
reconcile  their  slaves  to  their  situation,  and  to  gain  their  attach- 
ment, by  gentleness  and  kind  attentions.  Indeed,  to  judge  from 
passages  in  Mrs.  Randolph's  letters  to  Mr.  Channing  after  his 
return  from  Virginia,  she  was,  and  perhaps  her  husband  also,  dis- 
gusted with  the  whole  S3'stem  ;  for  she  writes,  in  relation  to  the 
threatened  insurrection  in  Richmond,  "  Such  is  our  boasted  land 
of  freedom,"  —  Mr.  Randolph  adding,  "  This  is  a  small  tornado  of 
hbert}-."     In  a  later  letter  she  thus  still  more  strongly  expresses 


46  RICHMOND.  [Mt.  18-20. 

herself:  "I  feel  a  great  desire  to  quit  tlie  land  of  slaver}'  alto- 
gether." It  is  ver}'  probable,  then,  that  in  the  famil}'  where  he 
resided  the  evils  of  this  lowest  form  of  societ}'  were  full}'  exposed 
and  discussed.-^  "  I  heard  it  freeh'  spoken  of  with  abhorrence," 
he  sa3'S.  And  wherever  he  went,  language  of  similar  hostilitA' 
maj  well  have  reached  him ;  for  the  words  of  Washington  and  of 
Jefferson  were  sounding  in  the  ears  of  their  fellow-citizens,  and 
men  had  not  then  become  insensible  to  the  absurd  and  In-pocritical 
position  in  which  the  United  States  were  presented  to  the  world,  — 
as  a  nation  professing  freedom  and  practising  oppression,  asserting 
equalit}'  and  enforcing  castes,  declaring  itself  in  advance  of  the 
whole  civilized  world  by  a  recognition  of  inalienable  human  rights, 
and  3'et  perpetuating  the  worn-out  usages  of  barbarism.  Not  then, 
either,  had  speculators  discovered  how  to  postpone  the  destructive 
effects  of  slave  cultivation,  b^'  breeding  children,  like  cattle,  for 
the  Southwest  market,  and  replenishing  exhausted  coffers  b}-  the 
profits  of  the  "  vigintial  crop."  Virginia  had  alread}',  to  be  sure, 
voted  for  the  abolition  of  the  foreign  slave-trade,  with  the  economi- 
cal prospect  of  becoming  the  American  Guinea-coast,  and  monopo- 
lizing the  gains  of  merchandise  in  men.  But  the  stimulants  to  this 
accursed  traffic,  offered  by  the  acquisition  of  Louisiana  and  Florida, 
by  the  rapid  growth  of  the  cotton-trade,  and  the  invention  of 
the  cotton-gin,  were  not  then  felt.  And  Mr.  Channing  probably 
received,  therefore,  from  intelligent  slaveholders  confessions  of 
their  dissatisfaction  with  this  system  of  concentrated  inliumanity. 
He  came,  also,  personall}"  in  contact  with  its  workings,  by  some- 
times assuming  the  duty  of  distributing  the  weekl^^  rations,  b}' 
visiting  in  the  slave-huts,  and  conversing  with  the  domestics  in 
the  household  ;  and  he  was  once  left  b}'  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph, 
during  a  short  absence,  in  entire  charge  of  these  beings  made 
helpless  by  constraint  and  dependence.  The  result  of  this  experi- 
ence was,  that  he  received  an  indelible  impression  of  the  wretched- 
ness which  such  wrongs  must  everywhere  and  forever  bring  alike 
on  slave  and  master.  The  following  letter  fully  expresses  the 
state  of  his  feelings  :  — 

"There  is  one  object  here  which  always  depresses  me.  It  is 
slavery.  This  alone  would  prevent  me  from  ever  settling  in  Vir- 
ginia. Language  cannot  express  ni}'  detestation  of  it.  Master 
and  slave !  Nature  never  made  such  a  distinction,  or  established 
such  a  relation.  Man,  when  forced  to  substitute  the  will  of  another 
for  his  own,  ceases  to  be  a  moral  agent;  his  title  to  the  name  of 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.  p.  231.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  770. 


1798-1800.]  THE  FRENCH  REPUBLIC.  47 

man  is  extinguished,  he  becomes  a  mere  machine  in  the  hands  of 
his  oppressor.  No  empire  is  so  valuable  as  the  empire  of  one's  v 
self.  No  right  is  so  inseparable  from  humanity,  and  so  necessary- 
to  the  improvement  of  our  species,  as  the  right  of  exerting  the 
powers  which  nature  has  given  us  in  the  pursuit  of  any  and  of 
every  good  which  we  can  obtain  without  doing  injury  to  others. 
Should  you  desire  it,  I  will  give  you  some  idea  of  the  situation  and 
character  of  the  negroes  in  Virginia.  It  is  a  subject  so  degrading 
to  humanity  that  I  cannot  dwell  on  it  with  pleasure.  I  should 
be  obliged  to  show  you  every  vice,  heightened  by  every  meanness 
and  added  to  every  misery.  The  influence  of  slavery  on  the  whites 
is  almost  as  fatal  as  on  the  blacks  themselves." 

The  strong  Federal  predilections  which  Mr.  Channing  brought 
with  him  from  the  North,  and  the  earnest  discussions  which  he 
found  prevailing  in  Virginia,  gave  a  deepened  interest  to  his  inter- 
course with  leading  men,  and  doubtless  exerted  an  influence  to 
call  his  powers  into  their  fullest  action.  In  Newport,  and  at  col- 
lege, he  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  only  one  side  of  the  impor- 
tant questions,  which  then  stirred  the  country,  presented  ;  but  now 
he  found  himself  confronted  with  Democrats,  and  was  forced  to 
meet  their  arguments  face  to  face.     To  a  friend  he  writes  :  — 

"I  am  very  desirous  to  see  the  debates  in  Congress.  I  find 
this  advantage  from  being  in  Virginia,  that  I  must  adopt  no  opinion 
on  the  measures  of  government  without  having  grounds  for  it." 

This  was  the  period,  it  will  be  remembered,  when  the  Federalists 
were  still  dreading  the  influence  of  French  Jacobinism,  and  when 
the  Democrats  saw  in  their  opponents  the  tools  of  English  intrigue, 
when  the  black  cockade  and  the  tricolor  were  worn  as  badges  by 
the  respective  parties,  and  when  the  most  bitter  suspicion  and 
calumny  everywhere  prevailed.  It  was  well  for  a  high-spirited  and 
honorable  young  man  to  be  brought  thus  into  close  contact  with 
persons  of  an  opposite  creed  from  that  in  which  he  had  been  reared. 
It  disarmed  his  prejudices,  enlarged  his  views  of  public  afl'airs, 
substituted  candor  for  bigotry,  and  taught  him  to  consult  reason 
more  than  his  passions.  Indeed,  so  far  did  he  learn  to  be  just  in 
stating  the  arguments  of  his  adversaries,  that  his  brother  writes 
to  him  reproachfully,  as  if  he  had  become  a  ''  traitor."  But  his 
liberality  was  only  the  first  development  of  that  many-sidedness 
and  cautious  judgment  which  were  so  characteristic  of  his  manhood. 
He  was  still  a  devoted  Federalist,  as  appears  from  the  following 
letters  to  his  friend  Shaw,  which  are  of  value  at  once  as  an  ilhistra- 
tion  of  the  temper  of  the  times,  and  as  a  proof  of  his  mental  energy. 


48  RICHMOND.  [JEt.  18-20. 

"  M}'  political  opinions  have  vaiied  a  little  since  I  saw  yon  ;  but 
it  would  be  unfair  to  charge  them  to  the  Jacobinic  atmosphere  of 
Virginia.  I  trust  that  I  am  guided  b}'  sober  reflection.  I  view 
the  world  as  a  wide  field  of  action,  designed  by  its  Franier  to  per- 
fect the  human  character.  Political  institutions  are  valuable  only 
as  they  imi)rove  and  morally  elevate  human  nature.  Wealth  and 
power  are  subordinate  considerations,  and  are  far  from  consti- 
tuting the  real  greatness  of  a  state.  I  blush  for  mankind,  when  I 
see  interest  the  only  tie  which  binds  them  to  their  country ;  when 
I  see  the  social  compact  improved  for  no  purpose  but  the  accumu- 
lation of  riches,  and  the  prosperity  of  a  nation  decided  by  the 
successful  avarice  of  its  members.  I  wish  to  see  patriotism  ex- 
alted into  a  moral  principle^  not  a  branch  of  avarice.  I  wish  to  see 
governments  established  and  administered  with  the  view  of  enlight- 
ening the  mind  and  dignifying  the  heart. 

"  I  have  premised  these  observations,  that  you  may  be  prepared 
for  some  remarks  in  the  following  pages  which  might  otherwise  sur- 
prise 3^ou.  You  wish  to  know  what  I  think  of  France.  I  think  her 
cause  desperate  indeed.  The  Republic  has  not  many  months  to  live. 
Enthusiasm  and  numbers  have  hitherto  crowned  her  with  success, 
but  enthusiasm  and  numbers  have  failed  her.  '  Her  soldiers  no 
longer  burn  with  the  ardor  of  freemen,  and  their  ranks  are  thinned 
by  the  sword.'  Her  citizens  are  discontented  ;  her  conquered  prov- 
inces are  rising  in  arms  against  her ;  and  government  finds  no 
resources  but  in  fleecing  to  the  last  farthing  the  miserable  sulijects 
whom  former  rapacity  had  reduced  to  poveil}'.  The  Republic  is 
split  into  i)arties,  and  her  naval  defeats  have  leagued  all  Europe 
against  her.  This  I  collect  from  newspapers.  Now  I  cannot  con- 
ceive how  a  government,  founded  on  corruption,  unsupported  by 
the  attachment  of  its  subjects,  unable  to  pay  its  armies,  shaken  by 
internal  convulsions,  surrounded  by  rebellious  allies,  and  attacked, 
as  France  soon  must  be,  by  the  united  forces  of  Europe,  can 
maintain  its  ground,  and  withstand  such  formidable  and  con- 
solidated opposition.  If  my  information  is  correct,  I  cannot  but 
think  that  the  great  nation  is  in  a  more  critical  situation  than 
ever ;  and  this  idea  has  led  me  to  suppose,  in  spite  of  the  Sec- 
retary's report,  that  she  was  sincere  in  her  pacific  professions  to 
Mr.  Gerry. 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Shaw,  I  do  not  say  that  France  has 
given  up  her  views  on  this  countr}- ;  I  do  not  say  that  she  is  less 
active  in  her  intrigues.  I  know  better.  What  I  mean  is  this,  — 
that  France  rested  her  hopes  of  success  on  the  party  she  had  formed 
in  our  own  bosom,  that  she  never  calculated  upon  that  spirit  which 


1798-1800.]  STANDING  ARMY.  49 

burst  forth  on  the  publication  of  the  despatches,  that  her  critical 
situation  rendered  a  war  with  us  impolitic,  and  that  it  was  of  course 
her  interest  to  heal  the  breach  with  us,  and  wait  for  a  more  favor- 
able opportunity  to  accomplish  her  designs.  Mr.  Pickering  tells  us, 
that  France  wished  to  delude  us  by  the  semblance  of  a  negotiation, 
and  palsy  our  exertions.  No  doubt,  she  wished  us  to  repose  in  the 
lap  of  confidence,  till,  haA'ing  '  sharked  up  the  fry  of  Europe,'  she 
should  have  leisure  to  devour  us  also.  But  how,  in  fact,  was  this 
to  be  done  ?  She  had  evidently  been  too  sudden  in  claiming  tribute 
from  America ;  she  saw  that,  in  spite  of  her  opiates,  the  eagle's  03-6 
was  vigilant,  and  '  the  national  pulse  beat  high  for  war ' ;  she  saw 
unexpected  energies  of  patriotism  bursting  forth,  and  measures  of 
defence  adopted,  notwithstanding  her  tampering  with  our  envoy. 
She  had  no  nav}'  to  force  us  to  compliance ;  and  thus  situated,  I 
ask  you,  what  was  she  to  do?  Was  it  not  her  interest  to  quiet  our 
jealousies  by  forming  a  treaty  with  us,  and  delay  to  another  and 
more  promising  period  her  schemes  of  bondage?  Was  not  this  the 
wa}'  to  enable  her  infernal  agents  to  work  more  securely  against  us, 
and  poison  the  public  mind  with  more  success?  These  arguments 
appear  to  me  of  considerable  weight ;  and  though  Mr.  Gerry  seems 
to  be  no  Solomon  in  his  correspondence,  I  am  disposed  on  this  sub- 
ject to  subscribe  to  his  opinion. 

"From  considering  France,  I  am  naturally  led  to  make  some 
observations  on  the  defensive  steps  which  have  been  taken,  and 
which,  it  is  said,  will  be  taken  by  our  government.  You  may  call 
me  Jacobin,  if  you  please,  but  I  am  not  for  enlarging  our  standing 
army.  I  wish  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  the  engine 
which  has  beat  down  the  walls  of  libert}'  in  all  ages  ;  and  though  I 
anticipate  no  dangers  from  the  present  one,  still  it  is  a  precedent 
which  ma}^  be  fatally-  abused. 

"I  am  opposed  to  standing  armies  on  account  of  their  moral 
effects.  The  activity  of  war  leaves  the  soldier  little  time  to  cor- 
rupt himself.  But  an  arm}^  in  time  of  peace  is  the  hot-bed  of 
vice.  Common  soldiers  are  mostly  taken  from  the  dregs  of  society. 
Every  farthing  of  their  pay  is  spent  in  drinking.  Example  hur- 
ries along  the  honest  and  virtuous.  Idleness  vitiates  them.  They 
communicate  their  crimes  to  the  neighborhood  in  which  the}'  are 
quartered ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  Mr.  Giles  was  too  severe 
when  he  said,  that,  '  for  five  dollars'  worth  of  whiskey,  they  would, 
ever}'  man  of  them,  sacrifice  their  countr}',  and  sell  its  liber- 
ties.' A  soldier  by  profession  is  too  apt  to  forget  that  he  is  a 
citizen.  Subject  to  the  absolute  command  of  his  superior  officer, 
he  loses  the  dignity  of  a  freeman,   and  looks  with  contempt  on 

4 


50  RICHMOND.  [.Ivr.  18-20. 

subordination  to  civil  authorit}'.  I  have  no  time  to  write  further. 
I  meant  to  have  said  something  on  tlie  alHance  with  England,  which 
Paine  is  talking  about ;  but  I  must  defer  it.  Write  soon ;  correct 
me  if  I  am  wrong.  You  will  find  that  my  political  principles  and 
ideas  of  government  are  branches  of  my  moral  system.  You  do 
not  know  what  an  enthusiast  I  have  grown  for  liberty."  ^ 

"  I  feel  vexed  almost  to  madness,  when  I  see  the  powers  of 
Europe  sitting  so  quietly  till  the  chains  are  riveted  on  them.  I 
expected  ere  this  to  have  seen  every  nation,  from  the  INIediter- 
ranean  to  the  Baltic,  in  arms  against  this  scourge  of  society*.  But 
instead  of  that,  the  idle  controversies  of  Rastadt  are  protracted, 
wliile  Naples  is  given  up  to  pillage,  and  France  is  gaining  the 

command  of  the  Rhine I  think  that  the  great  nation  has 

nothing  to  fear  now  but  from  the  distressed  state  of  her  finances, 
and  1  suppose  the  plunder  of  Naples  will  fill  her  coffers  for  the 
present.  The  moment  for  action  has  been  lost.  Switzerland, 
Belgium,  and  Holland  discovered  the  symptoms  of  a  rebelhon ;  — 
then  was  the  time  to  strike  a  blow. 

"War,  in  its  mildest  forms,  is  horrible.  As  waged  by  the 
Russians  [alluding  to  Suwarrow],  it  is  the  heaviest  curse  which 
can  fall  to  the  lot  of  man.  If  rivers  of  blood  have  already  been 
shed,  we  must  now  expect  oceans.  God  of  Peace  !  how  long  wilt 
thou  leave  th^'  children  a  prey  to  all  the  horrors  of  war?  We 
have  read  so  long  of  battles  that  they  have  become  familiar  to  us. 
We  hear  of  the  slaughter  of  thousands  and  ten  thousands  with  as 
little  emotion  as  if  we  had  been  told  that  so  many  flies  had  been 
swept  away  in  a  stoi'm.  But  is  war  on  this  account  less  calamitous  ? 
Do  you  remember  the  picture  of  Horror  which  Southey  gives  us  in 
a  note  to  one  of  his  odes?  I  shuddered  at  it.  I  saw  the  milk 
frozen  on  the  breast  of  the  dead  mother.  I  saw  the  babe  hanging 
to  her  cold  bosom.  I  am  indeed  sick  of  war;  m}'  pra^-er  to  God 
is,  '  Thy  kingdom  come,'  a  kingdom  which  the  Prince  of  Peace  will 
govern. 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  the  present  period  is  the  most  eventful  and 
important  which  has  offered  itself  to  our  view  during  the  whole 
revolution  of  France.  In  Euroj)e,  the  fate  of  nations  is  suspended 
in  the  balance  ;  and  America,  though  so  remote  from  the  scene  of 
blood  and  confusion,  is  most  deeply  interested  in  the  decision  of 
the  contest.    The  eyes  of  all  parties  are  now  fixed  on  the  President. 

1  This  letter  was  written  a  year  subsequent  to  the  one  which  follows,  but  is 
placed  before  it,  as  it  best  introduces  his  political  sentiments. 


1798-1800]  JACOBINISM.  51 

What  can  he  do  ?  The  Federalists  in  all  parts  of  the  countr}'  seem 
opposed  to  a  renewal  of  negotiation  with  France.  The  Jacobins 
are  more  clamorous  than  ever  about  his   supineness  in  forming  a 

solid  peace  with  that  government I  rely  implicitly  on  the 

firmness  and  independence  of  the  President.  I  consider  him  as 
elevated  above  the  clamors  of  faction,  and  superior  to  the  narrow 
views  of  party.  He  is  placed  in  so  peculiar  a  situation,  that  no 
measure  he  can  adopt  will  be  popular.  The  only  object  he  can  pro- 
pose to  himself  is  the  good  of  his  country  ;  and,  I  doubt  not,  he 
will  pursue  it  with  undeviating  perseverance.  I  have  ever  consid- 
ered it,  and  shall  consider  it,  the  interest  of  America  to  be  at  peace 
with  all  nations.  Let  me  ask  3-ou,  then,  what  influence  the  pro- 
posed negotiation  will  have  on  maintaining  the  peace  of  our  coun- 
tr}-.  This  is  the  most  interesting  light  in  which  it  can  be  viewed  ; 
and  it  is  ni}'  sincere  opinion  that  it  will  tend  rather  to  embroil  us 
with  the  rest  of  Europe  than  to  establish  a  lasting   peace  with 

France 

' '  What  will  the  rest  of  Europe  think  of  us  for  making  a  treat}' 
with  France,  when  all  other  civilized  nations  have  dissolved  their  con- 
nections with  her?  Have  the}-  not  openl}'  expressed  their  resolution 
to  overthrow  that  government  with  which  we  are  going  to  treat? 

' '  Marshall  stands  at  the  head  of  the  list,  and  I  do  but  echo 
the  multitude  when  I  tell  you  that  he  is  one  of  the  greatest  men  in 
the  country.  His  '  Answers  to  a  Freeholder '  had  a  tendency  to 
sink  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  Northern  people.  But  if  you 
lived  in  Virginia,  you  would  think  just  as  he  did.  I  blush  when  I 
think  of  the  Alien  and  Sedition  laws.  The}*  have  onl}^  served  to 
show  the  weakness  of  government.  They  were  worse  than  useless. 
Marshall  is  a  great  character.  He  bids  fair  to  be  the  first  character 
in  the  Union. 

"  I  wonder  how could  presume  to  touch  the  venerable  laurels 

of  Washington.  Did  not  Washington  distinguish  himself  before 
and  after  the  time  of  Lord  Howe's  command  ?  Did  he  not  show 
the  most  consummate  skill  in  improving  the  advantages  which  Lord 
Howe  afforded  him?  Witness  Princeton  and  Trenton.  Let  any 
man  read  Washington's  own  letters  ;  and  if  he  will  afterwards  say 
that  Washington  is  not  a  first-rate  general,  I  will  yield  the  point. 

"  I  rejoice  with  3'ou,  my  friend,  at  the  victory  of  Nelson.  I 
hope  the  report  is  equally  true  respecting  the  defeat  of  Bonaparte's 
land  forces.     The  Dii'ectory,  in  theii-  last   communication,    have 


52  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

carried  him  safe  to  Cairo  ;  slionld  it  l)e  true  tliat  he  has  repelled  all 
human  opposition,  I  would  invoke  old  Nilus  from  the  ooze  of  his 
fertilizing  streams,  and  beseech  him  to  overflow  with  his  swiftest 
torrents  the  land  he  has  long  enriched,  and  sweep  this  prince  of  rob- 
bers from  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  is  one  question  which  has 
arisen  in  my  mind  since  the  late  news  from  the  Mediterranean,  and 
I  think  it  an  important  one.  Ought  not  a  just  policy  to  be  alarmed 
at  the  disproportionate  greatness  and  power  of  the  British  navy  ? 
There  is  not  at  present  a  nation  in  Europe  to  dispute  with  her  the 
empire  of  the  seas.  We  are  exulting  at  the  superiority  of  the 
British  by  sea,  as  we  did  a  few  years  ago  at  the  superiorit}'  of 
the  French  by  land.  "We  have  bitterl}-  rued  the  latter.  Let  us 
avoid  the  same  error  with  respect  to  the  former.  I  wish  France  to 
fall,  but  I  do  not  wish  England  to  rise  on  her  ruins.  We  should 
be  careful  that,  in  destroying  one  scourge  of  the  world,  we  do  not 
give  birth  to  another. 

"For  my  part  I  care  not  how  soon  the  contest  is  decided. 
Should  the  worst  happen,  should  my  native  couutr}'  be  prostrated, 
by  the  arts  and  influence  of  demagogues,  at  the  feet  of  France,  I 
will  curse  and  quit  it.  I  never  will  breathe  the  same  air  with  those 
who  are  tainted  with  the  foul  impurities  of  French  principles.  I 
never  will  dwell  in  the  country  where  I  was  born  free,  when  it  is 
doomed  to  groan  under  a  foreign  yoke.  AVith  tears  in  my  eyes, 
T  will  bid  farewell  to  the  roof  which  sheltered  my  infancy,  and  to  the 
green  graves  of  my  fathers,  and  take  up  my  abode  in  the  foreign 
land  from  which  I  boast  of  my  descent,  and  which  my  honest 
ancestors  left  in  hopes  of  finding  climes  more  favorable  to  liberty 
and  to  the  rights  of  man." 

Mr.  Channing's  interest  in  pubhc  affairs,  knowledge  of  national 
policy,  and  observation  of  men  were  yet  more  enlarged,  while  his 
powers  of  eloquence  received  a  stimulant,  from  attending  the  de- 
bates of  the  Virginia  legislature,  which  held  its  sessions  in  llie  Capi- 
tol at  Riclmiond.  He  writes:  "I  have  listened  to  these  speeches 
with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  The  Virginians  are  the  best  orators 
I  have  ever  heard." 

But  zeal  in  the  political  movements  of  the  day,  and  social  enjoy- 
ments, occupied  only  the  intervals  of  time.  His  energies  were 
mainly  turned  to  the  duties  of  his  school  and  to  private  studies. 
He  had  under  his  charge  twelve  boys,  to  whose  care  most  of  the 
hours  of  the  day  were  devoted.  In  after  years,  he  thought  himself 
at  this  time  too  strict  a  disciplinarian.     But  he  may  have  found  a 


1798-1800.]  HIS  POVERTY.  53 

displaj'  of  decision  more  necessary  from  his  youth  and  smallness  of 
size,  of  which  an  amusing  illustration  is  given  in  the  folio wino- 
anecdote,  related  by  himself.     An  old  colored  woman  came  into 
the  school  to  complain  of  some  of  the  boys  who  had  damaged  her 
garden,  broken  her  fence,  and   torn  up  her  flowers,  making  loud 
complaint,  and  wanting  to  see  the  master.     When  he  presented 
himself,    she   surveyed   him  for   a  moment,    and   said,    ''Tou   de 
massa?    You  little  ting,  you  can't  hck  'em;  dey  put  you  out  de 
window."     He  assured  her,  however,  that  the  boys  should  be  cor- 
rected,  and  that  she  should  be  satisfied  for  her  loss,  remarkino-, 
"  Poor  mamma  !  she  knew  of  no  way  of  discipline  but  the  lash."^' 
Absorbed  in  the  duty  of  teaching  during  the  day,  and  hving 
much  apart  from  the  family,  Mr.  Channing  was  prompted  by  his 
wish  for  quick  advancement  to  pass  most  of  the  night  in  study. 
He  usually  remained  at  his  desk  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  often  saw  the  day  break  before  retiring  to  rest.     He 
had  also  gained  from  the  Stoics,  and  from  his  own  pure  standard 
of  virtue,  ascetic  desires  of  curbing  the  animal  nature,  and  of  hard- 
ening  himself  for   difficult   duties.     For  the   end  of  overcoming 
effeminacy,  he  accustomed  himself  to  sleep  on  the  bare  floor,  and 
would  spring  up  at  any  hour  of  waking  to  walk  about  in  the  cold. 
With  the  same  view  he  made  experiments  in  diet,  and  was  rigidly 
abstemious,  while  he  neglected  exercise  from  too  close  applicaUon. 
The  result  of  these  night-studies  and  of  his  general  ignorance  of 
the   natural   laws   was,   that   an   originally   fine   constitution   was 
broken,  and  seeds  of  disease  were  planted  in  his  system  which 
years  of  scrupulous  regard  to  health  could  never  root  out. 

To  these  sources  of  illness  was  added  another,  which,  as  it  illus- 
trates his  characteristic  disinterestedness,  may  deserve  a  passing 
notice.  When  he  left  home  his  provident  mother  had  given  him  a 
bill  of  credit  on  a  house  in  Richmond,  with  the  confident  expecta- 
tion that  he  would  use  it  to  refurnish  his  wardrobe.  Mone}',  how- 
ever, he  could  not  bring  himself  to  take  from  his  mother's  large 
family,  and  never  drew  upon  his  friends.  Depression  of  spirits 
and  absorption  of  mind  made  him  careless,  also,  of  external  ap- 
pearances;  and  he  preferred  to  expend  his  salary  in  purchasing 
books.  The  consequence  was,  that  his  clothing  became  much 
worn,  and  he  exposed  himself  during  the  whole  winter  without  an 
overcoat,  except  when  sometimes  he  borrowed  one  to  attend 
church.  These  necessities  came  home  to  him  when,  upon  Christ- 
mas day,  he  found  himself  too  meanly  clad  to  join  the  gay  party 
assembled  at  Mr.  Randolph's,  and,  sitting  alone  in  his  study, 
thought  of  his  own  family  circle,  then  gathered,  far  away,  around 


54  RICHMOND.  [/Ex.  18-20. 

his  mother's  table.    He  thus  alludes,  years  afterwards,  to  his  home- 
sickness :  — 

"  I  am  not  sorr}'  that  you  have  had  a  touch  of  this  disease.  I 
know  it  well.  I  remember  how  my  throat  seemed  full,  and  food 
was  tasteless,  and  the  solitude  which  I  fled  to  was  utter  loneliness. 
It  is  worse  than  sea-sickness,  but  it  comes  from  the  heart ;  it  is  a 
tribute  to  the  friends  you  have  left." 

This  slight  experience  of  poverty,  too,  sank  deep  into  his  memory, 
and  gave  him  through  life  most  tender  compassion  for  the  needy. 

His  general  state  and  habits  he  thus  describes  :  — 

"  My  DEAR  Fellow,  — .  .  .  .  Did  you  but  know  the  exquisite 
happiness  which  the  handwriting  of  a  friend  affords  me,  now  that  I 
am  so  far  from  home,  without  one  companion  of  my  youth  to  clieer 
my  social  or  share  my  gloom}'  hours,  I  am  sure  you  would  snatch 
a  few  moments  from  sleep,  or  the  round  of  amusements,  to  scribble 
me  a  letter. 

"  You  seem  anxious  to  know  how  I  am  situated.     Very  happily, 
I  assure  you  ;  as  happily  as  I  could   ))e  at  such   a  distance   from 
Newport.     I  finish  school  before  dinner,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  day 
I  spend   as  I  choose.     I  am  treated  with  every  attention  I  can 
desire.     I  have  a  retired  room  for  my  study,  a  lonely  plain  to  Avalk 
in,  and  you  know,  Shaw,  that  under  these  circumstances  I  cannot 
be  miserable.     I  often  look  towards  the  North  with  a  sigh,  and 
think  of  the  scenes  I  have  left  behind  me.     But  1  remember  that 
cruel  necessity  has  driven  me  from  home,  and  wipe  away  the  tear 
which  the  painful  recollection  had  wrung  from  my  eyes.     Do  not 
misunderstand  me,   Shaw.     When  I  say  cruel  necessity,  I  do  not 
mean  poverty.     No  !     It  is  a  necessit}-  wliich  my  feelings  have  im- 
posed upon  me,  —  a  necessity  arising  from  a  change  in  my  senti- 
ments, and  a  peculiarity  of  character  which  I  cannot  explain  to 
you.     It  is  now  that  I  experience  tlic  benefit  of  habits  which  I 
formed  in  early  life.     O  Heaven  !  what  a  wretch  should  I  be,  how 
wearisome   would  be  existence,  had   I   not  learned  to  depend  on 
myself  for  enjoyment !     Society  becomes  more  and  more  insipid. 
I  am  tired  of  tlie  fashionable  nonsense  which  dins  my  ear  in  every 
circle,  and  I  am  driven  to  my  book  and  pen  for  relief  and  pleasure. 
With  my  book  and  pen  in  my  hand,  I  am  always  happy.     Nature 
or  education  lias  given  this  bent  to  my  mind,  and  1  esteem  it  as 
the  ricliest  blessing  Heaven  ever  sent  me.     1  am  independent  of 
the  world.     Above  all  things,  cultivate  tliis  independence.     You 
know  it  is  my  idol,  and  I  know  of  no  virtue  more  necessary  to  a 
politician." 


1798-1800.]  LITERARY  PURSUITS.  55 

The  studies  to  which  he  was  assiduously  devoting  himself  were 
partly  of  a  general  character,  as  appears  from  the  following  letters 
to  his  friend  Shaw,  describing  his  literary  pursuits. 

"  I  have  not  yet  received  an  answer  to  my  last  two  letters.  But 
I  abhor  ceremony,  and  when  I  have  an  hour's  leisure  and  a  full 
heart  I  cannot  enjoy  myself  better  than  in  communicating  my  sen- 
timents and  feelings  to  a  friend.  I  am  now  totally  immersed  in 
literature.  I  have  settled  a  course  of  reading  for  three  years,  and 
I  hope  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  have  knowledge  enough  to  enter 
on  the  world.  I  intend  to  pursue  a  course  of  modern  history  im- 
mediately'. I  have  purchased  a  set  of  Russell,  and  shall  take 
Belsham's  George  the  Third  for  a  continuation.  I  shall  gain  more 
particular  knowledge  of  the  distinguished  reigns  by  the  help  of 
biographies,  I  have  understood  that  Harte's  Gustavus  is  a  good 
work.  What  do  you  know  of  it?  If  it  is  worth  reading,  and  not 
too  voluminous,  could  you  forward  it  to  me?  What  do  you  think 
of  Gillie's  Frederick?  I  can  procure  it  here,  if  you  recommend  it. 
I  have  alreadj'  Voltaire's  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  Would  you  advise 
Sully's  Memoirs  in  this  course?  I  shall  begin  Russell  at  Henry  the 
Seventh  of  England.  I  have  read  all  of  Hume  but  tlie  last  volume. 
He  does  not  throw  light  enough  on  the  rest  of  Europe.  Tell  me 
what  books  must  be  added,  and  what  retrenched.  I  wish  I  could 
get  a  good  Roman  and  a  good  Grecian  history.  I  know  of  none 
which  is  political  enough,  and  which  attends  to  the  private  life  of 
those  nations.  Ferguson  will  carry  me  to  the  termination  of  the 
Roman  Republic.  But  must  I  wade  through  Gibbon  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  the  Empire?  Rather  than  do  this,  I  will  wait  till  I 
begin  a  course  of  ecclesiastical  history.  What  do  you  know  of 
Mitford's  Greece?  I  shall  now  read  history'  very  differently  from 
what  I  used  to  do.  I  shall  read  it  as  a  politician  and  a  moral- 
ist. I  shall  found  my  opinions  of  government  on  what  I  see  to  be 
the  effects  of  different  systems,  and  not  on  idle  speculation.  I 
study  harder  than  ever." 

Of  Robertson's  Charles  the  Fifth,  which  he  at  this  period  read, 
he  once  remarked  :  — 

"That  history  first  gave  me  a  right  direction  in  historical  mat- 
ters. The  introduction  is  superficial ;  but  to  me,  in  my  ignorance, 
it  was  full  of  light,  and  taught  the  value  of  broad  views  of  human 
affairs  ;  it  led  me  to  look  for  the  steady  causes  and  tendencies  at 
work  among  nations.  On  the  whole,  Robertson  gives  a  prett}'  fair 
view  of  the  Reformation,  —  tliat  mighty  event,  —  tliough,  indeed, 
he  was  a  Protestant,  and  no  Protestant  can  be  wholly  impartial." 


66  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

Speaking  of 's  poem,  he  saj's :  — 

"In  ancient  times  it  was  a  common  opinion  that  Parnassus  was 
hard  to  climb,  and  its  top  ahnost  inaccessible.  But  in  modern 
times  we  seem  to  have  made  a  beaten  cart-wa}'  over  it,  and  wliere 
is  the  man  who  cannot  travel  it  without  difficulty  or  danger? 
Helicon  was  once  represented  as  a  scanty  stream,  and  happ}^  was 
he  who  could  get  a  draught  of  it.  But  now  it  has  become  so  bold 
a  river  that  every  ploughboy  in  the  field  of  science  can  water  his 
horses  at  it.  Inspiration  descends  in  the  form  of  a  thick  fog,  and 
the  beclouded  fancy  which  paints  a  monster,  while  it  aims  at 
sketching  nature,  is  admired  for  the  boldness  and  wildness  of  its 
thoughts 

"His  metaphors,  generally  speaking,  are  too  far-fetched.  He 
shows  more  of  the  scholar  than  the  man,  and  none  but  a  scholar 
can  understand  his  productions.  He  pleases  the  refined  taste  of 
the  critic,  but  cannot  strike  the  master-springs  of  the  human  lieart. 
....  His  poetry  is  loaded  with  cumbrous  epithets.  Pie  dazzles  us 
with  his  splendor,  but  he  does  not  warm  us  with  the  blaze  of  his 
genius.  Like  a  glittering  sword  brandished  in  a  sunbeam,  he 
flashes  light  into  your  eyes,  without  communicating  any  of  the  heat 
of  that  luminary.  I  love  an  author  who  converges  the  rays  of 
thought  till  the}'  burn  in  a  focus. 

"The  ancients  heaped  flowers  on  the  dead,  but  gave  a  simple 
garland  of  oak  to  the  hving  hero.  I  admire  their  taste.  Let  tlie 
servile  imitator  deck  his  lifeless  page  with  a  profusion  of  epithets. 
They  keep  the  corpse  out  of  sight.  But  genius  can  give  the  spark 
of  life,  the  bloom  of  health,  the  lightning  eye,  the  majesty  of  form, 
and  the  glow  of  thought,  to  her  productions.  What  need,  then, 
of  ornament?  .... 

"  I  have  lately  read  Mrs.  Wolstonecraft's  posthumous  works. 
Her  letters,  toward  the  end  of  the  first  volume,  are  the  best  I  ever 
read.  They  are  superior  to  Sterne's.  I  consider  tliat  woman  as 
the  greatest  of  the  age.  Her  '  Rights  of  Woman '  is  a  masculine 
performance,  and  ought  to  be  studied  by  the  sex.  Can  you  call 
her  a  prostitute?  Slie  indeed  formed  a  guilty  connection.  But 
even  then  she  acted  upon  jirinciple 

"  It  seems  that  you  cannot  love  Mrs.  Wolstoneeraft.  I  do  not 
mean  to  figlit  with  you  about  her.  Her  principles  respecting  mar- 
riage would  prove  fatal  to  society,  if  they  were  reduced  to  practice. 
These  I  cannot  recommend.  But  on  other  subjects  her  sentiments 
are  noble,  generous,  and  sublime.  She  possessed  a  mascuUne 
mind,  but  in  her  letters  you  may  discover  a  heart  as  soft  and  feel- 


1798-1800.]  LOVE  OF  NATURE.  57 

ing  as  was  ever  placed  iu  the  breast  of  a  woman.  I  onl}-  know  her 
by  her  writuigs 

"  I  have  been  reading  Rousseau's  Eloise.  What  a  writer !  Rous- 
seau is  the  only  French  author  I  have  ever  read,  who  knows  the 
way  to  the  heart 

"  I  would  also  recommend  to  you  a  novel,  '  Caleb  Williams,'  by 
Godwin.  Shaw,  what  a  melancholy  reflection  is  it  that  the  writers 
I  have  now  mentioned  were  all  deists !  Blest  with  the  powers  of 
intellect  and  fancy,  they  have  not  been  able  to  discern  the  traces  of 
a  God  in  his  Holy  Scriptures,  and  have  trodden  under  foot  the  only 
treasure  which  deserved  pursuit.  The  pride  of  human  nature  has 
been  the  source  of  their  error.  They  could  not  '  become  as  little 
children.'  They  could  not  bear  the  yoke  of  Christ,  imbibe  the 
meek  and  humble  spirit  of  his  religion,  and  rely  upon  his  merits 
for  pardon  and  acceptance  with  God." 

But  while  earnestly  occupied  in  political  speculations,  and  in 
historical  and  literary  pursuits, — thus  already  manifesting  the 
varied  mental  activity  which  marked  him  in  mature  life,  —  other 
characteristic  tendencies  appeared.  The  poetic  temperament  that 
had  led  him  to  the  beach  in  Newport  and  to  the  willow  walk  in  Cam- 
bridge —  thrilling  his  soul  with  the  sense  of  beauty,  with  yearnings 
to  be  free  from  imperfection,  and  visions  of  good  too  great  for  earth 
—  was  working  strongly  in  him  now.  On  the  banks  of  the  James 
River,  dotted  with  islets  of  most  brilliant  emerald,  —  under  the 
shadows  of  deep  groves,  where  century-old  sycamores  reared  their 
tall  white  trunks  lilie  cathedral  columns,  —  among  arbors  formed 
by  the  gnarled  grape-vines  which  twined  their  heavy  folds  over 
trees  crushexl  down  by  their  weight,  where  the  bright,  polished 
leaves  of  the  holly  glistened,  and  the  gum  and  the  maple  spread 
out  their  various-tinted  verdure,  and  the  tulip-tree  raised  its  pyra- 
mid of  orange-green  blossoms  to  the  sun,  —  he  passed  hours  and 
days  of  delightful  wandering,  lost  in  soft  dreams  and  rapturous 
visions.     In  one  letter  he  says  :  — 

"I  wish  that  j'ou  had  been  with  me,  Shaw!  Arm  in  arm, 
we  would  have  strolled  over  the  fields,  and  gazed  with  admira- 
tion on  the  surrounding  scenery.  A  few  traces  of  cultiva- 
tion varied  the  prospect,  and  all  besides  was  wild  and  luxuriant. 
Nature  still  triumphed,  —  still  reposed  on  her  bed  of  leaves 
under  the  shade  of  the  oak  and  pine.  Our  house  was  delight- 
fully situated  on  the  top  of  a  little  hill.  Before  us  spread  a 
valley  clothed  with  corn  and  tobacco  crops.  Beyond  it  rose 
two   mountains.      The   passing   clouds   rested   on  their  sunnnits, 


58  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

and  one  continued  forest  covered  their  sides,  extending  down  to 
tlie  plain  below.   .  .   . 

"  We  would  often  rest  under  the  vine  or  the  peach-tree,  fill  our 
bosoms  with  clusters  of  wild  grapes,  wipe  the  down  from  the 
delicious  fruit,  and  slake  our  thirst  at  the  friendl}-  rivulet  which 
murmured  by  our  feet.  I  assure  you  I  have  had  a  charming  time. 
I  love  the  country.  As  3-ou  have  but  little  work  to  do,  you  hardl}-^ 
know  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  holida}'.  View  me,  pent  up 
in  a  school  for  eight  months,  and  then  let  loose  in  the  fields,  free 
as  the  air  I  breathe,  and  emancipated  from  the  frivolous  punc- 
tilios and  galling  forms  of  society.  I  snuff  up  the  fresh  breezes  ; 
I  throw  myself  on  the  soft  bed  of  grass  which  Natiu-e  has  formed 
for  her  favorites ;  I  feel  every  power  within  me  renewed  and 
invigorated.  .   .   . 

"  You  told  me,  some  time  ago.  that  you  had  broken  off  the  habit 
of  musing.  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same.  You  cannot  conceive 
how  much  of  m}'  time,  especially  at  this  season,  is  thrown  away  in 
pursuing  the  phantoms  of  a  disordered  imagination.  Musing  wears 
away  my  body  and  my  mind.  I  walk  without  attending  to  the  dis- 
tance. Sometimes  joy  gives  me  wings,  or  else,  absorbed  in  melan- 
choly, I  drag  one  foot  heavily  after  the  other  for  whole  hours 
together.  I  try  to  read,  but  I  onl}-  repeat  words,  without  receiving 
an  idea  from  them.     Do  give  me  a  recipe  for  curing  this  disorder." 

Later  in  life,  too,  in  counselling  a  3'oung  friend,  he  thus  alludes 
to  his  own  earl}-  habits  :  — 

"  Do  anything  innocent,  rather  than  give  yourself  up  to  reverie. 
I  can  speak  on  this  point  from  experience.  At  one  period  of  my  life 
I  was  a  dreamer,  castle-builder.  Visions  of  the  distant  and  future 
took  the  place  of  present  duty  and  activity.  I  spent  hours  m  reverie. 
I  suppose  1  was  seduced  in  part  by  physical  del»ilitv;  but  the  body 
suffered  as  much  as  the  mind.  I  found,  too,  that  the  imagination 
threatened  to  inflame  the  passions,  and  that,  if  I  meant  to  be  vir- 
tuous, I  must  dismiss  my  musings.  Tlie  conflict  was  a  hard  one. 
I  resolved,  prayed,  resisted,  sought  refuge  in  occupation,  and  at 
length  triumi)hed.     I  beg  you  to  avail  yourself  of  my  experience. 

"  It  is  true  that  c\qy\  soul  has  its  own  warfare  to  go  through, 
but  still  we  may  help  one  another.  At  your  age  there  is  often  a 
great  and  sudden  development  of  the  sensibilities.  The  imagina- 
tion is  stirred  up  by  the  hope  of  a  vast  and  undefined  good,  by 
prospects  of  the  uncertain  and  boundless  future,  and  plunges  into 
reverie.  The  present  is  too  narrow  for  us.  "We  know  not  what 
we  want.     Sometimes  a  secret  restlessness  devours  the  voung,  a 


1798-1800.]  REVERIE.  59 

mj'sterious  fever  of  the  spirit.  T\'e  must  not  -n-onder  at  this.  Our 
nature  has  mighty  energies,  and  they  are  given  to  us,  if  I  ma^'  so 
say,  in  a  rude  state,  that  we  may  reduce  them  to  harmony.  The 
young  mind,  when  roused  to  life  and  power,  is  at  first  very  much 
a  chaos.  Some  at  tliis  critical  period  abandon  themselves  to 
sensual  excesses,  in  hope  of  seizing  that  intense  good  which  they 
thirst  for.  Some  give  themselves  up  to  secret  musings,  and  seek 
in  unreal  worlds  what  the  actual  world  cannot  give.  Happy  the 
young  man  who  at  this  moment  seizes  on  some  views,  however  faint, 
of  the  true  and  great  end  of  his  being  ;  who  is  conscious,  amidst 
his  wild  thoughts,  that  he  has  within  himself  a  power  of  forming  him- 
self to  something  pure,  noble,  divine  ;  who  S3'mpathizes  with  the 
generous,  disinterested,  heroic  ;  who  feels  that  he  must  establish 
an  empire  over  himself,  or  be  lost.  The  idea  of  i)erfection  is  of 
necessity  revealed  to  us  at  first  very  imperfectly  ;  but  if  we  seize 
it  with  faith  in  the  possibility  of  realizing  it,  of  rising  to  something 
higher  than  we  are,  and  if  faith  give  birth  to  resolution,  then  our 
30uth,  with  all  its  tumults  and  vehemence,  is  full  of  promise." 

And  again  :  — 

"Have  you  been  searching  into  your  own  motives,  affections, 
powers,  secret  processes?  This  ma}'  be  most  useful,  if  we  study 
ourselves,  not  from  self-idolatr}-,  not  under  the  notion  that  we  de- 
serve all  our  power  of  thought,  but  that  we  may  learn  our  common 
m3'sterious  nature,  may  learn  something  of  all  souls,  may  learn 
our  end,  and  may  raise  our  standard  of  judgment  and  action.  But 
perhaps  you  have  been  emplo^'ed  with  yourself  in  the  sense  of  med- 
itating anxiousl}-  and  jealoush'  on  your  defects,  or  of  fashioning  in 
reverie  your  own  future  lot.  These  are  both  bad  occupations.  I 
wasted  a  good  deal  of  my  early  life  in  reverie,  and  broke  the  habit 
only  bv  painful  self-conflict.  I  felt  that  my  powers  were  running 
wild,  and  m}-  religious  principles  were  infinitely  important  to  me  in 
giving  me  the  victoiy.  The  best  escape  from  this  habit  is  found 
in  interesting  occupation,  of  an  earnest,  absorbing  nature,  and  an 
innocent,  cheering  society.  I  have  sutfered,  too,  from  a  painful 
sense  of  defects ;  but,  on  the  whole,  have  been  too  wise  to  waste  in 
idle  lamentations  of  deficiencies  the  energy  which  should  be  used 
in  removing  them." 

And,  finally,  his  romantic  enthusiasm  is  thus  laid  fully  bare,  in  a 
confession  to  his  friend  Shaw  :  — 

"  My  dear  Fellow,  —  I  sit  down  to  write  you,  to  disburden  a 
full  heart,  and  cheer  a  heavy  hour.  It  is  spring-time,  and  a  uni- 
versal languor  has  seized  on  me.     Not  long  ago,  I  was  an  eagle. 


60  RICHMOND.  .  [JEt.  18-20. 

I  had  built  mj-  nest  among  the  stars,  and  I  soared  in  regions  of 
unclouded  ether.  But  I  fell  from  heaven,  and  the  spirit  which  once 
animated  me  has  fled.  I  have  lost  every  energy  of  soul,  and  the 
only  relic  of  3'our  friend  is  a  sickly  imagination,  a  fevered  sensi- 
bility. I  cannot  study.  I  wallv  and  muse  till  I  can  walk  no  longer. 
I  sit  down  with  Goldsmith  or  Rogers  in  my  hand,  and  shed  tears 
—  at  what?     At  fictitious  misery  ;  at  tales  of  imaginary  woe. 

"  My  whole  life  has  been  a  struggle  with  my  feelings.  Last 
winter  I  thought  myself  victorious.  But  earth-born  Antjeus  has 
risen  stronger  than  ever.  I  repeat  it,  my  whole  life  has  been  a 
struggle  with  my  feelings.  Ask  those  with  whom  I  have  lived,  and 
they  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  stoic.  I  almost  thought  so  myself. 
But  I  only  smothered  a  fire  which  will  one  day  consume  me.  I  sigh 
for  ti-anquil  happiness.  I  have  long  wished  that  my  days  might 
flow  along  like  a  gentle  stream,  which  fertilizes  its  banks  and 
reflects  in  its  clear  surface  the  face  of  heaven.  But  I  can  onli/  wish 
it.  I  still  continue  sanguine,  ardent,  and  inconstant.  I  can  re- 
member the  days  when  I  gloried  in  the  moments  of  rapture,  when 
I  loved  to  shroud  myself  ni  the  gloom  of  melancholy.  You  may 
remember  them  too.  But  I  have  grown  wiser,  as  I  have  grown 
older.  I  now  wish  to  do  good  in  the  world.  '  I  love  a  divine,' 
says  the  good  Fenelon,  '  who  preaches  to  save  men's  souls,  and  not 
to  show  himself.'  I  perfectly  agree  with  Fenelon  ;  and  to  make 
such  a  divine  as  he  loves,  I  must  throw  away  those  ridiculous 
ecstasies,  and  form  myself  to  habits  of  piety  and  benevolence. 
One  of  the  reasons  why  I  dislike  the  rapture  and  depressions  of 
spirit  which  we  used  to  encourage  at  college  is  probably  this,  — 
1  find  none  to  share  them  with  me. 

''  The  other  day,  I  handed  to  a  lady  a  sonnet  of  Southey's,  which 
had  wrung  tears  from  me.  '  It  is  pretty,'  said  she,  with  a  smile. 
'  Pretty  ! '  echoed  I,  as  I  looked  at  her ;  '  pretty  ! '  I  went  home. 
As  I  grew  composed,  I  could  not  help  reflecting  that  the  lady  who 
had  made  this  answer  was  universally  esteemed  for  her  benevo- 
lence. I  knew  that  she  was  goodness  itself.  But  still  she  wanted 
feeling.  '  And  what  is  feeling?'  said  I  to  myself.  I  blushed  when 
I  thought  more  on  the  subject.  I  found  that  the  mind  was  just  as 
passive  in  tliat  state  which  I  called  '  feeling,'  as  when  it  received 
any  impressions  of  sense.  One  consequence  immediately  struck  me, 
that  there  was  no  moral  merit  in  possessing  feeling.  Of  course  there 
can  be  no  crime  in  wanting  it.  '  Well,'  continued  I,  '  I  have  just 
been  treating  with  contemi)t  a  woman  of  active  benevolence,  for  not 
possessing  what  I  must  own  it  is  no  crime  to  want.  Is  this  just?' 
I  then  went  on  to  conside)-  whether  there  were  not  man}-  persons 


1798-1800.J  ENTHUSIASM.  61 

who  possessed  this  boasted  feeling,  but  who  were  still  deficient  in 
active  benevolence.  A  thousand  instances  occurred  to  me.  I  found 
myself  among  the  number.  '  It  is  true,'  said  I,  '  that  I  sit  in  my 
study  and  shed  tears  over  human  miserj-.  I  weep  over  a  novel. 
I  weep  over  a  tale  of  human  woe.  But  do  I  ever  relieve  the  dis- 
tressed? Have  I  ever  lightened  the  load  of  affliction  ? '  My  cheeks 
reddened  at  the  question  ;  a  cloud  of  error  burst  from  m}'  mind.  I 
found  that  virtue  did  not  consist  in  feeling,  but  in  acting  from  a 
sense  of  duty." 

Mr.  Channing's  poetic  temperament  was  chief!}-  manifested,  how- 
ever, in  the  lofty  hopes  whicli  it  inspired  for  a  state  of  ideal  virtue 
in  individuals  and  humanit}^  for  "  a  more  ample  greatness  and  ex- 
act goodness,  the  world  being  inferior  to  the  soul."  In  answer  to 
one  of  his  fervent  outpourings  upon  these  themes,  his  friend  Walter 
writes  to  him:  "I  have  read  your  letter  over  and  over  again, 
and  should  not  deserve  to  live,  were  I  not  delighted  with  the  beau- 
tiful enthusiasm  and  benevolent  wishes  breathed  in  every  word. 
They  are  monuments  of  your  goodness  and  benevolence  to  me  more 
valuable  than  those  of  brass  and  marble.  But,  ni}'  dear  Channing, 
is  not  3'our  theory  incompatible  with  the  experience  of  ages  ?  "  And 
in  reply  to  j'et  another  letter,  his  brother  Francis  saj's :  "You 
know  nothing  of  yourself.  You  talk  of  your  apathy  and  stoicism, 
when  you  are  the  baby  of  your  emotions,  and  dandled  by  them 
without  an}'  chance  of  being  weaned.  What  shall  I  expect?  Noth- 
ing, certainl}',  but  what  is  amiable  and  humane  ;  but  virtue  in  dis- 
traction may  be  as  idle  and  useless,  though  soaring  and  sublime,  as 
a  lunatic."  Friends  on  all  sides,  indeed,  evidentl}'  thought  him  the 
prey  of  fevered  imagination,  and  to  one  of  their  appeals  to  be  more 
calm  and  prudent,  he  thus  replies  :  — 

"  I  will  throw  together  a  few  observations  on  the  subject,  in  as 
short  a  compass  as  possible,  and  without  the  least  mixture  of  ro- 
mance or  enthusiasm.  I  do  not  mean  to  challenge  yo\x  into  the 
lists  of  argument.  I  do  not  fight  for  victory.  I  onl}'  wish  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  am  not  so  wild  in  m}'  views,  or  so  erroneous  in  my 
sentiments,  as  3'our  letter  represents  me. 

"  You  begin  with  observing,  that  '  the  will  of  Heaven  to  man  is 
declared  in  the  situation  in  which  he  is  placed,  and  in  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life ' ;  and  3'ou  afterwards  saj',  that  '  everj'  one  is  a 
Howard  who  like  him  applies  his  penn}'  or  his  pound.'  I  cannot 
assent  to  this  in  its  full  extent.  You  evidently  go  upon  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  circumstances  of  our  lives  are  decided  by  Heaven. 
I  believe  they  are  decided  b}'  ourselves.     Man  is  the  artificer  of  his 


62  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

own  fortune.  By  exertion  he  can  enlarge  the  sphere  of  his  useful- 
ness. By  activity  he  can  '  multiply  himself.'  It  is  mind  which 
gives  him  an  ascendant  in  society.  It  is  mind  which  extends  liis 
power  and  ability ;  and  it  depends  on  himself  to  call  forth  tlie  en- 
ergies of  mind,  to  strengthen  intellect,  and  form  benevolence  into 
a  liabit  of  the  soul.  Tlie  consequence  wliicli  I  deduce  from  these 
principles  is  this,  —  that  Heaven  has  not,  by  placing  me  in  partic- 
ular circumstances,  assigned  me  a  determinate  sphere  of  usefulness, 
(which  seems  to  be  your  opinion,)  but  that  it  is  in  m}'  power,  and 
of  course  that  it  is  my  duty,  to  widen  the  circle,  and  '  tlu'ow  m}' 
beams'  still  farther  '  into  the  night  of  adversity.'  This,  Francis,  is 
the  leading  idea  which  runs  through  my  letter,  and  will  you  call  it 
extravagance  ? 

"It  is  not  enough  that  you  do  good  in  pi-oportion  to  your  power, 
when  3'ou  have  criminally  neglected  to  enlaige  tliis  power.  Will 
you  call  the  idle  man  '  a  Howard,'  who  indeed  shares  his  loaf  of 
bread  with  a  brother  beggar,  but  who,  by  industry,  might  have  pro- 
cured the  means  of  making  thousands  happy?  You  understand 
me.  I  ma^'  have  written  a  thousand  extravagances  to  you  which 
I  have  forgotten.  But  the  great  and  striking  principles  which  I  ad- 
vanced I  have  unfolded  above,  and  they  still  appear  to  my  sober 
reason  as  principles  founded  on  immutable  truth.  You  tell  me  I 
am  onl^'  a  caudle.  Perhaps  I  am  less,  —  a  farthing  rushlight,  a 
glowworm  on  a  humble  shrub.  You  say  I  am  discontented  at  not 
being  the  sun.  No  such  thing  !  Discontent  is  no  trait  in  ni}'  char- 
acter. Give  me  but  the  consciousness  that  I  have  done  all  I  could 
and  ought  to  do,  and  30U  pluck  out  ever}-  thorn  from  my  bosom.  I 
wish  I  could  return  your  compliment,  and  say  30U  were  a  candle. 
I  wish  I  could  point  to  a  man  of  m}'  acquaintance  and  sa^'  so.  Plii- 
losophers  tell  us  that  a  candle  fills  with  light  a  sphere  of  four  miles' 
diameter.  Send  me  the  dimensions  of  your  sphere.  Mine  is  fifteen 
feet  by  ten.  Is  it  not  shameful !  Ambition  has  waved  her  flaming 
torch  over  nations,  and  set  the  world  in  a  blaze.  Avai'ice  has 
penetrated  earth  itself,  and  with  a  steadier  and  more  stinted  light 
illumined  the  sunless  mine.  But  show  me  humanity,  with  even  one 
lonel}'  candle  in  her  hand,  throwing  a  few  beams  into  the  night  '  of 
adversity,'  bringing  to  light  the  hidden  treasures  of  neglected  in- 
tellect, &c.,  &c.  I  dare  go  no  farther,  lest  you  should  begin  to 
compliment  me  about  entlmsiasm." 

The  form  which  his  ardent  philanthrop}'  assumed  was  the  one 
which  must  always  cheer  the  truly  noble  and  heroic,  and  which 
then  presented  itself  in  such  glowing  hues  to  many  minds  in  France, 


1798-1800.J  COMMUNITY  OF  PROPERTY.  63 

German}',  and  England,  —  the  vision  of  a  'perfect  society.  ' '  Socrates 
and  Plato,"  writes  his  brother,  "  were  schoolmasters  ;  Pythagoras 
went  farther,  and  formed  a  society  of  virtuous  disciples,  —  a  soci- 
et}'  wonderful,  because  unparalleled.  It  was,  however,  confined 
to  but  a  part  of  Italy.  My  brother  advances  with  noble  ardor 
to  a  vaster  enterprise.  The  world  is  to  be  his  Acadenn',  and  all 
mankind  his  pupils.  To  make  all  men  happy,  hy  making  all  vir- 
tuous, is  his  glorious  project.  I  adore  it,  thou  moral  Archimedes  I 
but  where  wilt  thou  stand  to  move  the  mental  world  ?  Whither  has 
enthusiasm  hurried  3'ou?"  &,c.  So,  also,  his  friend  Walter  writes  : 
"Will  3-ou  make  yourself  miserable  because  you  cannot  reach 
the  rainbow  from  the  hill?  In  heaven,  Channing,  you  will  find  the 
scope  you  seek  for  progression  in  virtue  ;  but  here  the  mind  par- 
takes of  the  clay  which  encloses  it,"  &c. 

His  views  ma}'  be  best  learned  from  the  following  letter :  — 

"I  have  of  late,  my  friend,  launched  boldl}'  into  speculations  on 
the  possible  condition  of  mankind  in  the  progress  of  their  improve- 
ment. I  find  avarice  the  great  bar  to  all  ni}'  schemes,  and  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  assert  that  the  human  race  will  never  be  happier  than  at 
present  till  the  establishment  of  a  community  of  propert}'. 

"  I  derive  my  sentiments  from  the  nature  of  man.  What  is  man? 
for  what  was  he  born?  To  vegetate,  to  draw  nutrition  from  the 
earth,  and  then  wither  away  forgotten  and  unknown?  O,  no!  he 
bears  a  spark  of  divinity  in  his  bosom,  and  it  is  Promethean  fire 
which  animates  his  cla}'.  Look  at  the  human  mind.  See  it  burst- 
ing forth,  spreading  itself  through  infinite  space,  by  its  power  of 
receiving  ideas  from  external  objects  concentrating  immensity  in  a 
point,  and  by  its  powers  of  retrospect  and  anticipation  concentrat- 
ing eternit}'  in  a  moment.  Need  I  mention  his  faculty  of  moral 
discernment,  or  his  creative  imagination?  Now,  Shaw,  I  would 
ask  3'ou,  in  what  does  the  perfection  of  man  consist ;  which  part  of 
his  nature  requires  most  care  ;  from  what  source  is  his  most  ra- 
tional and  permanent  happiness  derived?  The  answer  you  must 
make  is,  *■  The  mmd.'  In  proportion  as  his  mind  is  improved  in 
science  and  virtue,  in  that  degree  is  he  happy. 

"Now,  my  friend,  let  me  ask  you  to  look  on  the  world  and  to 
show  me  the  man  who  is  engaged  in  this  improvement.  All  is 
hurry,  all  is  business.  But  wh}^  this  tumult?  To  pamper  the 
senses  and  load  the  body  with  idle  trappings.  Show  me  the  man 
who  ever  toiled  for  wealth  to  relieve  misery,  and  unrivet  the  chains 
of  oppression.  Show  me  the  man  who  ever  imported  virtue  from 
the  Indies,  or  became  a  better  Christian  by  increasing  his  hoard. 


64  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

Are  not  the  mines  of  science  forsaken  for  those  of  Potosi?  Does 
not  the  pursuit  of  wealth  damp  our  feehngs,  freeze  up  the  tears  of 
benevolence,  check  the  flight  of  genius,  and  excite  in  our  bosom 
distrust  and  suspicion  towards  our  brethren  of  the  human  race'} 
Does  it  not  render  mankind  venal  and  mercenary?  Yes  ;  give  me 
gold  enough  and  I  will  buy  up  the  souls  of  our  whole  si)ecies.  I 
do  not  except  myself.  I  love  money.  I  have  my  price.  And 
what  is  gold?  Perishing  earth  and  dust.  What  does  it  procure? 
Meat,  drink,  and  clothing.  Now,  Shaw,  since  the  body  is  so  infe- 
rior to  the  mind,  do  j'ou  think  that  more  attention  should  be  paid 
to  feeding  and  clothing  it  than  is  absoluteh-  necessary?  No.  Is 
not  this  speculative  opinion  supported  by  fact?  Do  not  nature  and 
experience  declare  to  us,  that  the  more  temperate  we  are,  the  health- 
ier and  happier  we  are  ?  The  wants  of  the  bodt/,  then,  are  few , 
and  the  labor  of  mankind  is  misapjilied.  This  conclusion  is  fairl}' 
drawn  from  the  premises. 

"  But  here  you  will  cr}^  out,  '  All  this  is  theoretic  nonsense. 
Man  is  selfish.  He  will  always  strive  to  gratify  his  senses  ;  and  if 
gold  will  procure  these  gratifications,  he  will  always  pursue  it.' 
Stop,  my  friend  ;  I  grant  that  man  is  selfish.  But  ought  he  to  be 
so?  Was  man  framed  for  himself,  or  for  his  fellow-men?  On  this 
point  of  morality  I  know  we  shall  agree  ;  and  you  will  think  as  I 
do,  that  if  we  can  substitute  benevolence  for  selfislmess,  we  shall 
add  to  the  sum  of  human  virtue  and  happiness.  Again,  ought  man 
to  provide  most  for  his  body  or  his  mind?  Here,  too,  we  shall 
agree  ;  —  and  no  doubt  you  wish  to  see  a  love  of  science  take  the 
place  of  a  love  of  money  in  the  human  breast.  Now  I  think  that 
these  changes  can  be  effected  in  the  sentiments  and  feelings  of 
mankind.  How?  By  education.  Do  you  wonder,  Shaw,  that  you 
see  so  many  selfish  and  avaricious  wretches  on  earth,  when  you 
behold  every  mother,  as  she  holds  her  child  on  her  knee,  instilling 
the  maxims  of  worldly  prudence  into  his  tender  bosom?  How  is  it 
that  you  and  I,  in  the  midst  of  this  infection,  still  glow  with  benev- 
olence to  mankind,  and  derive  such  high  joys  from  the  cultivation 
of  our  minds  ?  Is  not  this  an  earnest  of  what  would  hai^pcn  uni- 
versally, were  the  world  to  unite  in  instilling  these  noble  priii(.'ii)les 
into  the  rising  generation?  Judge  from  your  own  feelings,  whether 
the  principle  of  benevolence,  sympath}",  or  humanity  is  not  so 
strongly  impressed  on  the  heart  by  God  himself  that,  with  i)roper  care, 
it  might  become  the  principle  of  action.  Judge  from  your  own 
feelings,  whether  the  love  of  science  is  not  founded  upon  so  natural 
a  sentiment  —  I  mean  curiosity  —  that,  with  the  same  care,  it 
would  pervade  every  bosom.     I  declare  to  you  that  I  believe  these 


1798-1800]  COMMUNITY   OF   PROPERTY.  65 

ideas  to  be  incontrovertible.  Do  you  not  glow  at  the  prospect? 
Behold  the  rising  virtues  attended  b}- truth  and  wisdom,  —  peace 

with  her  olive-branch,  compassion  witli  her  Ixalm O  my  friend  ! 

I  can  go  no  farther.  I  feel  a  noble  enthusiasm  spreading  through 
m\'  frame  ;  every  nerve  is  strung,  ever}-  muscle  is  laboring ;  my 
bosom  pants  with  a  great,  half-conceived,  and  indescribable  sen- 
timent ;  I  seem  inspired  with  a  surrounding  deit}'. 

"'But  stop,'  I  hear  you  say,  'you  are  too  impetuous.  IIow 
will  you  lead  mankind  to  educate  their  children  in  this  wav? '  Av, 
there  is  the  rub  ;  there  lies  the  difficulty.  It  is  onl}-  by  implanting 
benevolence  and  love  of  science  in  the  mind  of  the  parent,  and  root- 
ing out  his  avarice  and  selfishness,  that  we  can  hope  to  see  the 
child  educated  as  we  wish.  '  But  how  can  this  be  effected  ?  Do 
3'ou  mean  to  war  with  nature  ? '  No  ;  I  am  convinced  that  virtue 
and  benevolence  are  natural  to  man.  I  believe  that  selfishness  and 
avarice  have  arisen  from  two  ideas  universally  inculcated  on  the 
young  and  practised  upon  b}'  the  old,  —  (1.)  that  every  individual  has 
a  distinct  interest  to  pursue  from  the  interest  of  tJie  community  ;  and 
(2.)  that  the  body  requires  m,ore  care  than  the  mind. 

"I  believe  these  ideas  to  be  false  ;  and  I  believe  that  \o\\  can 
never  banish  them  till  you  persuade  mankind  to  cease  to  act  upon 
them;  that  is,  till  you  can  persuade  them  (1.)  to  destroy  all  dis- 
tinctions of  property  (which  3'ou  are  sensible  must  perpetuate  this 
supposed  distinction  of  interest) ,  and  to  throw  the  produce  of  their 
labor  into  one  common  stock,  instead  of  hoarding  it  up  in  their  own 
garners;  and  (2.)  to  become  really  conscious  of  the  powers  and 
the  dignity  of  their  mind.  You  must  convince  mankind  that  the}* 
themselves,  and  all  which  the}'  possess,  are  but  parts  of  a  great 
whole ;  that  they  are  bound  by  God,  their  common  Father,  to  labor 
for  the  good  of  this  great  whole  ;  that  their  wants  are  but  few,  and 
can  easily  be  supplied  ;  that  mind.,  mind  requires  all  their  care  ;  and 
that  the  dignity  of  their  nature  and  the  happiness  of  others  require 
them  to  improve  this  mind  in  science  and  virtue.  Believe  me,  my 
friend,  you  can  never  root  out  selfishness  and  avarice  till  you  de- 
stroy the  idea  that  private  interest  is  distinct  from  the  public.  You 
nnist  lead  every  man  to  propose  to  himself,  in  all  his  actions,  the 
good  of  the  whole  for  his  object.  He  must  plough  and  till  the 
earth,  that  all  may  eat  of  the  produce  of  his  labor.  Mine  and  thine 
must  be  discarded  from  his  vocabulary.  He  should  call  every- 
thing ours.  Here  would  be  no  robbery,  for  a  man  could  steal  noth- 
ing but  his  own.  No  man  would  be  idle  where  such  sentiments  and 
such  examples  prevailed ;  and  where  there  was  no  luxury  to  ener- 
vate him,  every  man  would  have  leisure  to  cultivate  the  mind.     We 

5 


QQ  RICHMOND.  [JF.T.  18-20. 

should  sleep  secureh- ;  we  should  live  long  and  hapj)ih' ;  and 
perhaps,  like  old  P^noch,  when  the  time  came,  be  translated  to 
heaven. 

"  You  will  tell  me  that  this  is  all  chimera,  that  if  we  could  indeed 
convert  one  generation,  it  would  be  ver}'  eas}'  to  perpetuate  this 
order  of  things  by  education,  through  those  that  followed  ;  but  how 
shall  we  convert  this  generation  ?  Shaw !  do  3'ou  sit  still  and  ask 
this  question?  Rise,  rise!  It  is  the  voice  of  benevolence.  Do 
you  not  feel  new  energies  at  the  sound  ?  Wliy  despair  of  success  ? 
Are  not  you  yourself  ready  to  devote  every  moment  of  existence 
and  ever_y  drop  of  30ur  blood  to  the  service  of  mankind ?  And  are 
3^ou  and  I  the  only  virtuous  ones  upon  earth  ?  No  !  Thousands 
are  ready  to  join  hands  with  us.  Truth  is  omnipotent.  She  must 
prevail.  Are  not  benevolence  and  thirst  for  knowledge  so  natural 
to  our  race,  that,  bj'  cherishing  them  in  ^outh,  when  the  mind  is 
unwarped,  we  can  form  them  into  principles  of  action'}  Is  there  a 
man  so  hard  of  heart  that  yon  cannot  find  in  him  some  string  to 
vibrate  to  the  touch  of  humanity  ?  Why  despair,  then  ?  You  pro- 
fess to  believe  in  the  Christian  religion.  Does  not  Christianity 
favor  such  a  scheme?  I  beheve  it  will  be  hard  to  reconcile  Chris- 
tian humility,  charit}-,  and  contempt  of  riches  with  the  present 
establishment  of  human  affairs.  Read  Soame  Jenyns.  His  argu- 
ments cannot  be  disproved. 

"Rouse,  then!  Consider  how  you  ma}-  best  sei-vc  mankind. 
Lend  this  letter  to  Walter.  '  We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  l)and  of 
brothers,'  will  unite  our  exertions  in  the  cause  of  virtue  and  science. 
We  will  beat  down  with  the  irresistible  engines  of  truth  those  strong 
ramparts  consolidated  b}-  time,  within  which  avarice,  ignorance, 
and  selfishness  have  intrenched  themselves.  We  will  plant  the 
standards  of  virtue  and  science  on  tlie  ruins,  and  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  a  fair  fabric  of  human  happiness  to  endure  as  long  as  time, 
and  to  acquire  new  grace  and  lustre  with  the  lapse  of  ages. 

"  My  dear  Shaw,  I  fear  you  will  sa}'  I  am  craz^'.     No,  no,  — 

'  My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time, 
And  makes  as  healthful  music' 

Then  you  will  tell  me  I  am  one  of  the  Illuminati.  Upon  my  honor, 
I  never  did  receive  any  letter  or  letters  from  Weishaupt^  in  my  life. 
These  sentiments  have  arisen  altogether  from  ni}'  detestation  of 
avarice  and  selfishness. 

"  You  will  sec,  through  the  whole  of  this  letter,  an  ardent  desire 

1  Professor  at  the  Bavarian  Institute  of  Ingolstadt,  and  founder  of  tlic  Order 
of  the  Illuminati,  177G. 


1798-1800.]  GODWIN'S  POLITICAL  JUSTICE.  67 

to  serve  mankind.  This  is  the  reigning  wish  of  my  heart.  Do  trj- 
to  think  of  some  means  in  whicli  we  can  unite  our  efforts  for  so 
desirable  an  end." 

What  particular  plan  had  taken  shape  in  his  mind  does  not 
appear  distinctly",  though,  from  his  papers,  it  is  probable  that  he 
thought  of  joining  himself,  as  minister,  to  a  settlement  of  Scotch 
emigrants,  whose  fundamental  principle  was  common  property. 
Friends  speak  laughingly  of  his  "great  scheme  "  ;  and  Walter  pro- 
poses, in  a  vein  of  mock  earnestness,  to  cany  out  the  "imaginary 
republic  of  Coleridge  and  Southey,  and  a  communit^^  of  goods,  in 
the  backwoods,  or,  better  far,  in  some  South  Sea  island."  He  then 
goes  on  to  expose  what  appear  to  him  the  peculiar  dangers  and 
temptations  of  "  community',"  and  ends  thus  :  — 

"  Indeed,  Channing,  your  sentiments  are  too  extravagant.  No 
doubt  man  would  be  happier  if  he  were  better.  But  the  difficulty 
is  to  make  him  better.  I  do  not  know  that  this  can  be  done.  You 
say  it  is  possible  ;  but  I  can  hardly  believe.  I  fear  that  the  Ger- 
man Weishaupt  has  been  tampering  with  you.  However,  he  never 
attacked  your  reason  and  judgment,  but  only  warmed  your  imagi- 
nation, by  showing  you,  in  distant  perspective,  beautiful  scenes  of 
men  and  women  and  children,  sitting  under  oak-trees,  eating 
acorns  and  drinking  water.  I  suppose,  in  conformity  with  his 
wishes,  3'ou  are  studying  German  in  order  to  be  able  to  comprehend 
the  mysteries  of  the  institution,  wiiich  are  so  sublime  that  the  Eng- 
lish language  sinks  under  their  weight.  Jacobinism  is  closely  con- 
nected with  their  system,  is  it  not?  and  this  is  the  reason  why  you 
tell  me  high  things  of  the  Democratic  Virginians  ?  " 

His  grandfather  Eller^^,  too,  in  his  plain,  straightforward  fashion, 
opens  his  mind  to  his  3'oung  relative  thus  :  — 

"  Godwin's  '  Political  Justice  '  is  after  the  manner  of  the  French 
philosophers.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  his  moral  character;  but 
I  despise  French  philosophists.  Their  system  goes  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  government  and  all  morality.  I  wish  the  poorer  sort  of 
the  Godwinites  and  Jacobinites  would  push  home  upon  their  rich 
leaders  in  the  doctrines  of  perfectibility'  and  equalization,  the  neces- 
sit}'  of  a  communit}-  of  goods,  in  order  to  a  consistency  of  conduct 
with  principle.  This  would  make  a  division  among  them ;  for  I 
believe  I  ma}-  confidentlj-  say,  that  there  is  not  a  rich  man  of  those 
principles  who  would  share  his  propert}'  with  the  poor  of  the  pre- 
tended fraternity.  He  might  perhaps  sa}',  '  Be  3e  warmed,  be  ye 
clothed ' ;  but  he  would  not  give  a  cent,  unless  for  the  purpose  of 


68  RICHMOND.  [^T.  18-20. 

elections,  or  to  cany  some  other  favorite  point.  The  principles 
referred  to  are  deistical ;  and  while  men  are  absorbed  in  luxnr\', 
and  entertain  sueli  high  notions  of  human  nature  in  general,  and  of 
themselves  in  particular,  they  will  not  listen  with  attention  to  the 
self-denying  doctrines  of  the  Gospel,  nor  submit  to  that  subordi- 
nation which  is  essential  to  order  and  happiness,  but  will  oppose 
themselves  even  to  the  government  of  Jehovah.  To  stand  fimti  in 
the  midst  of  such  characters  requires  a  great  degree  of  religions 
fortitude  ;  but  I  trust  persecution  is  not  necessary  to  preserve  your 
integrity,  or  enkindle  your  zeal.  The  rock  on  which  the  true  church 
of  Christ  is  built  is  not  to  be  overturned  by  violence  or  by  under- 
mining." 

These  most  kindly  meaning,  but  over-cautious  friends  little 
knew  the  depth  of  that  living  well  of  humanity  which,  first  opening 
in  young  Channing's  mind  while  reading  Hutcheson  in  college,  was 
thenceforth  to  pour  abroad  an  exhaustless  river.  The  current 
might  be  diverted,  but  nothing  could  seal  the  fountain.  Their 
advice  influenced  his  judgment,  but  it  did  not  make  him  for  an 
instant  untrue  to  the  law  of  his  own  character.  The  project  pres- 
ent to  his  mind,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  was  laid  aside  ;  but 
the  large  philanthropy  which  prompted  it  was  only  purified  by  the 
sacrifice.  No  fears  suggested  by  other  minds  daunted  his  own 
indomitable  trust.     Then,  and  forever, 

"  white-handed  Hope, 
The  hovering  angel  girt  with  golden  wings," 

cheered  him  and  led  him  on. 

It  would  be  interesting,  however,  to  know  how  far  this  experience, 
that  enthusiasm  impelled  him  to  plans  which  those  whom  he  rever- 
enced and  loved  thought  extravagant,  was  instrumental  in  develop- 
ing the  deliberateness  which  was  so  conspicuous  a  trait  in  maturer 
life.  And  some  may  question  whether  he  and  the  world  gained 
more  or  lost  by  the  vigilant  purpose,  then  probably  awakened,  to 
avoid  the  least  mistake.  Were  there  not  latent  energies  in  him 
which  never  germinated,  rich  impulses  which  never  bloomed  and 
bore  seeds  for  chance  winds  to  scatter?  Does  not  the  Infinite  Dis- 
poser balance  the  deficiencies  of  one  class  of  characters  by  the 
excesses  of  another,  and  thus  produce  harmony  by  the  counterpoise 
of  contJ-asted  energies?  Can  any  created  being  approximate  nearer 
to  the  right  than  by  never  compromising  and  never  postponing,  but 
always  obeying,  the  highest  impulse?  On  the  other  hand,  most  of 
those  who  knew  Dr.  Channing  well  would  probably  say  that  his 
crowning  grace  was  the  calm  patience  with  which  he  refrained  from 


1798-1800.]  STUDIES  IN  DIVINITY.  69 

acting,  until  he  was  free  to  do  so  witliout  a  discord  in  an}-  tone  of 
feeling.  He  often  declared  that,  if  there  was  anything  of  worth  in 
his  life  and  influence,  he  owed  it  to  the  fidelity  with  which  he  had 
listened  to  every  objection  that  was  presented  b}-  the  suggestion  of 
his  own  or  other  minds  to  what  he  wished  to  believe  or  to  do.  He 
thought,  too,  that  in  younger  da3's  his  impetuous  nature  had  led 
him  into  error ;  and  though  he  found  it  a  hard  trial  to  resist  the  fer- 
venc}'  of  his  temperament,  he  was  yet  firml}-  resolved  never  "  to  be 
possessed,"  but,  under  all  events,  to  "  possess  his  soul  in  peace." 

But  while  Mr.  Channing's  interests  were  thus  broad,  his  feelings 
were  constantly  concentrating  more  and  more  upon  religion,  and  a 
preparation  for  the  ministry-.  And  to  his  friend  Shaw  he  thus 
writes :  — 

"  I  am  studying  divinit}'  harder  than  ever.  Thanks  to  God  who 
made  me,  1  have  chosen  the  only  profession  which  could  make  me 
hap[)y.  B}'  studying  the  Scriptures  themselves,  I  am  trying  to 
discover  the  will  of  God,  and  the  uncorrupted  doctrines  which  our 
Saviour  taught.  I  am  certain  that  I  am  impartial ;  and  the  honest 
mind  is  in  little  danger  of  going  wrong. 

"  I  once  called  myself  a  Christian.  But  till  lately  I  knew  not  the 
meaning  of  the  word.  I  entreat  30U,  Shaw,  not  to  absorb  yourself 
so  much  in  political  pursuits  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  most  important 
of  all  your  concerns.  The  distinguishing  duties  of  our  holy  religion 
are  humilit}',  purity  of  heart,  forgiveness  of  our  worst  enemies, 
forbearance  under  the  heaviest  injuries,  detachment  from  the  pleas- 
ures and  pursuits  of  this  world,  and  supreme  affection  to  Deity. 
As  charity  is  among  the  first  of  Christian  virtues,  Christianily 
necessarily  requires  of  us  an  active  life.  It  requires  us  to  mingle 
with  our  fellow-men,  and  exert  ourselves  in  promoting  human  hap- 
pmess.  By  '  detachment  from  the  world,'  then,  I  do  not  mean  mo- 
nastic retirement.     You  cannot  do  too  much  good  in  the  world. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  be  a  Christian,  unless  he  be- 
lieves that  the  end  of  this  life  is  to  prepare  for  heaven,  and  bends 
his  affections,  his  hopes,  and  his  thoughts  to  this  all-important  end. 
Is  your  heart  pure?  '  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall 
see  God.'  Are  you  humble?  By  which  I  mean,  have  you  sucli  a 
sense  of  your  unworthiness  in  the  sight  of  God  that  you  are  willing 
to  receive  with  an  honest  heart  the  truths  which  his  Son  taught,  to 
give  yourself  up  like  a  little  child  to  be  formed  and  guided  by  him, 
and  to  receive  salvation,  not  as  due  to  ^our  own  merits,  but  as  a 
free  and  undeserved  gift  of  God  through  Jesus  Christ?     '  Whoso- 


70  RICHMOND.  [JEt.  18-20. 

ever  shall  not  humble  himself  as  this  little  child,  shall  not  enter  the 
kingdom  of  God.'  '  Resist  not  evil.'  Here  is  a  dut}-  too  sublime 
almost  for  our  performance.  We  can  hardl}'  reach  to  so  divine  a 
height  as  to  imitate  our  Maker  in  doing  good  to  the  unjust,  as  well 
as  just.  Many  Christians  try  to  explain  awa}'  this  dut}-,  and  infi- 
dels laugh  at  it.  But  still  it  is  in  the  Bible,  and  it  ought  strictly 
to  be  adhered  to.  What  is  the  end  of  human  existence  ?  To  pre- 
l)are  for  heaven.  How  can  we  obtain  heaven?  By  cultivating  love 
to  God  and  love  to  man.  These  are  the  great  roots  from  which  grow 
all  the  duties  I  have  recommended.  Now  charit}'  must  govern  us 
in  all  our  conduct  with  mankind.    Christ  has  expressly  declared  that 

this  is  a  necessary-  qiuTlificalion  for  one  of  his  followers I 

assure  you,  I  was  struck  with  the  sublime  precepts  of  Christianity, 
when  1  began  the  study  of  the  Bible.  I  was  struck,  too,  with  ob- 
serving how  far  I  had  deviated  from  them.  I  found  that  I  had  not 
a  pure,  an  humble,  a  pious,  or  a  charitable  heart.  I  saw  how 
Christian  charity  differed  from  what  I  used  to  call  benevolence. 
Everything  was  new  to  me. 

"■You  maj'  see  from  my  letters  the  warmth  with  which  I  have 
embraced  the  Christian  cause.  Would  to  God  that  I  could  resign 
every  worldly  prospect,  and  bend  my  whole  soul  to  improvement 
in  religion  and  the  diffusion  of  the  truths  of  the  Gospel.  O  Shaw  ! 
it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  see  the  contempt  and  irreverence  with 
which  the  name  and  the  worship  of  the  '  Majesty  of  Heaven '  are 
treated  by  the  generality  of  mankind.  Do  we  not  offer  a  new  cup 
of  gall  to  our  crucified  Saviour?  Are  we  not  as  inhuman  as  the 
Jews?  Do  we  not  plat,  like  them,  a  crown  of  thorns  for  the  head 
of  our  Redeemer?  They  despised  him,  and  we  are  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  him." 

From  his  own  accounts,  he  was  at  this  period  much  engaged  in 
a  patient,  and,  according  to  his  means,  a  thorough  review  of  the 
evidences  of  Christianity-,  being  stimulated  no  doubt  by  the  open 
avowals  of  infidelity  among  the  intelligent  men  of  Virginia.  This 
examination  led  him,  after  long  struggles  and  painful  perplexities, 
to  an  unfaltering  faith  in  the  providential  mission  and  miraculous 
character  of  Jesus  Christ.  It  was  under  the  impulse  of  this  deepened 
reverence  for  revelation,  that  he  began  the  serious  stud^-  of  the 
Scriptures,  even  writing  out  for  liimself  quite  a  voluminous  com- 
mentary upon  the  New  Testament,  which  he  afterward  destroyed. 
He  sought,  too,  the  advice  of  religious  friends  ;  and  we  find  him 
thus  describing  his  pursuits  and  spiritual  condition  in  a  letter  to  tlie 
Rev.  Joseph  McKean,  then  lately  settled  at  Milton,  Massachusetts. 


1708-1800.]  RELIGIOUS  ZEAL.  71 

"Dear  Sir, — I  applied  to  our  common  friend  and  In-otlier, 
Francis,  a  few  weeks  ago,  to  desire  liim  to  procure  lor  me  a  religious 
correspondent.  I  told  him  that  I  could  not  find  in  Virginia  one 
young  man  to  whom  I  could  express  my  sentiments  on  religious 
subjects,  or  to  whose  bosom  I  could  confide  those  feelings  which  the 
stud}-  of  the  Scriptures  insi)ired  in  my  own.  I  told  him  that  I 
wanted  a  friend  to  whom  I  could  propose  the  difficulties  which 
I  found  in  the  Bible,  —  a  friend  who  had  devoted  his  life  to 
the  service  of  his  God,  to  whom  I  could  open  my  whole  heart, 
and  talk  with  the  familiarity  of  a  brother.  In  a  late  letter,  he 
tells  me  that  3'ou  were  pleased  with  the  idea  of  such  a  corre- 
spondence. 

"  I  began  the  study  of  divinit}'  with  attending  to  the  evidences  of 
Christianit}'.  I  examined  them  with  caution,  and  I  think  without 
prejudice  ;  and  I  am  convinced  that  this  religion  is  truly  divine.  I 
have  now  undertaken  to  acquaint  myself  with  the  doctrines  of  this 
religion  ;  and  to  do  this  I  have  not  applied  to  an}'  commentators,  or 
to  any  authors  except  the  apostles  themselves.  M}-  object  is  to 
discover  the  truth.  I  wish  to  know  what  Christ  taught,  not  what 
men  have  made  him  teach.  I  well  knew  that,  if  I  began  with  read- 
ing polemical  divinit}-,  there  were  ten  chances  to  one  that  I  should 
embrace  the  system  of  the  first  author  which  I  studied,  whether 
right  or  wrong.  I  was  certam  that,  as  Christ  came  to  save  the 
world,  every  truth  essential  to  salvation  must  be  plainly  unfolded  in 
the  Scriptures.  I  had  also  observed  that  man}'  ministers,  instead 
of  guiding  their  flocks  to  the  gates  of  heaven,  had  become  so  en- 
tangled in  controversy  as  to  neglect  their  most  solemn  charge,  the 
saving  of  men's  souls.  These  are  the  reasons  which  have  induced 
me  to  apply  to  the  Bible,  —  that  onh'  source  of  divine  knowledge,  — 
and  to  the  Bible  alone.  The  advantages  I  have  derived  from  such 
a  course  seem  to  prove  the  propriety  of  it.  I  miglit  have  found  the 
same  truths  in  other  authors,  but  they  could  never  have  made  so 
forcible  an  impression  on  my  mind.  I  have  been  active  in  acquir- 
ing, not  passive  in  receiving,  the  great  precepts  and  doctrines  of 
Christianity,  and  the  strength  of  my  conviction  is  proportioned 
to  the  labor  I  have  bestowed.  My  heart,  too,  has  been  affected, 
as  well  as  my  mind  enlightened.  I  have  learned  to  view  every- 
thing, as  it  were,  through  the  medium  of  Scripture,  to  judge  of 
actions  by  the  standard  of  Scripture  morality,  and  to  estimate  the 
importance  of  present  wants  by  their  influence  on  the  happiness  of 
another  state.  Such  is  the  plan  which  I  follow,  and  such  are  the 
effects  which  I  ascribe  to  it.  I  would  thank  you  for  your  opinion 
on  the  propriety  of  it." 


72  RICHMOND.  [JEt.  18-20. 

He  then  goes  on  to  state  some  critical  clifRculties  which  he  says 
have  struck  him,  and  closes  as  follows :  — 

"They  do  not  affect  any  of  the  great  doctrines  of  Christianity*. 
But,  as  the}' are  parts  of  the  Bible,  I  wish  to  understand  them,  and 
as  they  are  apparent  contradictions,  they  affect  the  credibility  of  the 
histor}"." 

Mr.  Channing  was  at  this  time  examining  also  the  speculative 
doctrines  of  the  various  sects  ;  and  he  apparently-  pursued  this  work 
with  something  of  the  blended  freedom  and  caution  of  his  later 
years,  for  we  find  that  he  was  charged  by  correspondents  both  with 
over-orthodoxy  and  heresy.  One  friend  writes  to  him:  "For  m\- 
part,  I  must  dispense  with  your  sermon,  as  our  tenets,  I  conjecture, 
do  not  coincide.  You  will  look  quite  sober  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
am  a  '  Price-ite,'  and  believe,  with  him,  an  honest  mind  to  be  the 
one  thing  needful.  I  am  quite  a  heretic,  I  know,  on  your  system, 
but  hope  it  is  not  criminal,  as  I  am  Christian  enough  to  hold  fast  to 
ever}'  principle  necessary  to  piety  and  to  virtue."  But  from  the 
opposite  side  a  correspondent  appeals  to  him  thus:  "From  an 
observation  in  one  of  your  late  letters,  expressive  of  a  doubt  of  the 
vicarious  character  of  Christ,  I  am  induced  to  think  that  30U  have 
not  read  Butler  with  that  attention  he  deserves.  I  think  he  has 
proved  that,  if  we  are  convinced  by  liistorical  evidence  of  tlie  truth 
of  revelation,  we  are  not  to  doubt  of  its  doctrines  because  wonderful 
or  mj'sterious.  The  arguments  on  tlie  proposition  are  wortli_y,  per- 
haps, of  another  attentive  perusal.  1  am  not  singular  in  allowing 
them  to  be  irrefragable.  As  a  friend  to  truth,  I  shall  witli  i)leasure 
peruse  your  reply,  and  as  candidly  give  to  every  objection  its  due 
weight.  I  must,  however,  request  3'ou  not  to  unfold  tliem  in  your 
letters,  which  are  generally  shown  to ,  as  tliey  ma}'  give  unrea- 
sonable and  painful  alarms.  You  know  the  prejudices  of  education, 
and  that  to  the  last  generation  one  step  from  orthodoxy  is  a  devia- 
tion into  heresy."  His  liberality  was  i)robabl3'  quickened  by  the 
variety  of  opinions  winch  he  found  prevailing  round  him,  and  by  the 
catholic  spirit  that  pervaded  Richmond.  But  although  he  found 
advantage  in  thus  looking  upon  all  sides  of  dogmatic  questions,  yet 
his  inward  struggles  were  greatl}'  multiplied,  and  his  mental  loneli- 
ness became  almost  intolerable,  as  appears  from  the  following  ex- 
tracts from  letters. 

"  Would,  Shaw,  that  you  were  here.  I  want  a  friend  ;  but  I  can 
nowhere  lind  one.  My  social  feelings  are  as  strong  as  ever.  But 
I  cannot  often  gratif}'  them.  I  am  sick  of  the  unmeaning  conver- 
sation of  fashionable  circles.     By  society,  I  mean  the  communi(Mi  of 


1798-1800.]  LONELINESS.  73 

souls.  But  where  is  this  to  be  found?  How  I  long  to  lean  upon 
your  arm,  as  I  walk  through  the  woods !  But  awa\'  with  gloom. 
....  I  cannot  but  thank  you  for  your  kind  attentions,  which  from 
any  one  else  would  be  burdensome  to  me.  But  knowing  the  good- 
ness of  your  heart,  and  that  you  receive  more  happiness  in  con- 
ferring than  I  can  in  receiving  your  favors,  I  banish  the  painful  idea 
from  my  mind  that  I  am  troublesome  to  you,  and  enjoy  without 
alloy  all  the  pleasures  which  your  friendship  provides  for  me. 

"  If  3^ou  can  indeed  find  leisure,  write,  I  beg  of  you.  I  would 
empty  my  light  purse  (for  light  it  is)  every  day  of  the  week,  if 
money  could  purchase  such  letters  as  I  have  to-night  received. 
Do  not  construe  anything  I  have  said  into  an  indifference  about 
hearing  from  you.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  rapture  beam  in  my 
dull  eyes  as  I  open  your  packages  ;  you  would  want  no  other  proof 
of  my  eagerness  to  correspond  with  3'ou." 

There  was  at  that  time  but  one  church  in  Richmond,  though  ser- 
vices were  held  also  in  the  Hall  of  Burgesses,  where  an  Episcopalian 
and  a  Presbyterian  alternately  officiated ;  and  interest  in  religion 
generally  was  slight.  Mr.  Channing  was  driven  to  rely,  therefore, 
very  much  upon  himself  in  determining  his  views,  and  finding  nutri- 
ment for  devoutness  and  love.  His  trials  and  struggles  he  thus 
makes  known  to  his  uncle  :  — 

"Would  to  God  that  I  could  return  a  favorable  answer  to  your 
question  respecting  religion !  Christianity  is  here  breathing  its 
last.  I  cannot  find  a  friend  with  whom  I  can  even  converse  on 
religious  subjects.  I  am  obliged  to  confine  my  feelings  to  my  own 
bosom.  How  often,  when  I  have  walked  out  into  the  country, 
have  I  looked  for  a  companion  to  whom  I  could  address  the  lan- 
guage of  praise  and  adoration  which  was  trembling  on  my  lips,  and 
which  the  surrounding  scenes  of  nature  had  excited  !  But  in  vain. 
I  fear  that  they  read  the  volume  of  nature  without  once  thinking  of 
its  Author.  The  Bible  is  wholly  neglected.  That  treasure  of  wis- 
dom and  comfort  is  trodden  under  foot.  The  wonders  of  redeeming 
love  excite  no  sentiments  of  gratitude.  The  glad  tidings  of  a  Sav- 
iour are  heard  without  joy.  Infidelity  is  very  general  among  the 
higher  classes  ;  and  they  who  do  not  reject  Christianity  can  hardly 
be  said  to  beUeve,  as  they  never  examine  the  foundations  on  which 
it  rests.  In  fine,  religion  is  in  a  deplorable  state.  Many  of  the 
people  have  wondered  how  I  could  embrace  such  an  unprofitable 
profession  as  the  ministry.  Alas!  they  know  not  the  riches 
which  God  has  promised  to  those  who  serve  him.     You  may  fear. 


74  RICHMOND.  [;Et.  18-20. 

my  uncle,  lest  I  have  fallen  a  i^rey  to  the  contagion  of  example. 
Thanks  to  God  !  I  have  maintained  m}'  ground.  The  streams  of 
dissipation  have  flowed  by  me,  and  I  have  not  felt  a  wish  to  taste 
them. 

"  I  will  go  farther,  Sir.  I  believe  that  I  never  experienced  that 
change  of  heart  which  is  necessary  to  constitute  a  Christian  till 
within  a  few  months  past.  The  worldling  would  laugh  at  inc  ;  he 
woukl  call  conversion  a  farce.  But  the  man  who  has  felt  the  in- 
fluences of  the  Holy  Spirit  can  oppose  fact  and  experience  to 
empty  declaration  and  contemptuous  sneers.  You  remember  the 
language  of  the  blind  man  whom  Jesus  healed,  — '  This  I  know, 
that  whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see.'  Such  is  the  language  which 
the  real  Christian  may  trulv  utter.  Once,  and  not  long  ago,  I  was 
blind,  blind  to  my  own  condition,  blind  to  the  goodness  of  God, 
and  blind  to  the  love  of  my  Redeemer.  Now  I  behold  with  shame 
and  confusion  the  depravity  and  rottenness  of  my  heait.  Now  I 
behold  with  love  and  admiration  the  long-suffering  and  infinite 
benevolence  of  Deity. 

"  All  my  sentiments  and  affections  have  lately  changed.  I  once 
considered  mere  moral  attainments  as  the  only  ol>ject  I  had  to 
pursue.  I  have  now  solemnly  given  myself  up  to  God.  I  con- 
sider supreme  love  to  him  as  the  first  of  all  duties,  and  moralit}' 
seems  but  a  branch  from  tlie  vigorous  root  of  religion.  I  love 
mankind  because  they  are  the  children  of  God.  I  practise  tem- 
perance, and  strive  for  purity  of  heart,  that  I  may  become  a  temi)le 
for  his  Holy  Spirit  to  dwell  in.  I  long,  most  earnestly  long,  to 
be  such  a  minister  as  Fenelon  describes.  Religion  is  the  only 
treasure  worth  pursuing.  1  consider  the  man  wlio  recommends  it 
to  society  as  more  useful  than  the  greatest  statesman  and  patriot 
who  adorns  the  page  of  history.  What  libertj-  so  valuable  as 
liberty  of  heart,  —  freedom  from  sin  ?  " 

In  this  letter,  it  will  be  observed,  Mr.  Channing  says,  "■  1  have 
now  solemnly  given  myself  up  to  God  "  ;  and  among  his  pai)ers 
is  found  his  act  of  self-consecration.  One  reads  the  time-stained 
writing  with  reverent  tenderness,  as  he  would  take  from  a  crypt 
a  sacred  relic;  but  it  is  of  too  personal  a  character  to  publish.  It 
is  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  sincerity  with  which  its  writer  la^s 
bare  the  morbid  action  of  his  soul,  and  for  the  care  with  which  he 
seeks  to  guard  against  renewed  failure  in  every  possible  emergency, 
and  to  map  out  clearly  the  path  of  duty  in  all  relations.  This 
paper  marks  the  transition-point  in  the  development  of  his  character. 
Henceforth  there  will  be  less  impetuosity,  more  steadfastness,  less 


1798-1800.J  SELF-CONSECRATION.  75 

bold  enthusiasm,  more  forethought,  vigilance,  and  patient  hope. 
An  on-looker  may  be  inclined  to  mourn  that  conscientiousness  so 
strictly  rules  an  originally  buoyant  genius  ;  but  he  will  see,  too, 
with  what  beautiful  radiance,  love,  constantly  brightening  like  a 
central  sun,  throws  peace  and  joy  upon  balanced  powers,  moving 
in  even  orbits.  The  thought,  also,  will  present  itself,  had  this 
noble  heart  but  reached  maturity  in  an  age  when  a  faith  serene  as 
that  of  his  later  life  was  filling  society  around  him  like  a  genial 
atmosi)here,  then  how  would  such  an  era  of  earnest  piety  have 
expanded  every  faculty,  as  the  sunbeams  open  flowers  !  But  these 
confessions,  shadowed  as  they  are  by  the  gloomj'  theology  which 
at  that  period  overspread  all  minds,  still  prove  how  so^■ereign  was 
rectitude  in  this  man's  moral  nature,  and  how  comprehensive  and 
minute  was  its  sway.  There  was  no  trait,  through  the  whole  of 
after  life,  so  characteristic  as  the  unsleeping  oversight  of  his 
conscience. 

Particular  phrases,  and  indeed  the  whole  tone  of  the  papers 
which  thus  open  to  us  the  secret  chambers  of  the  writer's  spirit, 
show  that  the  views  which  he  then  held  of  his  own  inward  con- 
dition, and  of  his  need  of  a  renewed  life,  were  such  as  are  com- 
monly called  "serious."  It  will  be  seen  that  he  even  uses  the 
almost  technical  expressions,  "  change  of  heart,"  and  "  conver- 
sion." In  regard  to  these  expressions,  however,  and  others  also 
in  the  preceding  letter,  it  is  but  right  to  add  that  he  frequently 
asserted,  without  reservation,  that  he  was  never  either  a  Trinitarian 
or  a  Calvinist ;  and  once,  at  a  later  period  of  life,  when  asked  by 
a  most  estimable  Orthodox  acquaintance,  "whether  he  had  not 
at  some  time  experienced  conversion,"  he  answered,  "I  should 
sa}-  not,  unless  the  whole  of  ni}-  life  may  be  called,  as  it  truly  has 
been,  a  process  of  conversion"  ;  to  which  this  quaint  rejoinder  was 
made:  "Then,  friend  Channing,  you  were  born  regenerate,  for 
you  certainly  are  now  a  child  of  God." 

Of  this  important  era  in  his  life.  Dr.  Channing,  as  late  as  1842, 
thus  wrote  to  a  friend  :  ^  — 

"Your  account  of  Richmond  was  very  interesting.  You  little 
suspected  how  man}'  remembrances  jour  letter  was  to  awaken  in 
me.  I  spent  a  year  and  a  half  there,  and  perhaps  the  most  event- 
ful of  my  life.  I  lived  alone,  too  poor  to  buy  l)ooks,  spending  m}' 
daj's  and  nights  in  an  outbuilding,  with  no  one  l)eneath  my  roof 
except  during  the  hours  of  school-keeping.  There  I  toiled  as  I 
have  never  done  since,  for  gradually  my  constitution  sank  under 

1  Huguenots  in  America.     By  Mrs.  George  Lee.     Appendix,  p.  282. 


76  ■        STUDIES   AND   SETTLEMENT.  [JEt.  20-23. 

the  unremitting  exertion.  With  not  a  human  being  to  whom  I 
could  communicate  my  deepest  thoughts  and  feehngs,  and  shrink- 
ing from  common  societ}',  I  passed  througli  intellectual  and  moral 
conflicts,  through  excitements  of  heart  and  mind,  so  absorl)ing 
as  often  to  banish  sleep,  and  to  destroy-  almost  whoU}'  the  power 
of  digestion.  I  was  worn  well-nigh  to  a  skeleton.  Yet  I  look 
back  on  those  da3s  and  nights  of  loneliness  and  frequent  gloom 
with  thankfulness.  If  I  ever  struggled  with  m^-  whole  soul  for 
purity,  truth,  and  goodness,  it  was  there.  There,  amidst  sore 
trials,  the  great  question,  I  trust,  was  settled  within  me,  whether  I 
would  obey  the  higher  or  lower  principles  of  ray  nature,  —  whether 
I  would  l)e  the  victim  of  passion,  the  world,  or  the  free  child  and 
servant  of  God.  It  is  an  interesting  recollection,  that  this  great 
conflict  was  going  on  within  me,  and  that  m}'  mind  was  then  re- 
ceiving its  impulse  towards  the  perfect,  without  a  thought  or  sus- 
picion of  one  person  around  me  as  to  what  I  was  experiencing. 
And  is  not  this  the  case  continuall}'  ?  The  greatest  work  on  earth 
is  going  on  near  us,  perhaps  under  our  roof,  and  we  know  it  not. 
In  a  licentious,  intemperate  city,  one  spirit,  at  least,  was  preparing, 
in  silence  and  loneliness,  to  toil,  not  wholly  in  vain,  for  truth  and 
holiness." 

He  returned  to  Newport  in  July  of  the  year  1800.  The  vessel 
in  which  he  sailed  was  a  sloop  engaged  in  transporting  coal.  It 
was  in  a  most  wretched  condition,  being  leaky  and  damp,  and 
worse  manned,  for  the  captain  and  crew  were  drunken.  They  ran 
upon  a  shoal,  and  la}-  there  till  fortunately  lifted  off  b}'  the  next 
tide.  He  was  very  ill  and  much  exposed.  And  his  friends  were 
shocked,  on  his  arrival,  to  find  the  vigorous,  healthy  young  man, 
who  had  left  them  eighteen  months  before,  changed  to  a  thin  and 
pallid  invalid.  His  da^s  of  health  were  gone,  and  henceforth  he 
was  to  experience  in  the  constantl}'  depressed  tone  of  a  most  deli- 
cate organization  the  severest  trial  of  his  life. 


Chapter  V.  —  STUDIES    AND    SETTLEMENT. 

JEt.  20-23.     1800-1803. 

At  Newport,  in  the  bosom  of  his  famil}',  Mr.  Channing  now  re- 
mained for  a  year  and  a  half,  devoted  to  the  pursuit  of  his  theo- 
logical studies,  and  having  under  his  charge  the  son  of  his  Virginia 
friend,  Mr.  Randolph,  and  his  own  youngest  brother,  whom  he  was 


1800-1803.]  SELF-DISCIPLINE.  77 

preparing  for  college.     It  was  as  deep  delight  to  him  to  be  at  home, 
as  it  was  to  his  mother,  sisters,  and  brothers  to  have  him  with 
them.     Francis  had  been  compelled  to  return  to  Cambridge,  wliere 
he  was  established  as  a  lawyer.     William  thus  became  the  head  of 
the  household  ;  and  it  was  in  this  situation  that  his  lovel}-  domestic 
character  began  fully  to  display  itself.     The  mantle  of  his  father's 
sweetness  fell  upon  him.     When  troubles  and  anxieties  grew  too 
strong  for  his  mother  to  bear  with  equanimity,  he  would  pass  his 
arm  around  her,  saying,  "  It  will  all  be  well,  —  it  will  all  be  well." 
He  began,  too,  family  devotions,  and  produced  an  impression  of 
holiness  and  gentle  dignity  upon  the  minds  of  the  younger  members 
of  the  home  circle,  which  can  never  be  effaced.     It  is  said  tliat  he 
was  conscious,  however,  of  an  inherited  tendency  to  irritability  and 
sternness,   which  sometimes  displayed  itself  in   words  or  deeds  ; 
and  that,  sorrowing  over  such  frailty,  and  feeling  its  unworthiness, 
he  resolved  that  he  would  never  become  a  minister  till  he  had 
gained  a  control  over  all  angry  dispositions.     The  struggle  led  to  a 
beautiful  triumph ;  and  no  one,  who  saw  the  unbroken  serenity  of 
his  mature  manhood,  could  easily  conceive  that  there  had  ever  been 
an  original  excitability  to  overcome.     His  disinterestedness  and 
anxious  care  for  each  and  every  one  around  him  were  unvarying. 
He  undertook  the  superintendence  of  his  three  sisters'  education, 
and  induced  one  of  them  to  give  herself  up  very  much  to  his  guid- 
ance.    "  This  year,"  writes  this  sister,  "  is  impressed  on  my  mind 
by  his  kind  interest  in  me.     He  used  to  take  me  on  his  lap,  and 
hold  long  conversations,  which  I  sometimes  thought  too  serious, 
though  he  would  also  play  draughts  with  me  for  my  amusement. 
He  led  me  to  walk  with  him,  also,  on  the  beach,  when  he  would 
attract  my  "attention  to  the  glories  of  nature,  and  of  its  Author." 
He  was  at  tliis  time,  though  not  unsocial,  yet  disinclined  to  large 
companies,  and  fond  of  retirement.      Such  a  course,  he  used  to 
say,  "made  less  work  for  repentance."     His  whole  mode  of  life 
was  extremely  simple  and  abstemious,  partly  witli  the  view  of  re- 
storing his  enfeebled  health,  but  still  more  because  he  felt  such 
habits  to  be  favorable  to  the  calmness  and  clearness  of  mind  and 
the  pure  spirituality  which  he  aspired  to  reach. 

The  following  extracts  from  his  early  papers  will  best  show  the 
manner  in  which,  at  this  period,  he  was  endeavoring  to  discipline 
his  spirit. 

"  I  must  not  consider  doing  good  as  an  accidental  pleasure,  but 
make  it  the  business  of  life.  Let  me  seek,  not  wait,  for  oppor- 
tunities.    Let  the  active  spirit  of  Christian  charity  be  ever  watch- 


78  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [JEt.  20-23. 

fill  in  discovering  objects,  and  persevering  in  devising  means  of 
usefulness.  Love  is  happiness  ;  he  who  grows  in  love  grows  in 
happiness.  God  is  Love  ;  and  his  image  in  us  is  love.  If  I  would 
resemble  him,  let  me  strengthen  love.  I  feel  now  that  a  degrading 
selfishness  reigns  in  my  heart." 

"In  doing  good,  let  me  aim  at  simplicity  of  means.  There  is 
no  need  of  expressing  m^-  intention,  of  asking  an  idle  question,  of 
appearing  to  labor.  Let  a  silent,  persevering  course  of  action, 
lead  me  to  my  end." 

"  Poverty  and  sickness  have  the  first  claims  for  relief.  Let  me, 
in  m^^  solitary  walks  by  night,  search  for  wretchedness,  and  for  my 
Lord's  sake  communicate  the  last  of  m}-  store.  Let  me  remember 
with  Titus,  that  I  have  lost  that  day  in  which  I  have  done  no  good 
to  a  fellow-man." 

"But  there  are  higher  ways  of  doing  good.  I  should  show  the 
influence  of  religion  in  my  life  and  conversation.  Religion  is 
amiable,  gentle,  cheerfnl,  serene  ;  a  friend  to  the  social  affections, 
the  source  of  disinterestedness.  Let  me  not  represent  it,  then,  as 
gloomy  or  hopeless.  Levity,  unmeaning  ga^'ety,  however,  throws 
the  mind  off  its  guard,  and  opens  the  door  to  every  temptation. 
Strict  self-command  is  absolutely  necessary.  The  Christian, 
though  cheerful,  is  vigilant." 

"  Let  charit}'  embrace  in  her  broad  arms  all  sects.  Wh}-  should 
I  brand  any  who  differ  from  me  with  opprobrious  epithets  ?  Let 
me  unite  with  all  who  love  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity  in  propagating 
his  religion." 

"  It  will  sometimes  be  necessary  to  change  the  tone  of  a})proba- 
tion  and  pity  to  that  of  denial.  But  let  me  act  on  such  occasions 
deliberatel}',  not  from  whim  or  dislike  ;  and  having  formed  my 
resolution,  let  me  adhere  to  it  with  firmness.  Let  me  ofler  my  rea- 
sons in  a  short,  perspicuous  manner,  or,  if  I  wish  to  conceal  them, 
give  one  positive  answer,  and  leave  the  subject,  undisturbed  by 
remonstrance,  ridicule,  or  reproach.  Mildness  is  not  inconsistent 
with  manly  firmness.  Benevolence  will  lose  all  its  l)oauty.  and 
much  of  its  influence,  if  allowed  to  degenerate  into  indiscriuiinate, 
weak  indulgence.  A  world  would  be  too  small  a  recompense  for 
one  sacrifice  of  principle." 

"  When  I  feel  Irritable,  let  me  be  silent,  let  me  quit  socictv.  1 
wish  to  be  cool  and  collected  amidst  insult  and  provocation.  I  would 
avoid  the  diffuseness  which  characterizes  anger,  and  vindicate  my 
character,  conduct,  or  opinions  in  as  few  and  temperate  words  as 
consists  with  the  regard  I  owe  to  truth.     All  impatience  to  stop 


1800-1803.1  REDWOOD  LIBRARY.  79 

the  person  who  speaks  to  me  will  serve  but  to  irritate.  Let  me  be 
calm,  not  using  self-command  as  a  means  of  triumph,  but  of 
mutual  happiness." 

Tlie  whole  energy  of  his  nature,  indeed,  was  then  devoted  to  a 
preparation  for  the  responsible  profession  tliat  he  had  chosen.  His 
days  were  passed  at  the  Redwood  Library-,  where  was  freel3'  ac- 
cessible to  his  use  a  collection  of  books,  extremely  rare  and  valu- 
able for  the  times  ;  and  at  night  the  light  in  the  little  office  near 
the  house,  which  he  used  for  a  stud}',  was  seen  burning  long  after 
darkness  had  settled  over  his  neighbors'  homes.  But  this  period 
of  his  life  has  been  most  happil}'  illustrated  by  himself. 

"  I  must  bless  God  for  the  place  of  ni}'  nativity  ;  for,  as  my  mind 
unfolded,  I  became  more  and  more  alive  to  the  beautiful  scenery 
which  now  attracts  strangers  to  oiu-  island.  My  first  liberty  was 
used  in  roaming  over  the  neighboring  fields  and  shores  ;  and  amid 
this  glorious  nature  that  love  of  liberty  sprang  up,  whitdi  has 
gained  strength  within  me  to  this  hour.  I  early  received  impres- 
sions of  the  great  and  the  beautiful,  which  I  believe  have  had  no 
small  influence  in  determining  my  modes  of  thought  and  habits  of 
life.  In  this  town  I  pursued  for  a  time  my  studies  of  theology. 
I  had  no  professor  or  teacher  to  guide  me  ;  but  1  had  two  noble 
places  of  study.  One  was  3onder  beautiful  edifice,  now  so  fre- 
quented and  so  useful  as  a  public  library,  then  so  deserted  that 
I  spent  da}'  after  day,  and  sometimes  week  after  week,  amidst  its 
dust}''  volumes,  without  interruption  from  a  single  visitor.  The 
other  place  was  yonder  beach,  the  roar  of  which  has  so  often 
mingled  with  the  worship  of  this  place,  my  daily  resort,  dear  to  me 
in  the  sunshine,  still  more  attractive  in  the  storm.  Seldom  do  I 
visit  it  now  without  thinking  of  the  work  which  there,  in  the  sight 
of  that  beauty,  in  the  sound  of  those  waves,  was  carried  on  in  my 
soul.  No  spot  on  earth  has  helped  to  form  me  so  much  as  that 
beach.  There  I  lifted  up  my  voice  in  praise  amidst  the  tempest. 
There,  softened  by  beaut}',  I  poured  out  my  thanksgiving  and  con- 
trite confessions.  There,  in  reverential  sympathy  with  the  might}' 
power  around  me,  I  became  conscious  of  power  within.  There 
struggling  thoughts  and  emotions  broke  forth,  as  if  mo^'ed  to 
utterance  by  natm-e's  eloquence  of  the  wind  and  waves.  There 
began  a  happiness  surpassing  all  worldly  pleasures,  all  gifts  of  for- 
tune, — the  happiness  of  communing  with  the  works  of  God.  I 
believe  that  the  worship,  of  which  I  have  this  day  si)oken,  was 
aided  in  my  own  soul  by  the  scenes  in  which  my  early  life  was 
passed."^ 

1  Works,  Vol.  IV.  p.  336.    One  Volume  Edition,  p.  421. 


80  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  \Mr.  20-23. 

It  was  at  this  time,  also,  that  he  saw  much  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Hopkins,  and  received  deep  impressions  from  the  influence  of  his 
character  and  doctrines.  The  following  spirited  reminiscences, 
communicated  in  a  letter  to  Professor  Park  of  Andover,  present  a 
verj'  pleasing  sketch  of  that  consistent  seeker  after  truth  and  holi- 
ness, who,  whatever  his  speculative  errors,  was  at  least  thoroughly 
in  earnest. 

"  It  was  not  until  I  had  left  college  that  I  became  acquainted 
with  him,  and  a  short  intercourse  dispelled  all  the  fear  and  reserve 
which  my  early  impressions  had  left  in  my  mind.  His  conversa- 
tion was  free,  rather  abrupt,  blunt,  and  often  facetious.  We  saw 
at  once  that  he  had  lived  in  his  study,  and  borrowed  ver^'  little 
from  the  manners  of  the  fashionable  world.  He  took  pleasure  in 
talking  with  me  of  his  past  life,  his  conti'oversies,  &c.,  and  I  regret 
that  1  took  no  notes,  and  did  not,  by  questions,  acquaint  myself 
with  the  progress  of  his  mind.     He  told  me,  I  think  more  than 

once,  of  his  first  intercourse  with ,  who  had  received  Calvinism 

in  its  old  forms.  resisted  his  doctrines  relating  to  the  disin- 
terested character  of  faith  and  religion  in  general.  At  length  liis 
objections  were  overcome,  and  one  day,  bursting  into  tears,  he  told 
Dr.  Hopkins  that  he  was  conscious  that  he  had  never  experienced 
true  religion.     Dr.  Hopkins  also  gave  me  some  particulars  of  his 

controversy  with  Dr.  ,  in  which  it  was  plain  that  he  considered 

himself  as  the  undoubted  conqueror.  I  exceedingly  regret  that  I 
did  not  learn  more  from  him  of  President  Edwards.  My  impres- 
sion is,  that  President  Edwards  was  a  good  deal  indebted  to  Dr. 
Hopkins  for  his  later  views  of  religion,  especially  for  those  which 
we  find  in  his  essays  on  '  Virtue,'  and  on  '  God's  End  in  Creation.' 
I  hope  you  will  point  out  clearly  the  relation  between  these  eminent 
men.  Dr.  Hopkins  had  not  the  profound  genius  of  Edwards,  but 
was  he  not  a  man  of  a  freer  and  bolder  mind  ? 

"  I  was  attached  to  Dr.  Hopkins  chiefly  by  his  theory  of  disin- 
terestedness. I  had  studied  with  great  delight  during  my  college 
life  the  philosophy  of  Hutcheson,  and  the  stoical  morality,  and 
these  had  i)repared  me  for  the  noble,  self-sacrificing  doctrines  of 
Dr.  Hopkins.  I  have  forgotten  most  of  our  conversations  on  this 
subject.  I  remember  his  once  telling  me  that  he  did  not  consider 
the  last  part  of  1  Cor.  xiii.  as  referring  to  a  future  life  ;  and  I  think 
that  by  the  '  perfect'  which  was  to  '  come,'  he  understood  the  reve- 
lation of  disinterested  love  under  the  Gospel.  One  day,  a  relative 
of  mine,  talking  with  him  about  the  text  Rom.  ix.  3  ('  I  could  wish 
myself  accursed')  observed  that  the  passage  should  be  rendered, 


1800-1803.]  REV.  DR.  HOPKINS.  81 

'I  did  wish.'  Dr.  Hopkins  replied,  that  if  Paul  did  not  saj-  what 
our  version  ascribes  to  him,  he  ought  to  have  said  it.  The  idea  of 
entire  self-surrender  to  the  general  good  was  the  strongest  in  his 
mind.  How  far  he  founded  his  moral  system  on  the  '  general 
good,'  may  be  learned  best  from  a  tract  he  left  on  the  subject, 
which  Mrs.  Hopkins  put  into  my  hands  after  his  death. 

"  He  was  very  true  to  his  doctrine  of  disinterestedness,  as  far  as 
money  was  concerned.  His  liberality  abounded  in  his  deep  pov- 
erty. One  day  m}^  elder  brother  visited  him  to  take  leave  of  him, 
on  going  to  establish  himself  in  another  town.  Dr.  Hopkins  said 
to  him  :  '  I  suppose  you  hope  to  get  money.  Very  well.  Get  it 
justly,  and  spend  it  generously,  and  I  don't  care  how  much  you 
get.'  Dr.  Patten  told  me  that  once,  at  a  meeting  of  ministers,  the 
case  of  a  poor  widow  was  laid  before  them,  on  which  occasion  Dr. 
Hopkins  gave  all  he  had,  a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  say,  that  after  that  time  he  never  knew  want,  and  was 
able  to  commit  himself  without  doubt  to  Providence.  It  was  m}- 
habit,  in  the  years  1800  and  1801,  to  attend  a  montlily  meeting  of 
pra3-er  for  the  revival  and  spread  of  religion.  Our  number  some- 
times did  not  exceed  twenty'-  or  thirty.  Still,  a  collection  was  taken 
for  missionar}'  purposes,  and,  as  most  of  us  were  verj^  poor,  our 
contributions  did  not  greatly  exceed  the  widow's  mite.  On  one  oc- 
casion, as  I  have  heard  from  Dr.  Patten,  however,  a  hundred-dollar 
bill  appeared  in  the  box.  Dr.  Hopkins  had  received  the  same  for 
the  copyright  of  one  of  his  books ;  and  he  made  this  offering  at  a 
time  when  he  received  next  to  no  salary,  and  often,  as  I  under- 
stood, depended  for  his  dinner  on  the  liberality  of  a  parishioner. 

"  His  views  of  the  Divine  agency  and  sovereignty  were  utterl}' 
irreconcilable  with  human  freedom.  He  one  day  said  to  me  that 
he  did  not  see  how  a  man  could  be  more  active,  or  (as  I  understood 
him)  more  a  free  agent,  than  in  being  pleased  with  a  thing ;  and  in 
the  last  sermon  I  heard  from  him,  he  insisted  that  nothing  was 
neeessar}-  to  responsibility  but  that  a  man  should  do  as  he  pleased. 
The  origin  of  the  pleasure  or  volition  was  of  no  importance. 

"His  preaching  can  only  be  understood  by  one  who  had  heard 
him.  His  voice  was  most  untunable.  Some  of  the  tones  ap- 
proached those  of  a  cracked  bell  more  nearly'  than  anything  to 
which  I  can  compare  it.  He  changed  from  a  low  to  a  high  key, 
and  the  reverse,  with  no  apparent  reason.  His  manner  was  with- 
out animation.  His  matter,  as  far  as  I  can  trust  my  memory,  was 
not  made  acceptable  by  an}^  adaptation  to  the  taste  of  the  hearer. 
He  had  exercised  the  severer  faculties  of  his  mind  too  much  to  give 
a  fair  chance  to  the  imagination.     He  had  no  relish  for  poetry,  and 

6 


82  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [^t.  20-23. 

spoke  of  himself  as  finding  no  attraction  in  Milton  or  Shakespeare. 
If  his  stj'le  was  clear  and  strong,  he  owed  these  qualities  to  his 
habits  of  thought,  and  not  to  any  study  of  the  best  writers.  We 
cannot  wonder  then  that  he  was  a  very  uninteresting  preacher.  He 
sometimes  ascribed  the  unfruitfulness  of  his  ministry  to  other 
causes,  and  seemed  to  see  in  it  a  judgment  on  himself.  But  a 
minister  who  has  not  the  gift  to  win  attention  should  see  no  m3-s- 
tery  in  his  failing  to  do  good.  Dr.  Hopkins  was  a  student,  not  a 
preacher.  His  mind  was  habitually  emplo3'ed  in  investigation,  and 
he  never  studied  the  art  of  communication.  With  an  unharmonious 
voice,  with  no  graces  of  manner  or  style,  and  with  a  disposition  to 
bring  forward  abstract  and  unpalatable  notions,  is  it  wonderful  that 
he  did  so  little  in  the  pulpit? 

"His  preaching  had  much  naivete  vfhen  he  descended  from  his 
abstractions.  He  used  to  speak  without  circumlocution,  and  in  a 
plain,  conversational  way.  Once,  in  preaching  at  Dr.  Patten's,  he 
spoke  of  the  '  loaves  and  fishes '  as  what  men  were  still  running 
after ;  and  his  simple,  blunt  manner  provoked  a  smile  from  some 
of  his  younger  hearers.  He  saw  it,  and  said,  '  You  may  smile,  but 
it  is  true.' 

' '  He  was  an  intense  student.  I  have  learned  that  he  studied 
fourteen  hours  a  day.  He  told  me  that  once  he  allowed  himself 
only  four  hours'  sleep.  His  study  was  visible  from  m^'  father's 
house,  and  I  recollect  that,  rising  very  early  one  winter  morning,  I 
saw  the  light  of  his  candle  streaming  through  the  window.  He 
took  little  exercise.  His  frame  was  ver}'  strong,  or  he  must  have 
sunk  under  his  labors. 

' '  He  was  facetious  in  conversation.  I  preached  for  him  once ; 
and  after  the  service  in  the  pulpit,  he  smiled  on  me  and  said, 
'  The  hat  is  not  made  5'et.'  On  m}'  asking  an  explanation,  he  told 
me  that  Dr.  Bellani}-  used  to  speak  of  theology  as  a  progressive 
science,  and  compare  the  different  stages  of  it  to  the  successive 
processes  of  making  a  hat.  The  beaver  was  to  be  born,  then  to  be 
killed,  and  then  the  felt  to  be  made,  &c.  Having  thus  explained 
the  similitude,  he  added,  '  The  hat  is  not  made,  and  I  hope  3'ou 
will  help  to  finish  it.' 

"  His  views  of  the  times  were  dark.  I  one  day  told  him  that  he 
must  feel  encouraged  b}-  the  many  revivals  which  were  taking  place. 
He  replied,  that  these  would  only  continue  the  existence  of  the 
church,  but  that  great  trials  were  to  be  expected  before  its  tri- 
umphs. He  gave  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  prophecy,  and  was 
supposed  to  have  a  peculiar  gift  for  its  interpretation ;  how  justl}'  I 
cannot  say. 


1800-1803.]  REV.  DR.   HOPKINS.  83 

"  Like  most  of  the  ministers  of  the  time,  he  was  a  strong  Feder- 
alist, and  was  greatly'  grieved  by  the  political  heres}'  of  his  deacon, 
almost  his  only  male  church-member,  whom,  however,  he  did  not 
spare,  though  in  losing  him  he  would  have  lost  the  only  officer  of 
the  church. 

"  He  was  a  man  of  perfect  honesty,  and  he  loved  honesty  in 
others.  I  remember  his  giving  me  an  account  of  a  council,  at 
which  he  assisted,  for  ordination  of  a  candidate  who  had  received 
liberal  opinions  on  religion.  The  3'oung  man  made  no  secret  of  his 
views,  which  were  exceedingly  offensive  to  several  of  the  council. 
He  answered  the  questions  which  were  put  to  him  with  entire  frank- 
ness ;  and  I  recollect  the  smile  of  complacency  with  which  Dr. 
Hopkins  spoke  of  his  honest}-,  while  dissenting  from  his  opinions. 

"  Dr.  Patten  told  me,  what  I  did  not  observe,  that  he  attached 
more  and  more  importance  to  his  opinions  as  he  grew  old,  and  that 
he  bore  opposition  less  patiently,  though  Dr.  Patten,  who  was  his 
disciple,  thought  him  not  at  all  excessive  in  this  particular.  I  re- 
member hearing  of  a  severe  rebuke  he  administered  to  a  Methodist 
minister  for  his  errors.  One  day,  Dr.  Hopkins  met  at  the  public 
library  a  singular  man  named  Stuart,  or  Stewart,  sometimes  called 
'  the  walking  philosopher,'  in  consequence  of  his  having  travelled 
over  a  good  part  of  the  world  on  foot.  Stuart  was  a  man  of  much 
kindness,  too  kind  to  la}'  his  weight  on  a  horse,  or  to  eat  animal 
food,  or  even  to  kill  a  mosquito,  when  sucking  his  blood ;  but  he 
was  an  atheist,  and  let  drop  some  expression  of  his  opinions  before 
Dr.  Hopkins.  The  Doctor  was  moved  to  indignation,  and  cried 
out,  '  You  fool !  were  it  not  for  God,  you  could  not  move  a  step 
from  where  3'ou  stand.'  Stuart  replied  calmly  to  Dr.  Patten,  who 
was  present,  '  The  old  gentleman  seems  disturbed.' 

"  Dr.  Patten  told  me  that  Dr.  Hopkins  was  doubtful  as  to  the 
reality  of  his  religion.  He  clung  to  the  decrees,  though,  for  aught 
he  knew,  he  might  himself  be  decreed  to  endless  misery.  I  suspect, 
however,  that  his  doubt  was  like  that  which  men  feel  as  to  their 
living  through  the  day.  He  was  habitually  cheerful,  though  I  once 
saw  him  in  what  seemed  to  me  deep  dejection.  I  was  with  him  the 
day  after  he  was  seized  with  his  last  sickness.  A  minister  present 
prayed  with  him,  and  for  the  continuance  of  his  life.  When  the 
prayer  was  finished.  Dr.  Hopkins  said  something  to  this  effect : 
'  You  should  not  have  asked  for  my  life.  I  can  do  nothing  more. 
It  is  time  for  me  to  go.'  He  could  not  at  that  moment  have  been 
distressed  by  doubts.  Perhaps  these  were  the  last  words  I  heard 
from  him. 

"  These  are  very  unimportant  reminiscences,  but  I  felt  bound  to 


84  STUDIES  AND  SETTLEMENT.  [^t.  20-23. 

contribute  what  I  could  to  his  biography.  The  prominent  light  in 
which  Dr.  Hopkins  is  to  be  placed  is  that  of  a  student  seeking  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  spread  of  true  religion,  by  purifying  the  com- 
mon faith  of  its  errors,  and  unfolding  the  Christian  sj'stem  in  its 
harmony  and  true  proportions.  He  had  man}'  qualities  fitting  him 
for  a  reformer,  —  great  singleness  of  purpose,  invincible  patience 
of  research,  sagacity  to  detect  and  courage  to  expose  errors,  a 
thirst  for  consistency  of  views,  and  resolution  to  carry  out  his 
principles  to  their  legitimate  consequences.  I  consider  him  as 
having  contributed  largel}'  to  the  more  rational  form  in  which  Cal- 
vinism is  held  among  us.  I  cannot  judge  in  what  proportions  this 
credit  is  to  be  divided  between  him  and  President  Edwards,  and  I 
shall  be  pleased  to  be  enlightened  on  this  point  in  your  biography. 
I  indeed  shrink  with  a  feeling  approaching  horror  from  some  of  his 
doctrines,  but  do  not  on  that  account  withhold  the  reverence  due 
to  his  character." 

The  generous  and  discriminating  notice  of  Dr.  Hopkins  given  by 
Dr.  Channing,  in  his  sermon  at  the  dedication  of  the  Unitarian 
Church  in  Newport,^  should  be  read  in  connection  with  these  remi- 
niscences by  all  who  would  full}'  understand  the  relation  between 
this  veneraljle  man  and  his  young  friend.  He  there  says:  "I 
need  not  be  ashamed  to  confess  the  deep  impression  which  his  sys- 
tem made  on  my  youthful  mind.  I  am  grateful  to  this  stern  teacher 
for  turning  my  thoughts  and  heart  to  the  clamis  and  majesty  of 
impartial,  universal  benevolence." 

In  December,  1801,  Mr.  Channing  was  elected  to  the  office  of 
Regent  in  Harvard  University,  —  a  situation  in  every  way  most 
desirable,  as  it  gave  him  support  while  pursuing  his  studies,  exacted 
only  the  slight  duty  of  preserving  order  in  the  building  where  he 
resided  and  of  exercising  a  general  superintendence  over  the  3'oung 
men,  brought  him  into  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  valua- 
ble library  of  the  college,  and,  though  separating  him  from  his 
family,  reunited  him  to  his  elder  brother.  He  returned  to  Cam- 
bridge in  the  early  part  of  the  year  1802  ;  and  his  appearance, 
manner,  and  character  at  this  period  are  thus  described  by  his 
college  friend.  Judge  White  :  — 

"At  that  time,  I  remember,  my  impression  was,  that  a  greater 
change  had  passed  over  him  during  the  few  years  of  his  absence 
than  I  was  prepared  to  expect.  Instead  of  the  firm,  elastic  step 
and  animated  manner  which  used  to  distinguish  him,  he  appeared 
somewhat  debilitated  by  ill  health,  and  was  more  remarkable  than 
1  Works,  Vol.  IV.  p.  342.    One  Volume  Edition,  p.  423. 


1800-1803.]  RETURN  TO   CAMBRIDGE.  85 

formerly  for  gentleness,  and  a  serious  air  and  tone  of  conversation. 
I  had  thouglit  of  him  as  peculiarly  qualified  for  eminence  in  the 
legal  profession,  and  was  struck  with  some  surprise  on  finding  that 
he  had  no  ambition  for  any  such  distinction.  But  I  soon  perceived 
how  much  more  elevated  was  his  ambition.  His  wliole  soul  was 
engaged  in  the  sacred  studies  to  which  he  had  devoted  himself, 
and  he  at  once  showed  that  he  had  already  become  what  St.  Paul 
charged  Timothy  to  be,  —  '  an  example  in  word,  in  conversation, 
in  charity,  in  spirit,  in  faith,  in  purity.'  His  wisdom,  goodness, 
and  sanctity,  as  well  as  his  genius  and  intellectual  powers,  were 
strongly  developed  ;  and  I  began  to  feel  in  his  company,  what  only 
increased  upon  me  afterwards,  a  mingled  affection  and  respect, 
approaching  to  awe,  which  the  presence  of  no  other  man  ever  in- 
spired in  the  same  degree. 

"  In  the  spring  vacation  of  that  year,  being  myself  connected 
with  the  University,  I  had  the  measles  badly  at  my  room  in  college, 
and  I  have  alwa3s  remembered  him  as  a  comforting  angel  in  my 
forlorn  condition.  As  expressed  by  me  at  the  time,  'I  suffered 
nothing  from  want  of  attention,  «S:c.  William  Channing  watched 
with  me,  besides  bringing  me  nice  things  as  proofs  of  the  ladies' 
remembrance.  He  has  himself  all  the  softness  and  delicacy  of 
manner  in  attending  to  the  sick  which  would  become  a  woman.' 
This  but  feebly  represents  the  impression  which  his  tender  and 
assiduous  care  made  upon  me,  and  which  I  coukl  never  forget. 
A  China  cup,  in  which  he  brouglit  some  of  the  '  nice  things,'  being 
left  at  my  room,  has  been  preserved  as  a  precious  memorial  of  his 
kindness,  and  is  still  among  the  first  objects  to  greet  my  eye  in 
the  morning,  .and  to  awaken  delightful  associations  connected  with 
him,  —  associations  which  can  hardly  fail  to  have  a  salutary  influ- 
ence through  the  day.  The  agreeable  and  generous  manner  in 
which  all  his  favors  were  conferred  added  to  their  intrinsic  value 
a  charm  which  made  the  remembrance  of  them  peculiarly  grateful. 
Such  instances  of  kindness,  however  common  they  may  have  been, 
are  worthy  of  notice,  as  illustrations  of  his  character,  and  of  the 
genuineness  and  extent  of  his  benevolence.  He  always  seemed 
actuated  by  the  same  sincere  and  elevated  Christian  love,  manifest- 
ing it  in  his  whole  manner,  and  in  all  his  social  intercourse,  ex- 
tending the  same  cordial  greeting  to  those  who  were  entitled  to 
it,  whether  he  met  them  in  solitude  or  in  society,  among  the  hum- 
ble, or  in  the  presence  of  high  dignitaries.  The  imposing  presence 
of  official  greatness,  which  might  make  some  persons  forgetful  of 
humbler  friends,  never  appeared  to  influence  him  in  the  slightest 
degree.     His  own  great  mind  was  above  tlie  ordinary  effect  of  such 


86  STUDIES  AND  SETTLEMENT.  [JEt.  20-23. 

circumstances,  and  it  cost  him  no  effort  to  be  faithful  to  his  convic- 
tions of  the  inherent  dignity  of  man's  nature,  and  to  carry  out  his 
principles  in  all  his  conduct." 

In  relation  to  his  theological  studies,  and  the  opportunities  offered 
to  him  at  Harvard,  the  same  friend  gives  the  following  account :  — 

"■When  he  was  pursuing  his  professional  studies  at  the  Uni- 
versity, we  must  remember  that  his  advantages  were  very  different 
from  those  now  enjoyed  thei'c  by  the  students  in  divinit}'.  At 
that  time  the  means  of  theological  instruction  were  comparatively 
meagre  ;  yet  they  were  doubtless  superior  to  what  could  be  expected 
from  the  tuition  of  any  clerg3man  unconnected  with  the  University, 
and  greater  to  Mr.  Channing  than  to  other  resident  graduates  en- 
gaged in  the  like  studies.  President  Willard,  I  well  remember,  in 
speaking  of  the  Regent's  office,  told  me  that  one  of  his  views  in 
recommending  its  establishment  was  to  afford  an  eligible  situation 
for  some  worthy  student  in  divinit^^  who  might  be  induced  by  it  to 
pursue  his  studies  at  Cambridge.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Chan- 
ning found  it  an  eligible  situation,  and  with  his  peculiar  qualifications 
for  self-direction,  and  his  strong  turn  of  mind  for  an  independent 
course  of  stud^-  and  inquiry,  that  he  made  greater  proficienc}'  than 
is  now  common,  even  with  distinguished  scholars,  who  enjoy  the 
higher  i)rivileges  afforded  by  the  theological  institution.  Presi- 
dent Willard  and  Professor  Tappan,  both  of  them  able  and  learned 
divines,  were  constantly  accessible  for  advice  and  assistance,  in 
addition  to  the  interesting  public  lectures  of  the  latter,  who  was 
then  also  delivering  his  course  upon  the  Jewish  Antiquities." 

Of  Professor  Tappan,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Pierce  writes  as  follows :  — 

"  You  may  know  Mr.  Channing's  opinion  of  him  by  the  fact  that 
he  had  him  to  preach  his  ordination  sermon.  He  was  considered 
a  moderate  Calvinist,  which  the  Rev.  John  Dipi)on  of  Taunton  used 
to  say  '  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.'  Dr.  Tappan  was  as  impartial 
a  divine  as  I  ever  knew,  extremely  cautious  not  to  prepossess  the 
minds  of  his  pui)ils,  and  always  exhorting  them  to  judge  for  them- 
selves. It  is  well  known  that  there  was  a  strong  mutual  attach- 
ment between  the  professor  and  his  distinguished  pupil.  Dr.  Tapi)an 
was  not  only  one  of  the  most  popular  divines  who  entered  our  pul- 
pits, l)ut  such  men  as  George  Cabot,  Fisher  Ames,  Judge  Lowell,  did 
not  hesitate  to  pronounce  him  one  of  the  best  preachers  of  the  day." 

A  friend,  who  was  much  with  Mr.  Channing  at  the  period  of  his 
life  which  we  are  now  considering,  has  the  impression  that  his  time 
was  more  occupied  in  writing  than  in  reading.     And  his  remaining 


1800-1803.]  HABIT  OF  WRITING.  87 

papers  give  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  akeady  formed 
his  peculiar  habit  of  following  out  a  train  of  thought  pen  in  hand. 
Writing  was  with  him,  as  he  often  said,  the  one  great  means  of 
making  clear  to  himself  his  own  thoughts.  New  suggestions  were 
noted  ;  contradictory  views  placed  side  by  side  ;  qualifications  and 
exceptions  carefuUj^  stated  under  the  admitted  principles  to  which 
they  referred  ;  broad,  general  views  given  of  wliole  subjects ;  par- 
ticular conclusions  succinctly  recorded ;  and  tlius  gi-adually,  from  a 
main  root,  a  whole  series  of  truths  branched  out  and  divided  itself 
into  its  large  classifications  and  minuter  bearings.  He  early 
acquired  these  habits  of  methodical  thinking  ;  and  all  principles  and 
facts  grouped  themselves  into  an  order,  which  was  the  farthest  pos- 
sible from  a  mere  mechanical  arrangement,  and  which  was  ever 
unfolding  under  the  organizing  power  of  his  spirit.  This  exactness 
of  mind  should  be  carefully  heeded  by  all  who  would  trace  aright 
Mr.  Channing's  after  progress  as  a  theologian  and  a  religious  and 
social  reformer.  For  what  might  often  have  seemed  to  those  little 
acquainted  with  the  laws  of  his  inward  nature  like  timidity  or  slow- 
ness was  actually  but  the  working  of  his  unappeasable  desire  to 
obtain  such  a  view  of  any  subject  as  should  have  coherent  whole- 
ness in  itself,  and  be  in  unity  with  other  views  which  he  regarded 
as  established.  Already  he  was  thus  cautiously  and  patiently 
investigating  the  great  problems,  —  as  to  the  Divine  Being  and 
Character,  —  Human  Nature,  its  destiny  and  duties,  —  Christ  and 
Christianity,  —  Society  and  its  various  relations,  —  to  the  solution 
of  which  his  after-life  was  consecrated. 

No  authors  probably  aided  him  much  in  this  travailing  to  give 
birth  to  great  thoughts  conceived  by  the  spirit.  But  two  writers 
were  so  often  and  so  gratefully  referred  to  by  him  —  besides 
Hutcheson,  Ferguson,  and  Price,  whose  influence  has  already 
been  described — as  to  prove  that  they  did  something  to  de- 
termine at  this  period  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  The  first, 
and  by  far  the  most  useful  to  him,  was  Butler,  whose  "  Ser- 
mons on  Human  Nature  "  he  regarded  as  unsurpassed  in  English 
for  clear,  full,  condensed  thought,  and  to  which  may  be  traced, 
perhaps,  the  germs  of  some  of  his  most  important  views.  And 
the  second  was  Law,  whose  mystic  piety  and  earnest  longing  for 
spiritual  perfection  touched  harmoniously  many  chords  of  his 
religious  sympathy,  although  he  felt  that  his  temper  was  in 
other  respects  gloomy  and  narrow.  He  spoke  with  much  regard, 
also,  of  Edwards,  whose  energy  of  intellect  he  greatly  admired, 
while  denying  the  soundness  of  his  doctrine  of  necessity,  and 
utterly   rejecting   its   conclusions;    many   of   whose   writings    he 


88  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [^x.  20-23. 

thought  suggestive  of  deepl}'  interesting  views  of  the  spiritual  rela- 
tions between  the  Divine  Being  and  man,  while  he  was  horror- 
struck  at  the  theolog}'  of  others  ;  and  whose  sketch  of  his  conversion 
he  once  read  in  part  to  a  friend,  with  a  voice  trembling  in  its  ten- 
derness and  c^'cs  softened  with  emotion,  as  being  one  of  the  most 
pathetic  and  beautiful  sketches  ever  given  of  the  deeper  workings 
of  the  soul.^ 

His  habits  as  a  student  may  be  partially'  illustrated  b}-^  the  fol- 
lowing extracts  from  his  private  manuscripts  of  that  period.  Tliey 
show  the  earnestness  with  which  he  was  seeking  to  control  his 
intellect  and  to  direct  it  to  the  highest  objects. 

"It  is  easy  to  read,  but  hard  to  think.  Without  thinking,  we 
cannot  make  the  sentiments  of  others  our  own.  Thinking  alone 
adopts  them  into  our  family.  It  is  my  misfortune,  that  I  have  read 
much,  but  have  reflected  little.  Let  me  reverse  this  order.  I  prefer 
strength  of  impression  to  superficial  knowledge,  however  exten- 
sive." 

"We  are  very  apt  to  think  we  have  ideas,  when  we  have  only 
words.  We  mistake  s3'non3'mes  for  definitions.  I  have  often 
found  rich  ideas  by  anal^-zing  words,  particularly  when  they  are 
metaphorical.  Words  should  never  be  used  in  a  loose  sense.  We 
are  apt  to  be  led  astray  by  imperfect  analogies,  particularlj-  in 
reasoning  on  the  nature  of  Deit}'.  It  has  been  well  observed,  that, 
when  beginning  a  subject,  we  should  consider  the  degree  of  evi- 
dence to  which  we  should  yield  our  assent." 

"  In  pursuit  of  truth  I  should  possess  indefatigable  patience  and 
invincible  perseverance.  Have  I  not  embraced  errors  to  avoid  the 
toil  of  inquiry?  Let  me  read  no  enfeebling  productions,  l)ut  such 
poetry  and  works  of  fancy  only  as  will  tend  to  strengthen  the  pur- 
poses and  elevate  the  feelings  of  mj^  soul.  I  wish  to  acquire  a 
calm  energ}',  a  strong  principle  of  love  and  independence.  Let  me 
kindle  a  fire  in  my  heart  at  the  altars  of  religion,  benevolence,  and 
nature." 

"It  is  always  best  to  think  first  for  ourselves  on  an}' subject, 
and  then  to  have  recourse  to  others  for  the  correction  or  improve- 
ment of  our  own  sentiments.  Thus  we  ma^'  reach  truth,  wliich  we 
should  never  have  observed  had  we  caught  a  particular  mode  of 
thinking  from  any  author.  No  princii)les  should  be  received  from 
education  and  habit  merely.  Let  me  observe,  before  perusing  the 
opinions  of  observers.  We  check  original  thought  by  first  learning 
how  and  what  to  think  from  others.     The  strength  of  others  should 

1  Edwards's  Works,  Vol.  I.  p.  35. 


1800-1803.]  RULES  FOR  STUDY.  89 

be  called  in  only  to  assist  our  weakness,  not  to  prevent  the  exertion 
of  our  own  powers.  By  means  of  this  dependence  on  books,  error, 
as  well  as  truth,  descends  in  hereditary  succession.  The  sources 
of  original  thought  are  dried  up,  and  the  mind  is  overflowed  by 
foreign  streams  derived  through  channels  which  other  men  have 
formed.  Self-dependence  in  science  is  the  road  to  useful  truth. 
The  quantity  of  knowledge  thus  gained  may  be  less,  but  the  quality 
will  be  superior.  Truth  received  on  authority,  or  acquired  witliout 
labor,  makes  but  a  feeble  impression." 

"Whenever  hypotheses  are  to  be  formed,  let  me  first  set  down 
the  facts  on  which  they  must  be  grounded,  and  weigh  them  care- 
fully. It  would  be  advisable  to  form  a  blank  book  merely  for  the 
insertion  of  those  truths  to  which  I  assent ;  and  it  would  be  useful 
to  revise  whatever  I  have  hitherto  taken  for  granted,  and  judge  it 
impartially.  Let  me  beware  lest  a  love  of  originality  lead  me 
astray.  Ambition  is  as  fatal  as  prejudice.  Love  of  truth  is  the 
only  principle  which  should  influence  us ;  and  those  truths  which 
will  have  influence  on  life  are  alone  worthy  of  present  attention.  I 
was  born  for  action.  My  object  is  to  do  good  to  the  world  by  pro- 
moting the  cause  of  religion,  as  well  as  to  advance  myself  in 
religion.  A  life  of  constant  action  and  unwearied  exertion  excludes 
universal  knowledge.  The  improvement  of  the  heart  is  infinitely 
more  important  than  the  enlargement  of  the  understanding.  I 
hope  for  immortality  in  heaven,  not  immortal  fame  on  earth. 
I  therefore  wish  to  have  a  few  important  truths  impressed  deeply 
on  my  mind,  rather  than  to  be  lost  in  that  chaos  of  universal 
knowledge  which  has  hitherto  distracted  me.  Knowledge  is  only  a 
means.  Let  me  not  make  it  the  end.  Abstruse  speculations  on 
useless  subjects  will  but  waste  my  time." 

"I  must  be  very  careful,  lest,  when  rn}^  heart  is  warmed,  I 
should  be  disposed  to  receive  without  examination  the  errors  of 
enthusiasm  for  Christian  truth.  I  fear  that  I  am  prejudiced  in 
favor  of  some  doctrines,  and  there  is  danger  of  my  bending  Scrip- 
ture to  my  preconceived  opinions.  Let  me  always  pray  for  impar- 
tiality, and  strive  to  read  without  prejudice.  I  should  also  try  to 
acquire  a  spirit  of  moderation  from  the  Bible,  instead  of  that  nar- 
rowness of  sentiment  which  is  creeping  upon  me.  Let  me  study 
Scripture  without  any  ambitious  views  of  striking  out  a  new 
system,  or  of  shining  by  ingenuity.  Plain  truth  is  worth  far  more 
than  the  splendid  speculations  of  philosophical  divines." 

But  already  Mr.  Channing's  efforts  were  checked,  and  his  spirits 
damped,  by  that  state  of  half-health  which  did  so  much  during  the 


90  STUDIES  AND  SETTLEMENT.  [JEt.  20-23. 

whole  of  his  earl}'  manhood  to  repress  his  native  ardor  and  prob- 
ably to  overcast  his  firmament  of  thought,  though  it  could  never 
subdue  his  elastic  will  and  truly  heroic  conscience.  To  his  grand- 
father EUer^'  he  thus  describes  his  trials  :  — 

' '  Perhaps  it  is  fortunate  for  3-ou  that  I  have  not  written.  A 
kind  of  stupefaction,  of  mental  inactivity,  has  seized  on  me. 
A  weight  of  duhiess  has  oppressed  all  my  faculties.  My  under- 
standing and  imagination  have  been  buried  under  a  cloud,  my  feel- 
ings deadened,  and  every  spring  of  action  relaxed.  I  feel  but  little 
interest  in  anything,  and  yet  I  am  not  at  ease.  This  insensibility 
is  morbid,  the  effect  of  disease,  an  unnatural  state  of  the  mind,  a 
violence  on  its  powers  and  energies.  I  do  not  act  or  feel,  ^et  my 
sluggishness  is  not  voluntar3\  I  am  hemmed  in,  —  I  am  fettered. 
Like  Enceladus,  I  groan  under  the  mountain.  I  labor  to  remove 
it ;  but  still,  still  it  weighs  on  my  breast,  and  seems  to  press 
heavier  after  every  struggle.  In  fact,  my  late  complaint  has  had 
more  to  do  with  the  mind  than  the  body,  or  rather  the  body  has 
been  affected  in  such  a  manner  as  peculiarly  to  affect  the  mind." 

Amidst  this  bodily  and  mental  depression,  making  a  path  for 
himself  between  scepticism  on  the  one  side  and  a  gloom}-  theolog}^ 
on  the  other,  slowly  winning  his  way  to  peace  and  light,  delicately 
conscientious,  eager  for  unobscured  views,  aspiring  with  the  intense 
enthusiasm  of  a  highl}'  ideal  temperament  after  perfect  good,  he 
found  the  refreshment  he  so  much  needed  in  the  societ}'  of  his 
elder  brotlier,  whose  sweet,  tender,  glad,  and  poetic  spirit  formed 
with  his  a  beautiful  accord.  Their  leisure  hours  were  passed  to- 
gether in  most  unreserved  intimacy,  while  sometimes  the}'  followed 
the  paths  which  wound  tln-ough  the  then  unbroken  woods  of  Mount 
Aubui'n,  or  overlooked  the  wide  panorama  from  Prospect  Hill,  and 
sometimes  wore  away  the  night  beside  the  embers  on  their  student's 
hearth.  Then,  and  ever  after,  they  stood  in  mutual  relations  of 
transparent  confidence,  and  were  united  by  that  devoted  friendship 
which,  next  after  communion  with  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  the  love 
of  a  true  marriage,  is  the  holiest  tie  in  life.  P'rancis  thus  writes  : 
"A  word  of  our  dear  William.  You  know  not  how  happ}'  I  feel 
in  such  a  brother.  He  is  a  bright  light  in  the  world  ;  he  illumines, 
he  animates,  he  points  the  way." 

Near  the  close  of  his  theological  studies,  Mr.  Channing  was  ad- 
mitted as  "  a  member  in  full  communion  of  the  First  Church  of 
Christ  in  Cambridge,"  which  was  at  that  time  under  the  charge 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Abiel  Holmes,  who,  in  theolog}',  was  a  "  moderate 
Calvinist,"  and  as  a  man  was  highly  respected  for  unpretending 


1800-1803.]  DOCTRINAL  OPINIONS.  91 

piet}'  and  uprightness.  The  doctrinal  opinions  which  he  at  this 
time  entertained  are  embodied,  though  not  very  distinctl}-,  in  some 
articles  of  faith  which  he  appears  to  have  prepared  for  his  own  use. 
It  would  seem  that  his  views  were  such  as  would  then  have  been 
called  Arian,  but  strongly  tinged  with  opinions  derived  from  Dr. 
Hopkins. 

At  this  time,  as  through  life,  Mr.  Channing  kept  aloof  from  sec- 
tarian entanglements,  for  by  instinct  he  dreaded,  as  much  as  from 
principle  he  disapproved,  all  fetters  upon  free  thought.  But  it 
certainh''  is  not  strange  that  one,  holding  such  opinions  as  he  has 
recorded,  should  have  been  supposed  to  have  a  leaning  towards 
Orthodoxy,  as  from  the  following  communication  it  appears  was 
the  case. 

"He  received  the  usual  approbation  to  preach,  I  think,"  says 
Dr.  Pierce,  "  from  the  Cambridge  Association.  As  there  was  then 
no  Divinity  School,  and  he  was  peculiarly  cautious  about  commit- 
ting himself  on  points  of  difference  among  Christians,  as  he  was 
also  supposed  to  be  in  familiar  correspondence  with  his  grandfather 
Ellery,  who  had  the  reputation  of  Orthodoxy  of  the  Hopkins  stamp, 
suspicions  were  entertained  by  some  that  he  himself  would  enlist  on 
that  side.  So  thought  some  of  the  ministers  composing  the  Asso- 
ciation before  which  he  appeared  for  approbation.  For,  as  he  him- 
self told  me,  the  only  question  proposed  to  him,  after  reading  his 
sermon,  was  by  Dr.  Stearns  of  Lincoln,  — "  Whether  he  believed 
that  God  was  the  author  of  sin  ? ' " 

Any  doubts  as  to  the  actual  state  of  his  opinions,  however,  are 
put  at  rest  b}'  his  own  testimon}',  as  given  in  later  j-ears.  "There 
was  a  time,"  said  he,  "when  I  verged  towards  Calvinism,  for  ill 
health  and  depression  gave  me  a  dark  view  of  things.  But  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Trinit}'  held  me  back.  When  I  was  stud3ing  my  pro- 
fession, and  religion  was  the  subject  of  deepest  personal  concern 
with  me,  I  followed  Doddridge  through  his  'Rise  and  Progi-ess' 
till  he  brought  me  to  a  prayer  to  Jesus  Christ.  There  I  stopped, 
and  wrote  to  a  friend  that  my  spiritual  guide  was  gone  where  I 
could  not  follow  him.     I  was  never  in  any  sense  a  Trinitarian." 

Judge  White  thus  confirms  this  statement :  — 

"In  a  conversation  which  I  had  with  him,  on  our  way  to  visit 
Dr.  Osgood,  of  Medford,  about  the  time  he  commenced  preaching, 
he  spoke  of  Dr.  Hopkins  with  warm  esteem,  both  as  a  friend  and  a 
theologian,  dwelling  with  particular  emphasis  on  the  strong  feature 
of  benevolence  which  marked  both  his  character  and  his  divinity, 


92  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [^t.  20-23. 

and  observing  ver^-  pointed!}',  that  '  tliose  wlio  were  called  Hopkin- 
sians,  and  considered  his  followers,  appeared  to  know  little  of  him 
or  of  his  true  theological  views.'  With  all  his  esteem  for  his  friend 
Dr.  Hopkins,  he  had  no  s^'mpath}'  with  these  supposed  followers, 
or  with  their  leading  opinions.  His  not  manifesting  an  oi)en  and 
zealous  concurrence  with  any  particular  sect  or  denomination,  to- 
gether with  the  deep  seriousness  of  his  religious  impressions,  might 
have  gi^en  him  something  of  an  Orthodox  reputation  ;  but  I  am 
persuaded  tliat  he  was  neither  more  nor  less  entitled  to  it  at  that 
time  than  at  any  subsequent  period  of  his  life  ;  for  he  was  distin- 
guished then,  as  ever  afterwards,  for  his  devotion  to  truth  and  for 
the  spirit  of  free  inquiry." 

Mr.  Channing  began  to  preach  in  the  autumn  of  1802,  being  then 
in  his  twent^'-third  year. 

"  I  find  in  my  register  for  1802,"  writes  Judge  White,  "  the  fol- 
lowing memorandum  against  October  24  :  '  Medford.  Spent  the 
Sunday  and  heard  Brother  Channing  for  the  first  time  preach ' ;  — 
and  I  have  even  now  a  distinct  recollection  of  our  interview  with 
Dr.  Osgood,  at  his  house,  where  we  dined,  and  of  the  gratification 
I  experienced  at  hearing  him  express  the  most  decided  approbation 
of  the  discourse,  and  speak  of  the  3'oung  preacher's  whole  services 
and  manner  in  the  kindest  terms  of  sympathy'  and  commendation. 
Having  been  intimatel}'  acquainted  with  Dr.  Osgood,  and  knowing 
how  frankly  he  expressed  his  real  opinion,  I  felt  some  solicitude  till 
he  had  spoken,  and  was  the  more  gi'atified  b}'  what  he  said.  Yet 
he  did  not  express  himself  so  strongly  as  he  did  afterwards,  in  the 
absence  of  Mr.  Channing.  I  know  that  he  regarded  him  as  a  3'Oung 
preacher  of  extraordinar}'  gifts,  and  of  the  highest  promise  in  his 
profession.  I  mention  this  more  particular!}',  having  seen  it  eiTO- 
neously  stated  in  the  '  Chiistian  Register,'  I  think  by  an  anon}'- 
mous  writer,  that  his  early  performance  was  not  thus  promising. 
My  expectations,  which  had  been  high,  were  full}'  realized  wlien  I 
first  heard  him.  There  was  the  same  charm  in  his  sentiments  and 
tones  of  voice  which  I  ever  after  experienced  from  his  preaching. 
Indeed,  to  me  he  always  appeared  essentially  the  same,  though 
always  advancing ;  and  the  chief  diflfcrence  between  his  early  and 
later  preaching  seemed  to  arise  from  his  greater  freedom,  energy, 
and  earnestness,  both  of  spirit  and  manner,  as  he  advanced  in  his 
profound  views  of  religion  and  humanity." 

His  preaching  at  once  attracted  attention  for  its  fervor,  solemnity, 
and  beauty.  The  power  of  his  look  and  tone,  so  exi)ressive  of  a 
soul  that  overflowed  with  spiritual  life,  won  the  hearts  of  his  hear- 


1800-1803.]  INVITATION  TO   SETTLE.  93 

ers,  and  was  felt  as  evidence  that  he  spoke  with  tlic  authority  of 
experience.  A  person  wlio  heard  his  first  sermon,  on  the  text, 
"  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as  I  have  give  I  thee,"  in 
which  he  described  the  large  range  of  benevolent  action  open  to 
ever}'  human  being,  however  situated,  describes  his  manner  as  sin- 
gularly "radiant  and  full  of  heavenl}-  joy."  The  general  admira- 
tion felt  for  his  spirit  and  genius  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  was 
immediately  asked  to  preach  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  as  a  candi- 
date for  settlement,  by  the  society'  in  Brattle  Street  and  by  the 
society  in  Federal  Street.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Thacher,  pastor  of  the 
Brattle  Street  congregation,  being  quite  infirm,  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  need  of  a  colleague  ;  and  the  leading  men  among  his  people 
were  exceedingly  desirous  that  Mr.  Channing  should  be  elected  to 
fill  this  oflJice.  The}-  consulted  with  him  freely  in  relation  to  the 
proposed  arrangement,  and  gave  him  their  assurance  that  he  would 
receive  the  invitation  of  the  society  to  become  their  associate 
pastor  if  he  would  once  more  preach  before  them.  He  returned  to 
Newport  to  rest  and  recruit,  however,  without  giving  them  a  defi- 
nite answer. 

Meanwhile  the  society  in  Federal  Street  had  been  so  strongly 
attracted  towards  Mr.  Channing  that  thev  hastened  at  once  to  re- 
quest him  to  settle  with  them,  and  deputed  Deacon  Francis  AV right 
to  wait  upon  him  with  the  following  "  call"  :  — 

"Boston,  December  29,  1802. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  When  a  committee  of  the  religious  society  in  Fed- 
eral Street  lately-  made  application  to  j'ou  to  preach  on  probation, 
the}'  were  influenced  not  merely  by  their  own  united  opinions,  but 
by  their  persuasion  of  the  dispositions  and  wishes  of  the  society 
which  they  represented. 

"It  is  gratifying  to  find  that  in  this  persuasion  they  were  not 
mistaken,  but  that  the  society  have  received  such  satisfaction  from 
your  ministration  among  them,  and  have  such  a  conviction  of  your 
character  and  accomplishments,  that  they  were  prepared  for  a  more 
decisive  expression  of  their  approbation.  At  a  full  meeting  of  the 
society,  holden  on  the  28th  instant,  they  voted  to  invite  you  to  be- 
come their  pastor,  and  have  assigned  to  us  the  grateful  office  of 
presenting  to  you  their  invitation 

"We  have  thus  the  satisfaction  to  ofl'er  you  the  desires  of  a 
united  people,  and  cannot  but  express  a  hope  that  this  invitation 
and  the  proposals  accompanying  it  will  be  acceptable  to  you.  Such 
a  result  we  shall  consider  as  a  blessing  of  Heaven  on  the  society 
and  its  members,  and  all  with  whom  they  are  tenderly  connected. 


94  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [JEt.  20'-2a 

"Any  explanations  or  further  communications  from  us,  which 
may  be  considered  necessary,  we  shall  cheerfully  offer  on  request ; 
for  this  purpose  a  personal  interview  would  be  agreeable  to  us,  but 
the  distance  and  the  season  of  the  year  would  render  it  inconven- 
ient for  the  committee  to  repair  to  Newport.  If  it  should  be  con- 
venient to  you,  before  your  proposed  return  to  this  vicinity,  to  be 
at  Providence  or  Bristol,  some  of  the  committee  would  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  either  of  those  places,  at  such  time  as 
you  shall  specify. 

"In  the  name  and  behalf  of  the  society,  we  remain, 
"  Respectfully,  with  great  regard, 

"  Your  friends  and  obedient  servants, 
' '  Francis  Wright, 
Henry  Hunter, 
Thomas  Davis, 
John  Davis, 
Simon  P^lliot, 
Russell  Sturgis, 
Edward  Tuckerman,  Jr., 

Committee. 
"Mr.  William  E.  Channing." 

Together  with  this  call,  Mr.  Channing  received  persuasive  ap- 
peals from  many  friends,  advising  him  to  preach  again,  as  requested, 
at  Brattle  Street.  But  Dr.  Thacher  was  now  dead  ;  and  feeling 
that  he  was  at  once  too  ill  and  too  inexperienced  to  discharge  alone 
the  duties  in  so  large  a  congregation,  and  that  the  difficulties  inci- 
dent to  the  settlement  of  a  colleague  with  him  were  great,  he  deter- 
mined not  to  offer  himself  to  that  society  as  a  candidate.  In  his 
letter  he  says  :  — 

' '  I  hope  that  I  have  not  subjected  your  society  to  inconvenience 
by  delaying  to  this  period  my  answer  to  their  application.  A  re- 
quest of  such  importance  required  long  deliberation.  I  have  con- 
sidered my  decision  as  one  which  must  seriously  affect  my  whole 
future  life.  I  have  been  unwilling,  too,  to  determine  without  the 
counsel  of  my  friends  ;  and  from  a  concurrence  of  opinion,  I  am 
constrained  to  decline  the  invitation  of  the  church  and  congregation 
in  Brattle  Street  to  preach  before  them  with  a  view  to  settlement. 

"  I  have  been  for  some  tmie  in  a  feeble  state  of  health,  and  the 
labor  of  speaking  in  your  house  is  so  great  that  there  would  be 
danger  of  fatal  injury.  In  so  numerous  a  societ}',  also,  profes- 
sional engagements  would  require  great  exertions,  the  fatigues  of 


1800-1803.]  FEDERAL  STREET  SOCIETY.  95 

which  might  unfit  me  for  that  attention  to  stud}^  on  which  m}-  use- 
fulness must  very  much  depend.  It  is  principally  by  impressing 
religious  truth  that  a  minister  is  instrumental  in  promoting  the 
happiness  of  his  people ;  and  his  own  personal  discipline  is  indis- 
pensably- necessary  to  a  faithful  and  effectual  ministration  of  the 
word  of  God.  Hence  the  importance,  not  only  of  health,  but  of 
much  leisure,  especially  to  one  so  young  and  inexperienced  as  m}-- 
self.  Could  I,  then,  consistently  with  a  regard  to  the  prosperity 
of  the  church,  and  the  eternal  interests  of  my  hearers,  desire  a  situ- 
ation which  would  require  efforts  disproportioned  to  my  strength, 
and  where  the  multiplicity  of  duties  would  allow  but  little  oppor- 
tunity^ for  improvement? 

"  Your  society.  Sir,  has  much  indeed  to  recommend  it.  But  do 
not  the  very  circumstances  of  your  influence  and  numbers  attach 
high  responsibility  to  the  office  of  your  minister,  and  render  experi- 
ence, improved  talents,  and  insight  of  character  peculiarly  neces- 
sary? A  man  of  principle  should  first  of  all  inquire  whether  he  is 
capable  of  performing  the  duties  he  is  called  to  undertake  ;  and  in 
calculating  his  powers  he  ought  to  guard  against  too  high  an  esti- 
mation of  them,  lest  he  be  led  to  engage  in  a  sphere  to  which  he  is 
inadequate.  My  feelings,  as  well  as  my  reason,  recommend  for  me 
a  more  humble  sphere  ;  and  I  have  a  confidence  that  you  will  be  no 
sufferers  in  consequence  of  the  resolution  which  I  have  adopted. 

"  In  thus  declining  the  invitation  of  the  church  and  congregation 
in  Brattle  Street,  I  am  influenced  by  the  highest  respect  for  their 
character,  and  a  sincere  regard  for  their  most  important  interests. 
And  may  God  support  and  guide  them  by  his  grace  and  power ! 

"Under  a  grateful  sense  of  the  honor  conferred  on  me  by  the 
society  which  you  represent,  I  remain,  with  great  respect, 
"  Your  obedient  servant, 

««W.    E,    ClIANNING." 

This  letter,  otherwise  unimportant,  is  inserted  as  illustrative  of 
the  caution  with  which  its  writer  made  up  his  judgment  as  to  any 
course  of  conduct,  though  he  was  prompt  and  resolute  in  executing 
his  purposes  when  formed.  It  shows,  too,  very  clearly  his  humble 
estimate  of  his  own  abilities,  and  his  conscientious  desire  to  fit  him- 
self for  efficient  service  in  his  vocation.  Wisdom  and  moderation 
had  already  become  his  law. 

Mr.  Channing  was  the  more  inclined  to  settle  at  Federal  Street, 
because,  while  the  weakness  of  that  society  called  out  his  sympa- 
thies, he  was  hopeful  that  his  health  would  permit  him  to  meet  with 
fidelity  the  hmited  demand  which  would  there  be  made  upon  him. 


96  STUDIES  AND   SETTLEMENT.  [Mt.  20-23. 

So,  returning  to  Boston,  he  conferred  with  the  committee  of  the 
societ}',  and  accepted  their  call  in  the  following  letter :  — 

"  To  the  Committee  of  the  Religious  Society  in  Federal  Street. 

"  Gentlemen,  —  I  now  address  you  to  communicate  m}'  accept- 
ance of  the  invitation  of  the  society  in  Federal  Street  to  settle  with 
them  as  their  minister.  The  character  of  the  society,  the  favorable 
disposition  the}'  have  expressed  towards  me,  and  the  prospect  of 
usefulness  in  a  situation  so  well  adapted  to  my  present  state  of 
health,  render  this  call  peculiarl}-  agreeable. 

"  The  proposals  3'ou  have  communicated  are  entirel}'  satisfactory' ; 
and  when  I  consider  them  as  expressive  of  regard  to  religion,  and 
originating  in  a  desire  to  relieve  your  minister  from  solicitudes  and 
embarrassments,  I  accede  to  them  with  pleasure 

"  In  settling  among  3'ou,  I  shall  consider  the  prosperity  of  the 
society  as  my  end  and  happiness.  As  an  ambassador  of  Christ,  I 
shall  endeavor  faithfully  to  declare  those  truths  which  he  has  re- 
vealed in  his  Word,  and  on  which  the  purity  of  the  church  and  the 
eternal  interests  of  mankind  depend. 

"  Though  young  and  feeble,  I  am  encouraged  to  form  this  solemn 
connection  from  a  confidence  in  that  candor  and  affection  I  have 
already  experienced.  I  desire  3'our  pra3'ers  to  Almighty  God,  that 
he  would  enable  me  to  perform  the  important  duties  of  my  calling, 
and  that  my  labors  may  not  be  in  vain  in  the  Lord. 
"  With  great  respect,  I  remain, 

"  Your  sincere  friend  and  obedient  servant, 

"William  E.  Channing. 
"Boston,  February  12,  1803." 

On  Wednesday,  June  1, 1803,  Mr.  Channing  was  ordained.  The 
order  of  services  was  as  follows :  Introductory  prayer  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Holmes,  of  Cambridge  ;  discourse  b}'  the  Rev.  Dr.  Tappan, 
Professor  at  Harvard  Universit}' ;  pra3'er  of  consecration  b3'  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Osgood,  of  Medford ;  charge  1)3'  his  uncle,  the  Rev. 
Henry  Channing,  of  New  London,  who  had  declined  preaching  the 
sermon  ;  right  hand  of  fellowship  by  his  classmate  and  friend,  the 
Rev.  Joseph  Tuckerman,  of  Chelsea. 

One  who  was  a  devoted  parishioner  and  a  warm  personal  friend 
in  after  years,  George  Ticknor,  Esq.,  has  communicated  the  follow- 
ing sketch  of  this  occasion  :  — 

"  M3'  first  recollection  of  Dr.  Channing  is  on  the  da3'  of  his  ordi- 
nation. My  father,  who  was  one  of  the  council,  led  me  by  the  hand, 
as  a  small  bo}' ;  and  I  went  with  him  in  the  procession,  and  sat 


1800-1803.]  HIS  ORDINATION.  97 

with  him.  So  far  as  I  now  remember,  I  had  never  heard  of  the 
person  to  be  ordained  ;  and  I  have  still  no  recollection  of  anything 
in  the  services  of  the  daj',  till  they  were  about  to  be  concluded. 
Then  the  pale,  spiritual-looking  young  man,  whose  consecration  I 
had  witnessed  without  really  understanding  its  purport,  rose  and 
announced  the  closing  hymn.  M3'  attention  was  immediately  fas- 
tened on  him,  and  particularly  on  his  visible  emotion,  when  he  came 
to  the  last  stanza :  — 

'  My  tongue  repeats  her  vows, 

Peace  to  tliis  sacred  liouse  ! 
For  here  my  friends  and  brethren  dwell; 

And  since  my  glorious  God 

Makes  tliee  his  blest  abode, 
My  soul  shall  ever  love  thee  well.' 

His  looks,  the  tones  of  his  trembling  voice,  and  the  devout  air  with 
which  he  repeated  rather  than  read  these  lines,  are  still  present  to 
me  whenever  the  scene  comes  up  in  my  thoughts ;  and,  in  fact,  at 
the  time  the}'  so  impressed  the  words  themselves  on  my  mind,  that 
I  have  never  forgotten  them  since.  After  the  hymn  had  been  sung, 
he  rose  once  more,  and  in  the  same  tender  and  devout  manner  pro- 
nounced a  very  simple  benediction.  In  this,  too,  I  see  him  still 
freshly  before  me,  with  his  upcast  eyes,  and  remember  thinking 
how  spiritual  he  was,  and  being  sad  that  from  his  feeble  appear- 
ance it  did  not  seem  as  if  he  would  live  long." 

During  the  spring  and  summer,  before  and  after  his  ordination, 
Mr.  Channing  resided  at  Brookline,  in  the  family  of  Stephen  Hig- 
ginson,  Jr.,  whose  heart,  overflowing  with  benevolence  and  hos- 
pitality, had  taken  the  interests  of  the  young  minister  under  his 
paternal  care,  and  who,  together  with  his  devout  and  excellent  wife, 
—  who,  though  orthodox  in  views,  was  liberal  in  spirit,  —  rejoiced 
in  the  saintly  puritj'  and  rich  intelligence  of  their  friend.  Here 
a  large  librar}-  and  ever^'  convenience  for  study  or  relaxation  were 
open  to  his  use  ;  his  bodily  health  was  benefited  by  country  air  and 
free  exercise  amidst  the  picturesque  landscapes  of  that  most  beau- 
tiful neighborhood  ;  and  his  affections  found  a  home. 


PART    SECOND. 


Chapter  I.  —  EARLY   MINISTRY. 

^T.  23-34.     1803-1814. 

IT  was  in  his  twenty-fourtli  year  tliat  Mr.  Clianning  entered  upon 
his  ministerial  course  in  Boston,  ah-eady  fitted  by  the  dis- 
cipline of  life  and  inward  experience  to  sympathize  in  the  move- 
ments of  the  time  and  place  in  which  his  lot  was  cast,  and  destined 
to  lend  them  efficient  aid.  But  before  tracing  his  relations  to  tliat 
development  of  spirituality,  liberty,  love,  which  it  was  the  mission 
of  his  age  to  promote,  let  us  first  observe  his  growth  toward  the 
stature  of  a  perfect  man  in  his  closet  and  home  circle,  in  his  par- 
ish and  immediate  neighborhood.  Thus  shall  we  follow  down  the 
stream  from  its  mountain  springs,  which  were  fed  by  the  rains  of 
heaven. 

The  family  of  an  estimable  parishioner,  with  whom  Mr.  Chan- 
ning  at  first  resided,  remember  him  at  that  period  as  serious  in 
deportment  to  a  degree  that  was  even  oppressive.  He  had  the  air 
of  one  absorbed  in  his  own  contemplations,  and  looked  careworn, 
weary,  and  anxious.  Society  seemed  distasteful ;  he  joined  but 
little  in  conversation ;  took  his  meals  in  haste ;  was  retired  in  his 
ways ;  lived  mostly  in  his  study  ;  appeared  rather  annoyed  than 
pleased  with  visitors;  seldom  went  abroad,  —  dechning,  when  pos- 
sible, all  invitations;  and,  in  a  word,  was  most  content  when  left 
uninterruptedly  to  himself.  There  was  sweetness  in  his  looks  and 
words,  however  ;  solemn  counsels  were  gently  given,  and  an  atmos- 
phere of  holiness  threw  a  winning  charm  over  his  conversation 
and  conduct.  Undoubtedly,  this  reserve,  the  shade  of  which  was 
deepest  in  his  first  entrance  upon  his  duties,  and  which  cleared  awa}' 
as  he  became  more  confirmed  in  goodness  and  wisdom,  was  parti}' 
owing  to  his  habit  of  fastening  attention  upon  an}'  subject  that  in- 
terested him,  and  of  brooding  over  it  even  while  in  society  and  in 
action,  —  a  fault  in  his  regard,  of  which  he  early  became  aware,  and 
which  he  endeavored  through  his  later  life  to  check.  In  his  jour- 
nals he  frequently  thus  refers  to  it :  — 


1803-1814.]  EXCESSIVE   STUDY.  99 

"A  subject  has  been  veiy  injurious  to  me.  It  has  shut  me  up 
in  mj'  room  till  my  body  has  been  exhausted,  and  has  led  to  neglect 
of  my  people  and  famil}-.     I  must  be  moderate  in  everything." 

"  It  will  often  be  useful  to  fix  the  number  of  hours  during  which 
I  will  attend  to  a  subject,  and  rigidly  to  adhere  to  the  determina- 
tion." 

"  My  mode  of  study  destroys  me,  my  health,  my  piety,  my  social 
feelings  ;  and  is  therefore  sinful." 

"  My  long  absorption  in  a  subject  enfeebles  my  mind,  prevents 
its  free  action,  casts  a  cloud  over  my  thoughts,  produces  a  painful 
anxiety'." 

"  M}'  speculations  about  the  origin  of  moral  feelings,  &c.,  can- 
not justify  a  practical  neglect  of  them." 

' '  No  subject  can  be  usefully  continued  bej'ond  a  certain  time. 
The  mind  needs  to  be  recruited.  All  the  motives  which  impel 
me  to  pursue  the  subject  require  me  to  disengage  my  mind  for  a 
season." 

"The  attainment  of  truth  requires  me  to  be  able  to  continue  in 
a  state  of  doubt  until  I  have  had  time  to  examine  all  the  arguments 
which  relate  to  a  point ;  and  this  examination,  however  protracted, 
if  conducted  by  a  love  of  truth,  is  virtuous,  —  approved  by  con- 
science and  God,  —  the  improvement  of  my  best  powers,  —  an 
approximation  towards  God." 

"  The  wretchedness  I  have  suffered  on  so  many  topics  shows  the 
importance  of  limiting  the  period  of  attention." 

"Because  doubt  spreads  itself  over  one  subject  I  ought  not  to 
doubt  of  all.  This  will  lead  to  miser3\  A  narrow  mind  cannot 
see  the  connections  between  many  propositions  which  are  yet  sup- 
ported b}'  sufficient  proofs." 

"  M}'  sleep  has  been  broken  b}-  anxiety  at  not  discovering  truth." 

' '  Let  it  be  my  rule  never  to  carry  a  subject  with  me  into  society. 
My  social  duties  are  in  this  way  neglected." 

But  his  serious  manner  was  chiefly  to  be  traced  to  profound 
conscientiousness.  Without  the  elastic  spirits  which  a  vigorous 
tone  of  bod}'  gives,  as  a  power  of  reaction  for  the  spirit,  he  bent 
beneath  a  feeling  of  unfitness  for  the  duties  of  his  vocation.  To  a 
3'oung  friend  who  was  just  entering  upon  the  ministry,  and  who 
was  oppressed  b}'  a  like  sense  of  responsibility,  he  once  said : 
"  Take  courage.  I  suffered  as  30U  now  do.  In  the  early  years  of 
my  ministry,  ill  health  and  a  deep  consciousness  of  unworthiness 
took  away  mj-  energy  and  hope,  and  I  had  almost  resolved  to  quit 
my  profession.     My  brother  Francis  begged  me  to  persevere,   to 


100  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [Mt.  23-34. 

make  a  fairer  trial ;  and  to  his  influence  I  owe  very  much  the  con- 
tinuance of  labors  which,  I  hope,  have  not  been  useless  to  mj-self 
or  to  others." 

A  letter  written  at  this  time  to  his  uncle  Henry  well  shows  how 
deep  his  depression  was  : — 

"  I  have  no  right  to  complain  of  the  trials  of  my  ministry'. 
They  are  small,  compared  with  what  thousands  of  ray  brethren 
are  called  to  endure.  I  can  complain  of  nothing  but  myself. 
Every  day  teaches  me  more  of  my  weakness  and  corruption,  and 
yet  I  seem  to  grow  no  better.  I  hope  my  hearers  are  more  profited 
by  my  discourses  than  I  am,  or  I  shall  do  little  good.  I  can  only 
hope  that  God  designs  to  humble  me,  to  make  me  feel  my  insuffi- 
ciency, that  he  may  lead  me  to  ascribe  the  success  of  my  labors 
to  his  blessing,  whenever  he  may  please  to  make  them  powerful  to 
the  salvation  of  souls." 

His  painful  struggles,  and  his  mode  of  triumphing  over  his  weak- 
ness, are  pointed  out  yet  more  fully  in  a  letter  written  many  years 
later  to  a  young  brother  who  had  sought  his  advice  :  — 

"  I  have  passed  through  too  much  of  3'our  sad  experience,  to  be 
able  to  treat  it  harshl}'.  M}'  own  mind  has  often  been  read}'  to 
sink  under  like  burdens.  A  merciful  Power  has  sustained  me,  and 
I  trust  that  it  will  sustain  you.  It  is  impossible  that  a  man  who  is  at 
all  alive  to  his  moral  and  religious  obligations  should  enter  on  the 
ministry  without  man}'  solicitudes,  fears,  and  painful  convictions  of 
his  distance  from  tlie  perfection  he  is  to  teach.  It  is  impossible 
for  a  3'oung  man,  especially  if  he  has  been  retired  in  his  habits,  to 
appear  in  a  pulpit, —  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  spots  on  earth,  — 
and  to  escape  all  consciousness  of  himself,  and  give  himself  up 
with  an  undivided  heart  to  a  work  to  which  he  is  new,  and  to 
which  his  feelings  have  been  but  imperfectly  trained.  The  strong- 
est of  all  passions,  ambition,  cannot  at  once  be  put  to  silence,  and 
its  inconsistency  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity  and  the  ministry 
produces  keen  self-reproach. 

"  I  tell  you  here  what  I  suppose  all  ministers  could  tell,  and  I 
see  not  how  the  evil  is  to  be  avoided  under  the  present  constitution 
of  things.  God  might  have  committed  his  word  to  the  ministry  of 
angels,  but  this  he  has  not  seen  fit  to  do ;  he  intrusts  it  to  earthen 
vessels,  to  frail  men,  to  those  who  need  moral  and  religious  educa- 
tion as  truly  as  their  hearers,  who  reprove  themselves  in  the  re- 
proofs they  administer  to  others,  and  who  are  to  carry  others  for- 
ward by  advancing  themselves.  A  deep  sense  of  imperfection  and 
much  spiritual  conflict  are,  then,  inseparable  from  the  work. 


1803-1814.]  INWARD   STRUGGLES.  101 

"  Your  defects  do  not  at  all  discourage  me.  I  could  tell  of  those 
who  have  struggled  through  the  same.  I  do  not  mean  to  deny 
their  existence.  The  onl}'  question  is,  Do  3'ou  thirst  to  be  im- 
proved ?  Do  you  thirst  for  a  generous  interest  in  3'our  fellow-crea- 
tures? Do  you  desire  a  new  power  to  do  good?  Have  you  the 
principle  of  progress  in  j'ou  ?  Of  this  I  cannot  doubt,  nor  can  you. 
That  30U  are  not  doomed  to  stop  forever  where  30U  are,  I  know. 
God  is  giving  30U  power  in  your  moral  nature,  in  Christianity,  in 
his  Holy  Spirit,  against  selfislmess,  apathy,  and  corrupt  ambition. 
These  can  be  overcome,  and  must  be,  and  I  know  not  a  vocation 
in  which  you  can  withstand  them  so  effectuall3'  as  in  the  ministry. 
The  verN'  pains  3'ou  have  suffered,  if  the3'  do  not  pals3'  3'ou  133-  takr 
ing  awa3^  the  hope  of  change  and  progress,  will  do  3-ou  good.  The}' 
show  you  that  3'ou  are  not  spirituall}'  dead.  The3'  should  satisfy 
3-ou  that  3-ou  have  the  foundation  of  great  ministerial  usefulness(. 
Set3'ourself  to  work  with  new  earnestness  for  your  own  improvement, 
and  seek  to  improve  yourself,  not  onl}-  for  3-our  own  sake,  but  that 
you  may  more  efrectuall3'  improve  and  quicken  30ur  fellow-creatures, 
and  God  will  crown  your  labors  with  success. 

"  What  3'OU  need,  what  all  need,  is  determined  self-denial.  You 
need  to  la3'  on  yourself  severe  rules  as  to  the  distribution  of  time, 
social  intercourse,  &c.  You  need  force  of  purjjose,  hardiness,  and 
resolution.  This  is  a  much  deeper  evil  than  selfishness  or  coldness. 
You  have  been  brought  up,  perhaps,  too  delicately,  and  are  paying 
the  penalt3-  of  having  faced  so  few  storms.  You  have  not  3'et 
learned  to  will  with  that  energy  and  fearlessness  to  which  so  many 
difficulties  yield.  Do  3'ou  ask  how  this  force  is  to  be  gained  ?  We 
know  that  exposure,  exertion,  and  conflict  with  difficulties  do  much 
to  give  tone  to  the  bod3',  and  so  the3'  do  to  the  mind.  The  revolv- 
ing of  elevating  thoughts  in  our  closet  does  little  for  us.  We  must 
bring  them  home  to  the  mind  in  the  midst  of  action  and  difficult3'. 
I  cannot,  then,  consent  that  3'ou  should  3-ield  to  30ur  first  serious 
trial  in  life.  Resolve  on  the  acquisition  of  moral  energ3',  —  the  great- 
est of  acquisitions,  —  and,  as  far  as  you  can  command  circumstances, 
place  3-ourself  where  it  ma3'  be  won  most  eflfectually.  I  would  not 
expose  you  ver3"  freely  at  first,  an3'  more  than  I  would  carry  the 
invalid  from  his  warm  room  into  a  piercing  atmosphere.  But  take 
on  30urself  some  good  w^ork,  and  determine  to  carr3'^  it  througli, 
whether  hard  or  eas3',  painful  or  pleasant,  to  the  extent  of  your 
power.  1  care  little  where  you  preach,  if  3011  find  a  sphere  which 
will  give  a  more  manly  tone  to  3our  mind,  and  inure  you  to 
wrestle  with  difficulties.  I  do  not  fear,  nor  must  30U.  God  bless 
you !  " 


102  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^Et.  23-34. 

In  relation  to  the  trials  of  young  ministers,  he  once  also  said : 
"You  must  not  expect  too  much  from  your  minister,  especially  at 
first.  If  he  have  sensibility,  he  will  suffer  enough  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  deficiencA',  without  being  reminded  of  it  from  abroad. 
I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  load  which  weighed  down  m}'  mind  at 
the  beginning  of  my  ministr}'." 

How  far  he  was  then  wrapped  about  by  chill  morning  fogs,  which 
for  a  time,  but  onl}'  for  a  time,  shut  out  the  sunshine  of  God's  all- 
embracing  joy,  appears  also  from  the  following  description  of  his 
earl^^  experience :  — 

"  You  tell  me  j^our  faith  was  the  faith  of  happiness.  This  is 
never  the  surest.  Fortunately',  mine  grew  up  under  a  dark  sky, 
and  the  light  has  been  increasing  to  this  day.  My  passion  for  hap- 
piness spent  itself  in  my  youth  in  reverie.  I  never  thought  of 
realizing  the  vision  on  earth,  and  yet  it  has,  in  an  humble  manner, 
been  realized.  My  faith  in  God,  schooled  by  trial,  looked  to  him 
first  and  almost  exclusively  for  virtue,  for  deliverance  from  the 
great  evil  of  sin,  which  I  earl}-  felt  to  be  the  only  true  evil.  The 
consciousness  of  unworthiness  repressed  all  hopes  of  immediate 
happiness,  gave  me  a  profound  conviction  of  the  justice  of  my 
suffering,  turned  all  my  reproaches  from  Providence  on  myself, 
and  not  on!}-  made  me  incapable  of  murmuring,  but  taught  me 
gratitude  for  the  discipline  of  life.  How  often,  in  disappointment, 
has  my  first  utterance  been  thanks  to  the  Purifier  of  the  soul ! 

"  Thus  m}-  faith  has  never  for  a  moment  been  shaken  In-  suffer- 
ing. The  consciousness  of  unworthiness,  of  falling  so  far  below 
my  idea  of  duty,  a  feeling  which  hard!}-  forsakes  me,  has  helped 
much  to  reconcile  me  to  outward  evil.  It  has  taken  the  sting  from 
human  reproach.  In  listening  to  the  inward  I'cprover,  I  have  cared 
little  for  human  opinion,  and  have  found  too  much  truth  in  censure 
to  be  much  displeased  with  any  but  myself.  Accordingly,  my  re- 
ligion has  taken  very  much  one  form  :  I  think  of  God  as  the  Father, 
from  whose  power  and  love  I  ma}'  seek  and  hope  for  myself  and 
others  tlie  unutterable  and  only  good,  —  that  of  deliverance  from 
all  inward  evil,  of  perfect,  unspotted  goodness,  of  spiritual  life 
now  and  forever. 

"  I  have  talked  of  myself,  for,  after  all,  our  experience  is  the 
best  lesson  we  can  give  to  others.  Your  nature  differs.  You 
have  had  an  impatient  thirst  for  innncdiate  happiness,  which  my 
early  history,  and  perhaps  my  mental  constitution,  forbade  me. 
Happiness  has  come  to  me  almost  as  a  surprise,  without  plan  or 
anticipation.  You  have  grasped  at  it  as  almost  your  lawful  inherit- 
ance, and  had  almost  a  fueling  of  wrong  at  disappointment." 


1803-1814.]  SELF-DISCIPLINE.  103 

Thus  all  proves  that  he  was  at  this  time  concentrated  in  his 
own  soul,  and  seeking  there  to  gain  tlie  unity  with  God  which  is 
salvation.  His  private  papers,  especially,  show  how  intently  he 
was  striving  to  subdue  evil,  to  shun  temptation,  and  to  give  freest 
room  to  pure  and  holy  thoughts.  Such  memorials  are  sacred,  and 
should  be  used  as  under  the  e3'e  of  the  spirit  which  wrote  these 
records  of  its  pilgrimage,  and  now  has  outgrown  and  dropped  its 
mortal  form.  But  it  may  encom-age  sinking  hearts  to  know  that 
this  good  man  was  tried  as  they  are,  and  agonized  his  way  to 
peace.  And  some  few  hints  are  therefore  given  from  his  journals. 
They  cannot,  indeed,  be  rightly  omitted,  in  describing  one  who  was 
so  bright  an  instance  of  moral  victory.  These  papers  most  abound 
in  the  first  years  of  his  ministry,  though  the  habits  then  formed 
remained  strong  through  life.  They  manifest  unvarying  self- 
scrutiny,  and  prove  by  what  toil  his  character  and  mind  were 
formed.  A  tone  of  self-depreciation  runs  through  them,  —  so  eager 
is  he  to  detect  the  most  subtle  workings  of  sin,  to  expel  it,  and  to 
guard  against  its  return.  They  reveal  an  incessant  warfare,  not 
with  great  evils,  but  with  small  ones,  —  with  the  remnants  of  evil 
lurking  in  the  outskirts  of  his  nature.  It  was  by  elaborate  analysis 
of  his  own  tendencies,  and  unfaltering  aspiration  to  the  perfect, 
that  he  sought  to  mould  himself  to  a  symmetrical  goodness. 

The  headings  of  these  papers  are  various:  such  as  "Ends," 
"  Permanent  Objects,"  "  Promises,"  "  Practicable  Excellence," 
"Improvements  required,"  "Relations,"  "Domestic  Reforms," 
"  System,"  "  Subjects  of  Meditation,"  "Heart,  Character,"  "  Rules 
of  Life,"  "  Directory  and  Review,"  &c.  It  is  noticeable  in  them, 
that  intellect  and  affections  are  subjected  to  the  same  rigid  disci- 
pline.    Their  pervading  trait  is  devoutness. 

"  How  do  I  deserve  to  be  removed  from  my  labors,  —  I  who  labor 
so  poorly,  and  with  such  low  motives  !  The  honor  of  my  work  I 
have  forfeited.  Let  me  humble  myself  before  God,  and  pray  for 
restoration  to  his  service." 

"  How  continually  selfishness  breaks  forth  !  It  must  be  resisted 
perpetually.  Let  nothing  be  spoken  or  done  to  display  self;  but 
let  simple  love  be  the  spring.  Do  I  know  what  such  love  will  rise 
to,  if  cultivated?" 

"  Let  me,  when  in  society  with  those  who  diflTer  from  me,  feel  the 
importance  of  sincerity  and  independence.  Let  me  consider  that 
virtue  is  infinitely  more  important  than  their  good  opinion.  Let 
me  leave  to  God  the  impression  which  I  make,  when  I  frankly  ex- 
press feelings  and  opinions.  Let  me  remember  that  ultimately  the 
friendship  of  the  good  will  be  secured  by  the  discharge  of  duty." 


104  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

"In  conversation,  let  me  feel  that  I  shall  gam  more  by  candor 
than  by  victory." 

"Let  me  cherish  frankness  b}'  thinking  of  the  nobleness  of  the 
quality.  Restraint  prevents  expressions  of  affection,  makes  societ}' 
painful,  chills  the  heart." 

"Eternal  life  is  holy  life, — the  exercise  of  love  to  God  and  all 
beings." 

"  We  must  be  babes,  if  we  would  have  God  revealed  to  us  ;  must 
feel  the  weakness,  ignorance,  helplessness,  dependence,  wants,  of 
little  children.  We  must  become  fools,  and  see  that  we  know  noth- 
ing. We  must  hunger  and  thirst,  and  feel  a  void,  as  having  nothing. 
Am  I  a  babe  ?     Do  I  sit  low  ?  " 

"Attain  a  single,  simple  heart.  Never  speak  to  God  or  man 
without  desiring  the  end  I  profess.  Let  me  beware  of  formality  in 
discharging  religious  duties.  Let  prayer,  conversation,  preaching, 
all  flow  from  tlie  heart.  Let  me  first  feel  tlie  force  of  truth  myself, 
and  then  impress  it  upon  others.  Let  me  feel  the  force  of  every 
truth  and  every  argument  with  which  I  am  conversant.  Let  me 
be  not  learned,  but  wise." 

"  Let  me  apply  to  my  most  painful,  humble  duties  first  and  most 
attentively." 

"  Let  me  continually  engage  in  labors  enjoined  by  God,  and 
with  the  ends  and  temper  he  requires,  and  feel  a  perfect  confidence 
in  him  for  support.     Let  my  whole  life  be  a  leaning  upon  God." 

"  Let  me  place  duty  on  tlie  ground  of  privilege,  and  consider 
every  opportunit}'  of  employing  time  usefullj'  a  favor ;  and  ask 
only.   What  is  duty  ?  in  every  state." 

"When  any  particular  sin  recurs  to  my  mind,  let  me  connect 
it  with  an  act  of  humiliation  before  God,  so  that  even  sin  shall 
lead  to  a  communion  with  God." 

"Let  me  decide  upon  the  quantity  and  extent  of  an}^  pleasure 
which  is  right,  before  indulging  in  it,  so  as  to  avoid  all  painful 
balancing  of  mind.  Let  every  meal  be  an  exercise  of  self-govern- 
ment ;  eating  consideratel}',  and  recalling  its  designed  end." 

"  Let  me  live  in  continual  preparation  for  prayer,  in  such  a  state 
of  mind  that  1  ma}'  immediately  engage  in  it." 

"  Let  one  hour  after  dinner  each  day  be  given  to  intercession, 
to  meditating  upon  and  devising  good,  and  as  much  of  the  after- 
noon as  is  necessary  to  accomplishing  it." 

"  In  conversation,  let  me  draw  persons  from  evil  speaking  and 
contention,  and  painful  or  injurious  subjects,  by  catching  some 
tliought  suggested,  and  making  it  the  ground  of  remark." 

"  Let  me  strive  to  connect  every  personal  enjoyment  with  acts 


1803-1814.]  SELF-DISCIPLINE.  105 

of  kindness  to  my  neighbor.  Whenever  I  enjoj-,  let  me  ask,  How 
can  I  impart  and  diffuse  this  happiness?  and  let  me  make  every 
pleasure  a  bond  of  friendship,  a  ground  of  communion,  and  esteem 
it  chiefly  on  this  account.  When  I  suffer,  let  me  ask.  How  can  I 
relieve  similar  suffering,  wherever  it  exists  ?  and  so  quicken  sympa- 
thy and  improve  experience." 

"  When  I  have  any  portion  of  time  not  devoted  to  an}'  particular 
purpose,  let  me  ask.  Can  I  not  spend  it  with  God  ?  Let  me  seize 
it  as  a  peculiarly  privileged  season." 

"Religious  exercises  are  God's  armor  to  defend  us,  the  means 
of  grace,  support,  and  glory.  Hence  union  with  Christ  is  a  ground 
of  fruitfulness.  Christ  is  all-important  to  us  as  a  substantial, 
steady  exhibition  of  virtue,  not  fleeting  or  unsubstantial." 

"  Have  access  to  God,  as  if  introduced  to  his  presence.  Seek 
God  ;  seek  the  sight  of  him  ;  observe  him  in  all  things." 

"  Let  me  every  day  give  away  something,  and  daily  deny  myself 
something,  that  I  may  have  more  to  give." 

"  Be  very  careful  to  open  and  close  the  day  with  devotion.  Pray 
before  going  to  meals,  or  entering  societ}',  or  engaging  in  study 
and  composition.  On  Sunday,  let  me  preach  over  to  myself  the 
sermon,  and  pray  for  its  success,  before  I  go  to  the  desk ;  read 
works  of  sober  devotion  till  the  exercises  of  the  day  are  over ; 
after  service,  consider  how  far  I  have  been  faithful  and  conducted 
as  a  minister  should ;  after  supper,  retire  to  examine,  humble,  and 
devote  m^'self ;  and  until  bed-time,  reflect  upon  the  character  and 
love  of  the  Redeemer." 

"  I  wish  to  gain  a  calm  energy^  a  strong  principle  of  love  and  in- 
dependence." 

"  I  wish  to  gain  clearness  of  conception.,  a  distinct  and  simple  mode 
of  considering  objects.  I  should  be  careful  at  first  to  separate  from 
a  subject  everything  foreign  to  it,  and  place  it  in  as  clear  a  light  as 
possible." 

' '  Amidst  the  multitude  of  objects  perceived  and  remembered, 
there  must  be  selection.  Great  objects  make  great  minds.  Hence 
God,  eternity,  heaven,  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  the  perfection  of  the 
world,  our  highest  good,  — these  should  be  our  objects." 

"To  perceive  the  true  end  of  existence,  and  the  means  to  that 
end,  is  to  improve  the  mind.  We  have  a  complex  end,  yet  a  har- 
monious one.  The  glory  and  kingdom  of  God,  the  hohness  and 
happiness  of  mankind,  our  own  eternal  good,  —  these  conspire." 

"  A  wise  man  seeks  to  shine  in  himself;  a  fool  to  outshine  others. 
The  former  is  humbled  by  a  sense  of  his  infirmities  ;  the  latter  is 
lifted  up  by  the  discovery  of  the  faults  of  others.     The  wise  man 


106  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [iEx.  23-34. 

considers  what  he  wants  ;  the  fool  what  he  abounds  in.  The  wise 
man  is  happy  in  his  own  approbation ;  the  fool,  in  the  applause  of 
his  fellows." 

"  We  should  desire  to  have  every  idea  connected  in  our  minds, 
as  its  object  is  in  nature,  so  that  a  clear  view  of  it  shall  arise  before 
us.  Distinct  conception  is  important.  Wide  views  of  beings  and 
events  should  be  desired.  We  should  seek  to  see  all  things  in 
their  just  extent,  clearly,  forcibly.  All  thoughts  which  they  sug- 
gest should  be  connected  in  their  natural  order ^  he  grasped  at  once,  so 
as  to  form  a  complete  view." 

"  JEverything  may  be  viewed  as  a  sign  of  God's  will  and  char- 
acter ;  and  our  thoughts,  after  tracing  an  object,  should  at  length 
ascend  to  this  all-important  end,  —  Should  I  be  sluggish  in  such  a 
world  as  this  ?  " 

"  The  perfection  of  mind  is  to  have  a  propensity  to  seek  agree- 
able and  interesting  objects,  to  have  attention  turn  spontaneously 
to  beauties  of  nature,  excellences  of  human  character,  God's  per- 
fections. A  mind  thus  filled  is  always  improving,  always  happy. 
A  mind  which  turns  to  disagreeable  things,  party  agitations,  future 
uncertainties,  &c.,  must  be  depraved.  All  objects  may  be  viewed 
as  expressions  of  goodness." 

' '  How  to  keep  the  mind  open  to  every  source  of  enjoj'ment,  to 
the  little  pleasures  which  surround  us?  There  is  a  possibility  of 
laboring  too  hard  for  this.  We  generally  get  so  far  absorbed  in 
some  care,  as  to  become  insensible  to  the  variety  of  pleasing  objects. 
Is  there  not  an  easy,  disengaged  state  of  mind  very  favorable  to  a 
succession  of  minute  enjoyments  ?  There  is  sometimes  an  exhilara- 
tion of  mind  which  throws  a  glory  over  every  object,  and  seems  to 
give  new  sensibility  to  every  taste." 

"He  is  miserable  who  makes  pleasure  his  business.  God  de- 
signs us  for  activity,  pursuit  of  ends,  —  efficiency.  Action  origi- 
nating in  God,  and  attended  with  the  consciousness  of  his  favor,  is 
the  highest  source  of  enjoyment.  Every  pleasure  should  be  an  ex- 
pression of  God's  pleasure,  and  should  bind  us  to  those  around  us. 
Does  not  this  state  of  mind  invite  pleasures  of  every  description? 
Does  it  not  open  our  eyes  to  all  varieties  of  good  ?  " 

"  Is  it  not  possible  to  allow  no  unpleasant  objects  to  dwell  upon 
our  minds  au}^  longer  than  we  can  derive  benefit  from  them  ?  Ma}' 
we  not  bring  our  sensibilities  to  pain  ver}'  much  under  our  own  con- 
trol, and  use  them  only  for  discipline?  How  should  every  oppor- 
tunit3'  be  seized  for  invigorating  our  minds  and  active  powers, 
perseverance,  firmness,  fortitude,  application,  so  that  energetic, 
successful,  unwearied  labor  may  be  the  result !  " 


1803-1814.]  PRAYERS.  107 

His  inward  state  is  with  like  simplicity  made  manifest  in  papers 
of  a  devotional  character,  written  apparently  in  part  for  his  own 
private  use,  in  part  as  preparative  for  the  family  altar  and  the  pulpit. 
The  tone  of  his  piety,  i)ervading  as  it  did  all  thought  and  action, 
may  be  best  understood  from  a  few  extracts. 

"0  God!  the  Centre  of  all  pure  spirits,  the  Everlasting  Good- 
ness, we  come  to  thee.  Thou  art  the  happiness  of  heaven  ;  and 
thy  presence,  felt  b}'  the  soul  that  communes  with  thee,  is  the 
highest  good.  Ignorant  of  thee,  we  know  nothing  aright ;  wander- 
ing from  thee,  we  lose  all  light  and  i)eace ;  forgetting  thee,  we 
turn  our  minds  from  the  noblest  object  of  thought ;  and  without 
love  to  thee,  we  are  separated  from  infinite  loveliness,  and  from  the 
only  substantial  and  sufficient  source  of  jo}'.  Thou  hast  an  inex- 
haustible fulness  of  life ;  and  thine  unceasing  communications  take 
nothing  from  thy  power  to  bless.  Thou  art  infinitely  better  than 
all  thy  gifts,  and  through  all  we  desire  to  rise  to  thee." 

"  We  thank  thee  for  the  proofs  thou  givest  of  thy  essential, 
pure,  and  i)erfect  benignity,  so  that  through  all  clouds  and  dark- 
ness we  can  see  a  gracious  Fatlicr.  In  this  world  of  shadows, 
this  fleeting  tide  of  things,  this  life  of  dreams,  we  rejoice  that 
there  is  a  Reality,  sure,  unchanging,  in  which  we  may  find  rest ; 
that  there  is  a  Power  which  can  cleanse  us  from  all  sin,  raise  us  to 
all  virtue  and  happiness,  and  give  us  endless  growth.  How  great 
is  our  privilege,  that  we  have  sucli  an  object  for  our  hope  and 
trust,  —  that  our  souls  may  contemplate  infinite  loveliness,  great- 
ness, goodness, — that  we  may  at  all  times  commune  with  the 
Best  of  Beings  !  " 

"  For  thj'  inviolable  faithfulness,  thy  impartial  justice,  thy  un- 
erring wisdom,  thy  unfathomable  counsels,  thy  unwearied  care, 
thy  tender  mercy,  thy  resistless  power,  we  adore  thee.  For  the 
splendor  si)read  over  all  thy  works,  and  still  more  for  the  higiier 
beaut}-  of  the  soul,  of  which  the  brightness  of  creation  is  but  the 
emblem  and  faint  shadow,  we  thank  thee.  O,  let  thy  love  affect 
our  hearts,  let  us  feel  its  realit}-,  constanc}',  tenderness !  To  thee 
we  owe  all.  Thine  is  the  health  of  our  bodies,  the  light  of  our 
minds,  the  warmth  of  affection,  the  guiding  voice  of  conscience. 
Whatever  knowledge  of  virtuous  impressions  we  have  derived  from 
the  societ}'  of  friends,  the  conversation  of  the  wise  and  good,  the 
care  of  instructors,  the  researches  of  past  ages,  we  desire  to  trace 
gratefull}^  to  thee.  We  rejoice  that  we  depend  on  thee,  the  Father 
of  Spirits,  whose  requisitions  are  so  reasonable,  whose  government 
is  so  mild,  whose  influences  are  so  ennobling.     How  unspeakably 


108  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

great  is  th}-  goodness  !  And  all  our  other  blessings  are  as  nothing, 
when  compared  with  the  sublime,  pure,  infinite  glory  to  which  we 
are  called  by  the  gospel  of  thy  Son." 

"We  are  infinitely  honored  in  being  under  thy  protection,  and 
having  all  our  affairs  overruled  by  thy  providence.  We  thank  thee 
for  every  good  influence  imparted  to  our  minds,  for  every  holy 
aspiration,  every  motive  of  conscience  ;  for  the  countless  materials 
of  happiness,  and  our  power  over  nature  ;  for  the  light  which  thou 
hast  thrown  upon  the  darkness  of  life's  trials  ;  for  the  success  with 
which  thou  hast  crowned  the  labors  of  reflecting  men  in  exploring 
thy  works ;  for  the  blessings  of  civilization  and  knowledge  ;  for 
our  capacities  of  improvement ;  for  our  domestic  relations,  and  for 
their  influence  in  softening  and  improving  our  nature  ;  for  all  the 
wisdom,  purity,  love,  communicated  to  the  human  race  ;  for  the 
illustrious  examples  thou  hast  raised  up,  in  successive  ages,  of  en- 
lightened piety  and  disinterested  virtue  :  for  the  influence  which 
eminent  men  have  exerted,  for  the  splendor  they  have  shed  on 
human  nature,  for  the  encouragement  of  their  example  in  the 
pursuit  of  excellence  ;  and,  above  all,  for  our  redemption  ])y  Jesus 
Christ,  the  privilege  of  access  to  thee,  the  hope  of  pardon,  the 
influences  of  thy  spirit,  the  prospect  of  immortality-." 

"  We  thank  thee,  that  thou  hast  set  us  in  families,  in  neighbor- 
hoods, in  communities  ;  that  thou  hast  made  of  one  blood  all  men, 
thus  uniting  us  in  and  by  a  common  nature  to  the  whole  human 
race,  and  giving  us  means,  motives,  and  opportunities  to  exercise 
a  continually  extending  love.  We  thank  thee  for  Jesus  Christ ; 
that  he  came,  not  to  bless  one  people  or  one  age,  but  all  nations 
and  times  ;  tliat  he  came  to  establish  such  a  religion,  to  seal  such  a 
covenant ;  that  he  came  to  be  a  bright  manifestation  of  God,  to 
give  everlasting  happiness.  For  a  Saviour  so  excellent,  so  suited 
to  our  wants,  so  fitted  to  awaken  our  love,  to  inspire  hoi}'  and  de- 
lightful attachment,  to  call  out  our  whole  hearts,  we  thank  thee. 
We  bless  thee  that  man's  sins  have  served  to  manifest  and  glorify 
thy  mercy,  to  show  forth  thine  essential,  inexhaustible  goodness, 
so  that  our  un worthiness  has  formed  a  new  ground  for  love  and 
thankfulness  to  thee." 

"May  Christ  be  precious  to  us;  teach  us  his  worth,  his  glory, 
so  that  we  may  love  him  and  rejoice  in  him  with  joy  unspealcable. 
May  a  sense  of  the  greatness  of  the  evils  from  wliich  he  came  to 
deliver,  and  of  the  blessings  Avhich  he  can  bestow,  excite  our  sensi- 
bility, gratitude,  desire,  and  lead  our  minds  to  dwell  on  him.  Let 
sin  be  our  greatest  burden ;  ma}'  all  life's  ills  seem  light  in  com- 


1803-1814.]  PRAYERS.  109 

parison  with  it ;  may  we  groan  for  deliverance  from  it,  and  be  more 
earnest  in  resisting  it  than  in  resisting  all  other  evils ;  and  may  we 
welcome  Christ  as  our  saviour  from  it." 

"  Communicate  and  quicken  spiritual  life.  May  our  souls  be 
warm  with  life.  Save  us  from  an  inanimate  and  sluggish  state. 
Teach  us  thy  purity,  how  great  thy  abhorrence  of  evil,  how  irrec- 
oncilable th}'  hatred  of  it,  and  may  we  all  partake  of  the  same 
abhorrence  of  sin.  Increase  our  sensibility  to  evil ;  maj'  we  shun 
every  appearance  of  it  and  repel  the  first  temptation  ;  and  in  a 
world  where  example  is  so  corrupt,  we  beseech  thee  to  arm  us  with 
a  hoi}'  fortitude." 

"  Inspire  us  with  a  generous  love  of  virtue,  of  rectitude,  of 
holiness.  May  we  prefer  it  even  to  life.  Animate  us  to  adhere  to 
good  in  every  danger.  May  nothing  on  earth  move  us  or  shake 
our  steadfastness.  Increase  our  sensibility  to  good ;  may  we  see 
more  and  more  its  loveliness  and  beauty." 

"Animate  us  to  cheerfulness.  May  we  have  a  jo3'ful  sense  of 
our  blessings,  learn  to  look  on  the  bright  circumstances  of  our  lot, 
and  mamtain  a  perpetual  contentedness  under  thy  allotments. 
Fortify  our  mmds  against  disappointment  and  calamit}'.  Preserve 
us  from  despondency,  from  yielding  to  dejection.  Teach  us  that 
no  evil  is  intolerable  but  a  guilt}'  conscience,  and  that  nothing  can 
hurt  us,  if  with  true  103'alty  of  affection  we  keep  thy  commandments 
and  take  refuge  in  thee." 

"  Ma}'  every  day  add  brightness  and  energ}'  to  our  conceptions 
of  thy  lovely  and  glorious  character.  Give  us  a  deeper  sense  of 
thy  presence,  and  instruct  us  to  nourish  our  devoutness  by  every 
scene  of  nature  and  every  event  of  providence.  Assist  us  to  con- 
secrate our  whole  being  and  existence  to  thee,  our  understandings 
to  the  knowledge  of  thy  character,  our  hearts  to  the  veneration 
and  love  of  thy  perfections,  our  wills  to  the  choice  of  thy  com- 
mands, our  active  energies  to  the  accomplishment  of  thy  purposes, 
our  lives  to  thy  glory,  and  every  power  to  the  imitation  of  thy 
goodness.     Be  thou  the  centre,  life,  and  sovereign  of  our  souls." 

Thus  earnestly  was  Mr.  Channing  seeking  perfect  peace  and  un- 
clouded light.  He  believed,  and  acted  on  the  faith,  that  only  the 
purity  of  heart  which  is  blessed  by  seeing  God  can  fit  a  man  to  be 
the  spiritual  teacher  of  his  fellows  ;  and  as  the  condition  for  use- 
fulness, he  opened  his  inmost  will  to  receive  the  Divine  life  of  love. 
It  certainly  is  not  surprising  that  a  nature  so  sensitive  and  tender, 


110  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

especiall}'  when  compelled  to  undue  action  by  ill  health,  should 
have  manifested  its  struggles  in  a  somewhat  austere  gravity  of 
manner.  But  water  gains  cr^'stal  clearness  bj-  percolating  the 
sands ;  and  the  ver}-  severit}-  of  his  self-discipline  gave  sweetness 
more  and  more  to  his  social  intercourse. 

For  the  first  few  months  after  his  settlement,  Mr.  Channing 
lived,  as  we  have  seen,  with  some  parishioners  and  friends.  But 
even  their  devoted  kindness  could  not  fill  the  void  in  his  affections ; 
and  in  a  letter  to  his  sister  Ann,  to  whom  he  was  most  fondly 
attached,  we  find  him  writing,  "lam  sad;  my  sister,  come  and 
cheer  me."  It  was  soon  in  his  power,  however,  to  gratify  this 
desire  for  domestic  love  by  removing  his  mother  and  the  faniil}-  to 
Boston.  His  brother  Francis  and  he  had  long  since  agreed,  that, 
for  the  end  of  insuring  their  ability  to  aid  their  mother  and  her 
other  children,  one  of  them  should  remain  unmarried  for  at  least 
ten  years ;  and  as  his  salary  was  a  more  certain  income  than  his 
brother's  professional  gains,  who,  though  rapidly  rising  to  distinction 
as  a  law3'er,  was  not  3'et  established  in  lucrative  business,  he  now 
took  it  upon  himself  to  fulfil  the  arrangement.  So  he  wrote  to  his 
mother  that  he  had  a  parsonage  which  he  could  not  occupy,  and  fuel 
which  he  could  not  burn  ;  and  that  she  would  save  him  much  waste 
and  trouble  by  turning  them  to  good  use.  He  well  knew  that  she 
could  not  afford  to  leave  her  house  and  large  garden  at  Newport, 
without  such  an  addition  to  her  means  as  he  thus  placed  at  her  dis- 
posal ;  but  he  chose  to  represent  himself  as  the  person  obliged,  by 
pleading  his  need  of  her  guardianship.  She  yielded  to  his  aflfec- 
tionate  appeal,  and  in  a  short  time  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  home  circle  gathered  round  him,  beneath  his  own  roof,  blessed 
by  his  bount}',  and  enjo3'ingthe  best  opportunities  for  happiness  and 
improvement. 

The  tact  with  which  he  sought  to  conceal  —  even  from  himself, 
if  it  might  be — his  kindness,  proved  its  temper.  His  fatlier  had 
left  so  small  a  property,  that  it  was  quite  inadequate  to  the  support 
and  education  of  the  growing  family ;  and  b3'  surrendering  for 
their  use  the  greater  part  of  his  salar3',  William  changed  their  con- 
dition from  that  of  want  to  one  of  competence.  But  while  thus 
suppl3'ing  them  with  the  means  of  comfort  and  culture,  his  words  and 
acts  rather  tended  to  give  the  impression  that  the3'  were  nowise 
dependent  upon  him,  but  onl3'  on  the  famil3'  estate.  AVithout,  of 
course,  employing  deception,  ]ie  3'et  was  sedulous  to  keep  from  the 
partakers  of  his  benefits  tlie  knowledge  that  he  was  tlieir  benefac- 
tor. "  I  was  often  amused,  and  still  oftener  filled  with  veneration," 
writes  a  brother,  "  b3^  the  mode  in  which  he  talked  of  the  necessity 


1803-1814.]  CARE  OF  THE  FAMILY.  HI 

of  punctually  paj'ing  his  board  to  our  mother,  and  placed  his  funds 
in  her  hands,  as  he  said,  for  safe  keeping,  withdrawing  onl}-  such 
trifling  sums  as  he  absolutely  needed."  All  extra  fees  were  given, 
as  their  rightful  perquisite,  to  his  sisters  ;  and  as  years  passed  on, 
and  the  wants  and  desires  of  the  various  members  of  the  family 
unfolded,  each  day  but  gave  new  proofs  of  his  ever  thoughtful,  ever 
delicate  affection.  His  outlaw's  for  them,  in  addition  to  his  large 
charities  abroad,  were  so  considerable,  that,  though  his  salary  was 
for  those  times  ample,  being  at  first  twelve  hundred,  and  afterwards 
fifteen  hundred  dollars,  he  never  laid  up  a  cent,  and  was  often 
wholly  destitute.  "  Well  do  I  remember,"  said  one  of  his  near  rel- 
atives, "  how  pained  he  was  at  the  time  of  my  marriage,  when  he 
wished  to  make  me  a  wedding  present,  and  had  but  fifty  dollars  to 
give.  He  could  not  help  then  telling  me  how  poor  he  was."  Thus, 
for  ten  years  and  more,  did  he  faithful!}'  redeem  the  first  words 
spoken  to  his  mother  after  his  ordination,  when  she  said,  "  Now, 
William,  I  must  give  you  up  !  "  "  O,  no  !  "  he  replied,  "  3'ou  shall 
never  find  that  the  duties  of  the  Christian  minister  are  inconsistent 
with  those  of  the  son." 

A  slight  sketch  of  his  constant  little  sacrifices  in  the  petty  details 
of  life  may  most  clearly  show  how  he  appeared  to  those  who  lived 
with  him  in  the  nearest  relations,  and  who  knew  him  best.  He  had 
always  been  strict  in  his  habits  of  self-denial,  in  food,  dress,  and 
every  mode  of  expenditure  ;  but  he  was  now  more  simple  than  ever, 
and  seemed  to  have  become  incapable  of  any  form  of  self-indul- 
gence. He  took  the  smallest  room  in  the  house  for  his  study,  though 
he  might  easily  have  commanded  one  more  light,  air}-,  and  in  every 
way  more  suitable  ;  and  chose  for  his  sleeping-chamber  an  attic, 
which  he  shared  with  a  younger  In-other.  The  furniture  of  the  lat- 
ter might  have  answered  for  the  cell  of  an  anchorite,  and  consisted 
of  a  hard  mattress  on  a  cot-bedstead,  plain  wooden  chau's  and 
table,  with  matfing  on  the  floor.  It  was  without  fire,  and  to  cold 
he  was  through  life  extremely  sensitive  ;  but  he  never  complamed, 
or  appeared  in  any  way  to  be  conscious  of  inconvenience.  In  ill- 
ness only  would  he  change  for  the  time  his  apartment,  and  accept 
a  few  comforts.  The  dress,  too,  that  he  habitually  adopted,  was  of 
inferior  quality  ;  and  garments  were  constantly  worn  which  the 
world  would  call  mean,  though  an  almost  feminine  neatness  preserved 
him  from  tlie  least  appearance  of  personal  neglect.  The  only  luxury 
he  would  indulge  himself  in  was  annually  to  lay  out  a  small  sum  in 
increasing  his  scanty  library.  "  Never  did  I  know  him  to  be  guilty 
of  a  selfish  act,"  testifies  his  brother;  "  and  he  shrank  from  any 
mention  of  his  incessant  kindness,  as  if  the  least  allusion   to  it 


112  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [Mt.  23-34. 

gave  him  pain."  These  few  mementos  are,  indeed,  quite  unpre- 
tending ;  but  their  ver}'  humbleness  may  serve  to  show  how  vital 
was  the  root  of  love  from  which  such  ever  fresh  disinterestedness 
bloomed  forth, 

A  few  further  extracts  from  his  journals  will  exhibit  how  his  social 
affections  were  trained  to  an  unreserved  lo^-alty  to  conscience. 

"  Let  me  pay  peculiar  attention  to  family  prayer,  to  make  Scrip- 
ture interesting  and  prayer  solemn.  Let  me  pray  for  them  in  se- 
cret daily.  Let  me  attend  to  their  reading,  improve  their  minds. 
Let  me  attend  to  the  religion  of  the  domestics,  and  give  them  equal 
privileges  with  the  rest  on  the  Sabbath  and  in  the  famil}-  exercises. 
Let  me  regard  the  wants  of  all,  and  live  sacrificing  my  own  will  and 
desires  to  theirs,  abounding  in  affectionate  services,  and  remember- 
ing them  always  as  those  whom  God  has  pointed  out  to  me  as  my 
peculiar  objects. 

"  Let  me  endeavor  to  interest  all  in  good  pursuits,  continually 
propose  kind  ends,  make  active  benevolence  their  spring,  and 
excite  them  to  a  course  of  pious,  loving  Mfe. 

"  Let  me  in  conversation  avoid  finding  fault,  satire,  severity  ;  let 
me  express  the  spirit  and  power,  rather  than  the  speculations,  of 
divinity ;  let  me  communicate  liberally  whatever  knowledge  I  ac- 
quire, and  raise  our  social  intercourse. 

"Let  me  encourage  and  share  innocent  pleasures,  contribute  all 
in  my  power  to  their  happiness,  make  them  feel  my  affection,  and 
convince  them  that  love,  not  bigoted  severity,  leads  to  my  cautious 
and  solemn  admonition. 

"  Let  me  cultivate  harmony  and  mutual  affection,  strive  to  make 
home  interesting  from  peace  and  love  and  mutual  interest  and  regard. 

"  Encourage  private  prayer  morning  and  evening  among 
them. 

"  Let  me  promote  unity  of  sentiment,  especially  on  religious  and 
most  interesting  subjects. 

"Let  me  live  with  them  as  immortal  beings,  and  have  in  view 
the  end  of  present  existence. 

"  In  the  morning,  when  I  see  any  of  my  friends  after  the  nighfs 
separation,  let  me  receive  them  as  new  gifts  from  God,  as  raised 
from  the  dead. 

"  My  mother  has  been  quite  ill.  I  have  never  seen  her  so  much 
reduced.  For  a  day  or  two  my  fears  were  not  a  little  excited.  I 
felt  more  sensibly  than  I  ever  did  before,  that  this  nearest,  best,  of 
earthly  friends  was  mortal.  Thanks  to  a  merciful  Providence,  she 
is  regaining  her  strength.     It  is  a  pleasing  consideration,  that  her 


1803-1814.]  MANNERS.  113 

children  have  been  able  to  repa}-  a  little  of  her  kindness  ;  but  how 
little  can  parental  kindness  be  requited  !  " 

That  his  sense  of  duty  was  at  this  time  even  tyrannical,  Mr. 
Chanuing  recognized  in  later  hfe,  and  regretted  that  this  stern 
nurse  had  cramped  the  action  of  liis  native  impulses  by  too  close 
swathing  ;  but  he  liad  not  then  learned  that  the  true  art  of  moral 
culture  is  to  balance  extravagant  tendencies  b}'  quickening  those 
which  are  languid,  and  that  growth  is  a  safer  means  of  harmony  in 
character  than  repression.  He  painfully  felt,  too,  that  his  solemnity 
repelled  those  whom  he  longed  to  win,  and  cast  a  shade  over  the 
circle  he  would  have  rejoiced  to  brighten.  And,  indeed,  had  it  not 
been  for  his  greatness  of  heart,  dignity,  assiduous  affection,  and 
evidently  loftj-  aims,  his  constant  staidness  of  deportment  would 
have  been  irksome.  For  the  other  members  of  the  famil}-  presented 
in  manners  an  amusing  contrast  to  this  beloved  friend,  whom, 
highly  as  they  honored  him,  it  was  not  in  their  will  to  imitate.  Tlie 
mother,  as  we  have  seen,  had  inherited  from  her  father  a  vivacious 
temper,  keen  perceptions,  a  wit  as  sharp  as  it  was  droll,  and  a  sin- 
cerity of  thought  and  speech,  which  made  hght  of  conventionalities, 
and  swept  away  respectable  pretences  like  cobwebs.  Her  sallies, 
given  out  in  the  plainest  Anglo-Saxon,  sometimes  sounded  strangely 
as  a  response  to  her  son's  guarded  words,  especially  when  the  char- 
acters of  others,  or  passing  events,  were  under  discussion.  And 
the  hilarity  of  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters  would  have  jarred 
in  discord  with  his  taciturn  ways,  had  not  his  considerateness  been 
so  genuine.  Self-possessed  in  the  midst  of  them,  however,  he 
allayed  all  differences,  and  melted  them  into  one.  He  devoted  him- 
self also  to  the  culture  of  his  sisters,  read  and  conversed  with  them 
at  certain  portions  of  the  day,  was  watchful  over  their  manners, 
and  as  they  came  forward  in  life  schooled  himself  to  leave  behind 
the  student's  gown,  and  accompanied  them  into  the  delightful  circles 
which  the  influence  of  his  talents  opened  to  the  members  of  his 
household.  In  the  friendly  groups,  too,  which  his  mother's  hos- 
pitable and  genial  temper  gathered  round  her  fireside,  he  endeavored 
to  act  his  part.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  at  home  in  fes- 
tive scenes  of  any  kind.  His  conversation  was  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places  connected,  grave,  and  on  themes  of  high  interest.  He 
could  not  unbend.  And  intent  as  he  was  on  subjects  which  ab- 
sorbed his  whole  spiritual  energy,  he  actually  had  neither  inclination 
nor  even  the  sense  of  liberty  to  relax.  In  a  word,  he  was  striving 
forever  to  press  onward  and  upward ;  and  chiefly  longed  to  bear 
those  whom  he  loved  with  him  in  his  ascent. 


114  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t  23-34. 

But  though  thus  serious,  he  was  most  loving.  His  gentleness  of 
character  showed  itself  in  all  social  relations.  If  controversies  and 
warm  debates  arose,  he  had  the  skill  to  smooth  the  storm  by  soft 
words  and  calm  looks.  If  scandal  was  introduced,  he  changed  the 
topic ;  and  if  any  one's  reputation  was  attacked,  he  would  say, 
with  quiet  firmness,  "Pray,  stop!  for  if  you  continue  these  re- 
marks, I  shall  feel  bound  to  repeat  every  word  to  the  person  of 
whom  you  are  speaking."  The  effect  was  to  stifle  all  desire  of 
crimination.  The  same  disposition  appeared  in  his  liberality  to- 
wards those  who  differed  in  religious  opinions.  "William  is  no 
Quaker,  you  see,"  said  his  mother  one  day  to  a  friend,  with  whom 
he  was  pleasantl}' talking  upon  their  opposite  views.  "No,"  an- 
swered he  ;  "  and  E did  not  expect  to  find  me  one  ;  but  there 

is  a  common  ground  of  Christian  feeling,  where,  without  distinction 
of  name,  we  can  unite  in  belief,  that  the  sincere  worshippers  of  God 
are  the  accepted  of  God." 

As  another  illustration,  this  little  incident  may  be  mentioned. 
Busy  in  studies,  in  visits  among  his  parish,  and  in  charitable  move- 
ments, or  calls  on  the  sick  and  needy,  the  week  passed  away,  and 
left  him  on  Saturday  usually  unprepared.  A.  colored  teacher,  who 
was  occupied  in  his  school  duties  on  other  days,  but  who  was  anx- 
ious to  improve  himself  b}'  Mr.  Channing's  societ}-,  took  occasion 
on  the  leisure  afternoon  to  visit  him,  and  frequently  prolonged  his 
stay  into  the  evening.  The  mother  was  greatly  annoyed  at  seeing 
her  son's  last  precious  hours  thus  broken  in  upon.  But  though  it 
obliged  hhn  oftentimes  to  sit  up  late  in  the  night,  and  to  finish  his 
sermons  while  the  morning  bell  was  ringing,  he  would  never  allow 
his  colored  friend  to  be  denied. 

Generosit}"  pervaded  his  conduct.  To  the  erring  he  was  consist- 
ently forbearing.  Two  instances  may  show  this  trait.  A  domestic, 
in  whom  the  family  placed  confidence,  professed  "  to  be  converted 
to  religion,"  at  some  revival  in  the  society  to  which  she  belonged, 
and  was  very  strict  in  her  devotions  and  attendance  at  meeting. 
The  members  of  the  family  soon  detected  her,  however,  in  the  com- 
mission of  indiscriminate  petty  thefts.  When  accused,  she  was 
highly  indignant  at  being  suspected  ;  but  as  the  propert}'  was  found 
in  her  possession,  her  hypocrisy  was  clear.  Mr.  Channing  did 
nothing  in  relation  to  the  affair  but  to  converse  with  her,  giving  her 
the  most  earnest  counsel  in  his  power,  and  then  allowed  her  to  de- 
part, lie  expressed  for  her  only  the  deepest  pity  ;  mentioning  as 
his  reason,  that  "  she  had  been  brought  up  in  an  almshouse,  and 
had  received  no  good  influences  in  early  life."  The  amount  taken 
was  quite  large  ;  but  he  considered  it  wrong  to  inflict  a  legal  pen- 


1803-1814.J  ILL  HEALTH.  115 

alt}-  upon  one  whom  society  liad  so  neglected ;  and,  if  he  had  fol- 
lowed his  own  inclination,  would  have  kept  her  in  his  service,  and 
have  sought  to  reclaim  her.  On  another  occasion,  though  at  a 
somewhat  later  period  of  life,  he  rented  a  place  in  the  countr}-  for 
the  summer,  with  the  obligation  on  his  part  of  keepnig  it  in  order. 
The  gardener  whom  he  hired,  however,  proved  faithless,  sold  the 
valuable  vegetables  and  fruits,  and  injured  the  grounds  and  trees 
by  his  carelessness,  leaving  the  loss  to  fall  on  his  employer.  The 
man  became  ill,  and  for  the  end  of  encouraging  him  to  reform,  Mr. 
Channing  paid  him  his  full  wages,  and,  after  exposing  to  him  the 
baseness  of  his  conduct,  gave  him  his  best  advice,  and  pardoned 
the  offence. 

The  distaste  for  social  enjoyments,  which  has  been  noticed, 
doubtless  was  mcreased  b}-  Mr.  Channing's  poor  state  of  health ; 
for  lassitude  followed  all  exertion,  and  ph\-sical  depression  cast  a 
chill  upon  a  naturally'  glowing  temper.  And  for  tlie  end  of  ena- 
bling all  to  discriminate  between  the  essential  man  and  the  accidents 
of  his  organization,  it  seems  necessar}'  to  set  this  fact  of  his  chronic 
debility  in  a  distinct  light.  In  our  present  ignorance  of  the  rela- 
tions of  body  to  spirit,  indeed,  we  can  never  decide  how  far  morbid 
action  in  eitlier  is  a  cause  or  an  effect ;  but  their  mutual  depend- 
ence is  plain  enough.  It  needs  onl}'  to  be  said,  then,  that  from  the 
time  of  his  residence  at  Richmond  till  his  death,  he  never  knew  a 
day  of  unini[)aired  vigor.  The  common  services  of  the  i)ulpit  pros- 
trated him  ;  unusual  efforts  Ijrought  fever,  alternating  with  dulness  ; 
earnest  conversation  cost  sleepless  nights  ;  exercise,  except  of  the 
most  mod-erate  kind,  was  rather  exliausting  than  refreshing ;  he 
3-early  lost  weeks  and  montiis  b}-  inability  to  study  or  write  ;  and  to 
one  who  knew  him,  it  only  seemed  surprising  that  he  could  accom- 
plish so  much.  Had  he  but  retained  the  buoyancy  of  early  years, 
he  might,  by  scholarship  and  by  public  and  social  labors,  have  shed 
abroad  a  light,  beside  which  his  actual  success  would  be  dim.  On 
the  other  hand,  indeed,  it  may  be  asked,  whether  his  river  of  life 
did  not  gain  depth  from  the  narrow  channel  through  which  it  was 
forced  to  roll?  Fortitude,  purity,  concentration,  may  have  in  some 
degree  compensated  him  for  lack  of  strength.  But  to  one  who 
believes  that  God  has  forever  established  a  harmony-  between  the 
spiritual  and  natural  worlds,  it  must  in  all  eases  appear  probable 
that  the  teachings  of  health  will  be  more  large,  sound,  varied,  rich, 
than  those  of  sickness.  Yet  he  struggled  bravely  with  his  fate. 
He  knew  that  his  own  imprudence  had  done  much  to  cause  his  in- 
firmity, and  humbly  accepted  the  limits  which  it  imposed,  while  he 
steadily  sought  to  regain  and  keep  the  largest  measure  of  power. 


116  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

"  The  very  scmpnlous  care  that  he  took  of  himself,"  wi'ites  a  sister, 
'^was  a  sacrifice  to  duty.  Most  beautiful,  too,  was  his  thoughtful- 
ness  to  avoid  being  a  l)urden  upon  others.  His  patience  was  un- 
varying. I  can  recall  one  instance  of  a  feverish  attack  during  the 
heat  of  summer.  We  had  been  fanning  him  during  the  day,  and 
he  had  seemed  as  tranquil  as  a  sleeping  infant ;  but  to  our  great 
surprise,  when  the  physician  came  in  towards  evening,  he  entreated 
him  to  give  him  something  to  alia}'  the  restlessness  which  was  al- 
most beyond  his  bearing  or  power  of  control.  But  when  was  he 
otherwise  than  gentle  I  "  Thus  his  very  weaknesses  formed  a  new 
bond  of  affectionate  respect.  He  saw  with  pity  the  habits  of  effem- 
inacy and  self-indulgence  which  constant  regard  to  one's  own  state 
too  often  breeds  in  the  invalid,  and  systematically  guarded  against 
such  temptations.  With  the  pride  of  an  energetic  character,  too, 
he  felt  the  shame  of  seeming  to  be  a  valetudinarian.  But  the  keen- 
est pain  he  suffered  was,  from  being  forced  to  halt  when  he  would 
have  hastened,  and  to  leave  untried  many  a  promising  plan  of  self- 
culture  and  of  usefulness.  This  was  the  true  cross  to  a  s[)irit  so 
earnest  in  hope,  comprehensive  in  s^^mpathy,  conscientious,  and 
brave  ;  and  nothing  could  have  been  more  manly  than  the  uncom- 
plaining serenity  with  wiiich  he  bore  it. 

Mr.  Channing  chiefly  lamented  his  want  of  strength  because  he 
was  thereby  hampered  in  his  private  studies,  and  in  schemes  of  pro- 
fessional activit}'.  He  did  what  he  could,  and  too  often  much  more 
than  he  ought,  but  fell  far  short  of  his  ideal,  and  saw  all  round 
him  fields  white  for  the  harvest,  when  his  arm  was  too  feel)le  to  put 
in  the  sickle  and  reap.  Yet,  from  his  first  appearance  in  the  pulpit, 
he  made  a  sensation  such  as  had  been  long  unknown  in  Boston, 
distinguished  as  many  of  her  ministers  justly  were.  The  highest 
among  them,  Dr.  Kirkland,  said  truly  of  him,  and  of  Buckminster, 
who  came  forward  two  years  later,  that  they  had  introduced  '-a 
new  era  in  preaching."  Their  congregations  were  thronged  ;  and 
when  either  of  them  was  to  take  his  turn  at  the  Thursday  lecture  in 
Chauncy  Place,  the  usually  thin  audience  at  that  antiquated  service 
became  a  crowd. 

Immediately  after  Mr.  Channing's  settlement,  the  small  society 
in  Federal  Street  was  much  enlarged  by  the  numbers  drawn  around 
the  3'oung,  devoted,  eloquent  pastor ;  and  from  that  time  forward 
steadily  grew,  until,  in  1809,  the  old  church  was  taken  down,  and 
the  corner-stone  laid  of  the  large  building  which  afterward  occupied 
its  place.  The  devoutly  disposed  in  the  community  looked  to  him 
with  the  hope  that  he  might  be  a  means  of  fanning  once  more  to 
flame  the  smouldering  ashes  on  the  altars  of  piet}-.     The  serious- 


1803-1814.]  PREACHING.  117 

ness  of  his  deportment,  the  depth  and  sweetness  of  his  voice,  the 
pathos  with  which  he  read  the  Scriptures  and  sacred  poetrj',  the 
solemnity  of  his  appeals,  his  rapt  and  kindling  enthusiasm,  his 
humble,  trustful  spirit  of  prayer,  his  subdued  feeling,  so  expressive 
of  personal  experience,  made  religion  a  new  reality  ;  while  his 
whole  air  and  look  of  spirituality  won  them  to  listen  by  its  mild 
and  somewhat  melancholy  beauty.  The  most  trifling  saw  in  him  a 
man  thoroughly  in  earnest,  who  spoke  not  of  dreams  and  fictions, 
but  of  facts  with  which  he  was  intimately  conversant ;  and  the 
serious  gladly  welcomed  one  who  led  the  way,  and  beckoned  them 
nearer  to  the  hoi}'  of  holies  which  they  aspired  to  enter.  Intellect- 
ual people,  too,  were  attracted  b}'  the  power  and  grace  of  his  pulpit 
addresses.  He  opened  to  them  a  large  range  of  thought,  presented 
clear,  connected,  and  complete  views  of  various  topics,  roused  their 
faculties  of  discernment  by  nice  discriminations  and  exact  state- 
ments, and  gratified  their  taste  by  the  finished  simplicity  of  his 
style.  But  the  novelty,  perhaps,  that  chiefl}'  stirred  his  audiences 
was  the  directness  with  which  he  even  then  brought  his  Christian 
principles  to  bear  upon  actual  life.  With  no  flights  of  mystic  ex- 
altation, forgetful  in  raptures  of  the  earth,  with  no  abstract  systems 
of  metaphysical  theology,  with  no  coldly  elegant  moral  essa3'S,  did 
he  occupy  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  but  with  near  and  sublime  ob- 
jects made  evident  by  faith,  with  lucid  truths  approved  alike  by 
Scripture  and  by  conscience,  and  with  duties  pressed  urgently  home 
upon  all  as  rules  for  clailj'  practice.  He  saw,  and  made  others  see, 
that  life  was  no  pla^'-place,  but  a  magnificent  scene  for  glorifying 
God,  and  a  rich  school  for  the  education  of  spirits.  He  showed  to 
men  the  substance,  of  which  surrounding  appearances  are  the 
shadow ;  and  behind  transient  experiences  revealed  the  spiritual 
laws  which  they  express.  Thus  he  gathered  round  him  an  enlarg- 
ing circle  of  devoted  friends,  who  gratefully  felt  that  they  drank  in 
from  him  new  life.  The  old  members  of  the  society,  too,  for  the 
most  part  simple  people  of  plain  manners,  took  the  heartiest  delight 
in  his  services,  while  feeling  just  pride  in  his  talents.  And  the  few 
distinguished  persons  of  the  congregation  knew  well  how  to  appre- 
ciate his  rare  gifts,  and  to  extend  his  fame.  Thus  was  he  in  ever}^ 
way  favorably  situated  to  call  out  his  highest  powers ;  and  his 
journals  show  how  ardently  he  strove  to  fulfil  the  hopes  which  he 
knew  were  cherished  for  his  usefulness. 

"My  great  end  is  the  promotion  of  the  moral  and  religious  in- 
terests of  mankind,  the  cause  of  virtue,  the  gospel.  This  is  mj' 
occupation.     This  end  may  be  accomplished  ever}"where.     Let  me 


118  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

make  this  stud}'  the  great  end  of  life.  Let  me  stud}'  for  this.  Let 
my  exercise,  relaxation,  visits,  pra3'ers,  all  have  this  in  view.  Let 
me  eat  and  sleep  for  this.  Let  me  never  lose  sight  of  my  flock, 
constantly  oversee  them,  never  leave  them.  Let  me  strive  to  make 
them  fruitful  to  God,  direct  and  excite  exertion  for  good,  exhibit  an 
example  of  the  life  of  God." 

"  Weekl}'  lectures  are  highly  important.  What  an  influence  in 
the  commonwealth  would  a  general  attention  to  religion  in  the  capi- 
tal exert !  Ma}'  not  the  present  increased  interest  be  a  sprinkling 
before  the  shower  ?  " 

"  Meetings  to  pray  for  the  spirit.  Let  me  when  among  Chris- 
tians, when  visiting  them,  pray  with  them,  that  men  may  be  awak- 
ened to  religious  attention,  and  desire  that  God  be  glorified,  Christ 
obeyed,  heaven  sought." 

"  Religious  tinion.  How  to  make  them  feel  a  desire  of  assisting, 
quickening  each  other  in  a  religious  course.  Visit  the  church  often 
in  a  religious  manner.  Pray  in  private  and  in  public  for  this  union. 
Make  this  the  subject  of  conversation.  Meetings  of  the  church  ; 
and  in  order  to  make  them  nseful,  let  me  labor  to  become  an 
extemporaneous  preacher.  The  church  should  feel  that  on  their 
prayers  and  zeal  the  salvation  of  others  depends.  Let  me  now 
strive  to  quicken  my  church,  while  attention  is  awakened  to  re- 
ligion." 

"  The  influence  of  the  church  I  need.  I  can  do  little  myself  I 
want  the  brethren  to  be  able  to  converse,  the  sisters  at  home  to  be 
able  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  their  children  religious  truth.  I 
should  lend  suitable  books,  exalt  their  intellectual,  powers,  direct 
their  habitual  thoughts. 

"  Have  I  not  reason  to  fear  that  many  are  destitute  of  love  to 
God,  to  Christ,  to  the  church,  to  man?  Do  they  not  confide  in  a 
course  of  negative  goodness  ?  Are  they  not  full  of  false  hopes  from 
the  performance  of  particular  duties,  abstinence  from  great  crimes? 
Are  they  not  easy  and  satisfied  because  they  give  no  positive  evi- 
dence of  irreligion,  not  because  they  have  positive  evidence  of  re-  ^ 
ligion?  Do  they  not  mistake  habit  for  principle?  Do  the  hopes,' 
pleasures,  duties,  difficulties  of  religion  form  any  part  of  domestic 
conversation?  Is  holiness  an  end?  Is  God  all  in  all?  Is  Christ 
all  in  all  to  them  ?  Is  love  the  habit  of  their  soul,  operating  in 
their  whole  conduct?  " 

"Christ  came  to  recover  men  from  sin.  A  change  of  heart  is 
the  object  of  the  gospel.  In  this  consists  the  redemption  of  Christ. 
It  becomes  men  to  weep,  to  feel  true,  hearty  sorrow  at  sin  itself,  to 
abhor  and  condemn  themselves  as  without  excuse,  to  feel  themselves 


i^ 


1803-1814.]  INTEREST  IN  HIS  PEOPLE.  119 

dependent  upon  free,  unmerited,  unobligated,  sovereign  grace  for 
pardon  and  renewal.  Repentance  includes  unconditional  submis- 
sion, choice  and  desire  that  God  should  reign,  should  accomplish 
his  will,  should  dispose  of  his  creatures  as  seems  to  him  best.  It 
supposes  subjection  of  ourselves  and  others  wholly  to  his  will. 
It  gives  all  things  in  all  times  and  all  places  to  him  as  his  own 
forever." 

''The  spirit  of  God  is  the  blessing  of  the  new  covenant.  The 
knowledge,  love,  imitation,  service,  and  enjoyment  of  God  through 
eternit}'  are  all  included  in  this  gift.  There  can  be  no  other  rational, 
eternal  blessedness.  The  spirit  of  God  operates  on  the  heart, 
creates  new  exercises,  and  dwells  in  the  soul  of  Christians  by  con- 
stantly and  immediatel}-  supporting  all  good  affections.  Ever}'  man 
must  be  new-born,  have  a  new  heart,  a  new  principle,  end,  motive, 
disposition,  a  change  b}-  the  spirit  into  a  meek,  submissive,  self- 
renouncing,  self-abhorring,  benevolent  state  of  soul,  before  he  can 
believe,  approve,  choose  the  gospel,  and  receive  the  kingdom  of 
heaven." 

"  I  must  make  the  knowledge  of  divine  truth  m}-  end,  and  there- 
fore labor  to  preserve  a  mind  fitted  to  discover,  and  a  heart  read}'- 
to  receive,  instruction.  The  disposal  of  time,  food,  &c.,  should  all 
be  directed  to  this  object ;  and  every  truth  I  receive  I  should  labor 
immediatel}'  to  impress  on  my  own  heart  and  on  others." 

"  Let  me  unite  with  the  most  serious  statedly  in  prayer,  for  the 
revival  of  religion  in  the  societ}'.  Let  the  promotion  of  religion  be 
the  sole  end  of  all  exertions ;  let  nothing  else  be  named.  O  the 
happiness- of  a  religious  society  !  " 

"  I  ought  to  bear  my  people  on  my  heart ;  feel  the  worth  of  their 
souls,  that  they  have  the  capacity  to  serve,  enjoy,  glorify  God  for- 
ever ;  feel  continual  heaviness  and  sorrow  for  their  neglect  of  God  ; 
be  fer\ent,  unceasing  in  prayer ;  make  their  spiritual  prosperity  my 
joy  ;  indulge  in  no  pleasure,  engage  in  no  pursuit,  which  may  not 
subserve  this  end  ;  let  every  worldly  interest  which  will  drive  them 
from  my  mind  be  resigned;  let  my  highest  anxiety,  fear,  hope, 
desire,  afiection,  be  exercised  toward  them,  that  God  may  have  a 
people  among  them.  Let  me  be  the  servant  of  the  least  among 
them  for  this  purpose." 

"Let  me  never  talk  of  my  zeal  for  souls,  except  with  God;  let 
me  avoid  all  egotism,  and  carefully  abstain  from  mention  of  personal 
experience  on  this  subject ;  let  me  never  condemn  other  ministers 
as  cold  ;  let  me  work  where  my  work  will  not  be  known,  among  the 
poor,  ignorant,  &c.  Let  me  lead  the  serious  from  dependence  on 
me,  from  high  thoughts  of  my  society,  to  Christ.     Let  me  labor 


120  EARLY   MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

most  where  I  shall  experience  least  approbation,  and  attend  chiefly 
to  the  insensible  and  sluggish.  Let  me  do  much  in  secret,  pray, 
struggle,  and  purify  mjself  for  my  people  ;  let  none  know." 

"  I  am  sensible  of  a  want  of  tenderness  in  my  preaching.  I 
want  to  preach  striking,  rather  than  melting,  sermons.  Let  me 
seek  that  my  heart  be  soft." 

"  God  alone  can  soften  my  people  ;  let  me  labor,  therefore,  chiefly 
in  prayer.  There  is  great  disregard  to  praj'er  among  us.  In  pub- 
lic worship  preaching  is  exalted  above  pra^-er.  Let  me  strive  to 
make  this  part  of  the  service  more  interesting." 

"Let  me  separate  a  portion  of  time  for  considering  the  nature 
and  importance  of  my  office,  and  for  exciting  a  hofy,  devout  zeal,  a 
fervent,  sincere  desire  for  tlie  holiness  and  happiness  of  m}-  people." 

"  Let  my  visits  be  ministerial,  serious  ;  let  me  speak  plainly  on 
rehgion,  attend  to  the  character  of  individuals,  observe  their  wants. 
What  a  waste  of  time  to  make  other  visits  !  If  I  should  see  a  man 
of  business  give  up  two  hours  a  da}'  to  making  mere  calls,  I  should 
think  him  an  idler.  How  am  I  better?  Whence  my  timidity  on 
the  subject  of  religion  ?  I  do  not  carry  conversation  far  enough  to 
be  serious,  earnest,  and  hence  seize  no  end  with  sufficient  force." 

"  Let  me  give  courses  of  lectures  upon  various  subjects,  adapted 
to  different  ages  and  conditions ;  a  course  to  parents  and  heads 
of  families  ;  to  the  church  ;  on  church  histor}',  with  applications  of 
prophecy  ;  on  the  evidences,  for  the  young ;  weekly  exhortations 
to  children  ;  a  course  on  the  duties  of  the  3'oung  ;  on  Jewish  history 
and  antiquities  ;  on  the  testimony  of  nature  to  God  ;  a  course  of 
expositions  ;  a  series  on  the  parables  ;  &c." 

"  My  i)reaching  does  not  seem  to  be  followed  with  a  devout, 
grateful,  submissive,  holy  spirit  in  my  church.  I  do  not  witness 
fervor  and  happiness  from  the  prospect  and  hope  of  heaven.  Their 
religious  conversation  limited  to  a  few  topics,  heartless,  cokl,  un- 
interesting !  Whence  is  this  ?  I  feel  increasing  doubts  about  my 
success.  However,  we  are  commanded  not  to  faint.  I  sa}'  to  my- 
self. One  soul  saved  ;  and  I  feel  that  such  an  object  deserves  all 
exertion." 

"The  children  are  members  of  the  church  of  Christ;  earnest, 
aflfectionate  attention  is  due  to  them.  I  must  catechise  them,  pray 
with  them,  teach  them  to  pray  ;  suggest  subjects  which  they  can 
illustrate  ;  give  them  texts  to  remember  ;  instruct  them  in  the  duties 
peculiar  to  their  age,  and  in  the  doctrines  suited  to  them." 

These  resolves  were  carried  into  deeds  ;  and  he  was  at  this  period 
an   indefatigable   pastor.      He   visited   constantly,  had   periodical 


1803-1814.]  CHILDREN   OF  THE   SOCIETY.  121 

prayei'-meetings,  and  meetings  for  conversation  and  religions  in- 
struction, —  varying  them  as  seemed  best  fitted  to  keep  interest 
alive,  —  and,  indeed,  practised  most  of  the  modes  which,  though 
rare  then,  have  now  become  common,  for  quickening  religious 
sensibility  and  producing  Christian  union.  To  the  sick  he  was  a 
faithful  friend,  and  entered  into  their  anxieties  and  hopes  with  a 
touching  devoutness,  that  lifted  up  their  spirits  as  on  angel  wings 
in  prayer.  Into  the  chamber  of  death  he  came  with  the  auroral 
light  of  the  resurrection  upon  his  brow.  And  to  the  mourner  he 
showed  the  manna  of  consolation  forever  dropping  on  the  desert. 
Yet  sometimes  his  quick  sensibility  subdued  him.  When  one  of 
his  oldest  and  most  dear  parishioners,  Mr.  Thomas  Davis,  was 
dying,  he  left  the  weeping  group  around  the  bedside,  and  coming 
to  the  church  amidst  the  then  small  band  of  his  parishioners,  so 
intimate  with  each  other  that  they  seemed  like  one  famil}',  he  en- 
deavored to  commend  the  departing  soul  to  the  Heavenly  Father. 
But  his  voice  died  in  the  utterance  ;  he  sank  his  head  on  the  desk, 
and  burst  into  tears.  A  sob  ran  through  the  congregation,  and 
then  there  was  stillness.  On  one  other  occasion,  when  visiting  a 
family-  lately  bereaved,  he  sat  down  with  the  circle  of  mourners, 
and  after  remaining  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  as  if  overcome  with 
the  fulness  of  his  feelings,  he  uttered  a  groan,  rose,  and  left  the 
room.  But  these  were  exceptions.  He  usualh'  had  perfect  self- 
control,  and  wore  an  air  of  serene  cheerfulness,  that  spread  a  con- 
tagious calmness  over  troubled  hearts. 

In  the  children  of  the  society'  he  felt  the  deepest  interest.  He 
liked  to' gather  them  after  service  around  the  pulpit ;  when,  coming 
down,  he  would  converse  with  them,  and  give  them  familiar  lessons. 
This  was  before  the  custom  of  Sunday  schools  was  introduced. 
Later  in  his  ministry-,  he  and  his  friend  Thacher  pi-epared  their 
well-known  catechism.  But  at  first  he  confined  himself  chiefl}'  to 
oial  instruction.  He  is  remembered  as  having  been  very  success- 
ful in  making  these  addresses  simple  and  attractive,  clothing 
beautiful  thoughts  in  intelligible  language,  and  addressing  them  to 
his  young  friends  with  a  benignant  smile,  that  won  their  confidence 
and  opened  their  hearts.  He  once  pleasantly  remarked,  that  the 
most  satisfactory  compliment  he  had  ever  received  was  from  a  little 
girl,  who  told  her  mother,  "  I  understood  every  word  he  said." 
His  respect  lor  children  was,  indeed,  singularh'  strong ;  and  respect 
is  tlie  only  word  that  can  fill}'  express  the  trust  he  felt  and  mani- 
fested in  their  purity.  He  had,  from  the  first,  a  profound  love  for 
their  native  honor,  their  quick  moral  intuitions,  their  truth  and 
innocence.     And  once,  when  looking  at  the  corpse  of  a  beautiful 


122  EARLY  MINISTRY,  [iEr.  23-34. 

child,  he  said,  "  I  consider  those  so  early  taken  as  mysteriously 
privileged." 

While  thus  devoted  to  his  own  congregation,  and  made  every 
year  more  and  more  an  object  of  interest  to  the  communit}'  at  large 
b}'  the  good  influences  which  were  seen  to  flow  from  his  pulpit,  Mr. 
Channing  became  widely  known  also  by  the  useful  custom  of  ex- 
changes, so  universal  in  New  England.  In  making  these  he  limited 
himself  to  no  denomination,  but  freely  held  intercourse  with  all  who 
were  seeking  divine  light  and  life.  So  indiscriminate,  indeed,  was 
he  in  this  respect,  that  it  was  found  difficult  for  man}-  yesxrs  to  as- 
sign him  a  place  in  an}-  of  the  sects,  which  the  increasing  temper  of 
exclusiveuess  w-as  gradually  forming.  Alternately  he  was  claimed 
and  disowned  b}-  all,  being  himself,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  chiefly- 
anxious  to  shun  controversy,  and  to  keep  the  transparent  heaven 
of  religion  unobscured  b}-  the  clouds  of  theological  disputes.  Still, 
it  w-as  chiefly  in  Boston,  and  among  the  liberal  divines  of  that 
capital,  that  his  exchanges  were  necessaril}^  made  ;  and  in  their 
societies  he  was  at  all  times  a  favorite  preacher,  though  not  a  few 
complained  of  his  gloom,  and  very  many  preferred  the  sententious 
wisdcjm,  quaintness,  sagacity,  and  rich  variety  of  Kirkland,  and 
the  chaste  earnestness,  the  scholarly  fulness  of  allusion,  the  elegance 
of  style,  and  eloquent  oratory  of  Buckminster.  Such  hearers  often 
carried  doubtless  to  the  religious  assembly  their  delightful  associ- 
ations with  the  superior  conversational  gifts  of  those  gentlemen, 
who  were  l)oth  distinguished  for  wit,  pleasantry,  anecdote,  and  that 
easy  pla}'  of  fancy  wliicli  illuminates  with  transient  charm  the  topic 
of  tlie  hour,  and  whose  manners  contrasted  fa^orabl}-  with  Mr. 
Channing's  absorbed  air,  his  almost  judicial  moral  severity,  and  his 
evident  distaste  for  the  current  ti-ifles  which  polish  the  surface  of  life. 

To  each  of  these  distinguished  men  he  was  bound  by  ties  of 
strong  friendship,  and  he  felt  for  their  talents  and  acquirements  a 
respect  which  they  cordially  reciprocated.  Under  date  of  Novem- 
ber, 180G,  we  find  INIr.  Buckminster  thus  writing  to  him  from  Paris, 
whither  he  had  been  driven  to  recruit  by  the  malady  which  so 
prematurely  eclipsed  his  bright  genius. 

"  Before  this  reaches  you,  you  will  be  restored,  I  trust,  to  your 
people ;  for  truly  I  am  very  anxious  for  the  religious  situation  of 
Boston,  deprived,  as  it  now  is,  in  three  societies,  of  regular  pastors. 
I  am  sometimes  ashamed  of  myself,  when  I  think  that  I  am  here  in 
Paris  in  perfect  idleness,  w'hile  you  are  sinking  under  the  labors  of 
your  ministry.  But  God  grant  that  we  ma}-  be  able  to  congratulate 
each  other  next  summer,  upon  meeting,  as  I  hope  we  shall,  in 
health,  and  taught  by  our  sufferings  to  cherish  more  carefully  than 


1803-1814.]  S.  C.  THACHER.  123 

ever  this  inestimable  gift  of  our  Maker,  and  not  to  draw  upon  it  too 
fast  so  that  we  may  use  it  longer  and  more  sacredly  in  the  service 
of  our  people  and  for  the  interests  of  truth.  Farewell,  my  dear 
friend  !  I  pray  that  I  may  soon  hear  of  your  perfect  recovery.  Re- 
member my  dear  people  as  often  as  you  can. 

''  Your  friend  and  brother, 

"J.  S.  B." 

For  Mr.  Samuel  C.  Thacher,  too,  —who  studied  divinity  under 
his  care,  and  who  became  the  beloved  minister  of  the  New  South 
Church,  when  Dr.  Kirkland  was  called  to  the  station  that,  alter 
1810  he  filled  with  so  much  honor  to  himself  and  to  the  institution, 
of  the  Presidency  of  Harvard  University,  —  he  cherished  the  warm- 
est esteem,  to  which  Mr.  Thacher  responded  by  most  reverent  love. 

"  The  many  admirable  principles  I  have  heard  from  you,"  writes 
his  youno-  Mend,  "  I  shall  endeavor  always  to  recollect,  and  it  shall 
be  my  prayer  to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  tliat  I  may  not  be  unworthy 
the  reo-aixfof  tlie  virtuous  and  wise.  Remember  me  with  much  love 
to  yom-  brother,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Sii',  with  all  possible  grati- 
tude and  affection,  your  friend,  S.  C.  T. 

On  the  occasion  of  this  young  brother's  settlement,  —  whose 
opening  talents  and  virtues  Mr.  Channing  watched  with  the  most 
tender  interest,  by  whose  example  he  felt  himself  animated,  and  to 
whom  he  was  constantly  more  and  more  closely  bound  by  harmony 
in  views  and  spiritual  sympathy,— he  entered  the  following  reflec- 
tions ii\  his  journal :  — 

"  1811,  May  16.  This  week  is  pecuharly  eventful  and  interest- 
ing. Yesterday  I  assisted  at  the  ordination  of  my  friend,  S.  C. 
Thacher.  I  presented  him  the  right  hand  of  fellowship.  This 
event  should  recall  to  me  the  day  when  I  devoted  myself  to  the 
Christian  ministry.  Have  I  been  a  faithful,  diligent  minister,  in- 
quiring for  every  means  of  doing  good  to  my  people,  and  devoted 
most  sincerely  to  their  improvement?  Let  me  be  quickened  by  this 
event,  which  has  connected  with  me  a  young  man  whom  I  esteem 
and  love.  Let  me  confer  with  him  on  the  means  of  benefiting  our 
societies.  Let  me  save  him,  if  possible,  from  my  errors.  Let  me 
avoid  every  feeling  of  rivalship.  Merciful  God,  render  him  a  better 
man  and  Christian  than  myself.  PLave  I  made  sufficient  sacrifices 
to  the  young  men  who  have  studied  with  me?  Have  I  paid  atten- 
tions, instead  of  expecting  them?  Let  me  endeavor  to  excite  my 
youno-  brother  to  great  fervor  and  activity,  and  let  me  catch  the 
same'warmth  from  him.     I  fear,  I  feel,  that  I  and  my  brethren  are 


124  EARLY  MINISTRY. 


[^T.  23-34. 


not  sufficiently  engaged,  and  not  desirous  enough  to  see  fruits  from 
our  labors.  1  am  not  ready  to  live  a  suffering  life  for  Jesus  Christ. 
M}-  Saviour !  may  1  think  of  thy  cross,  of  what  thou  hast  endured 
for  human  happiness,  and  may  I  count  it  my  highest  honor  to  be  a 
partaker  of  thy  sutferings." 

And  again  he  thus  writes  of  him  to  a  friend :  — 

"  Heaven  can  hardly  bestow  on  me  a  greater  blessing  than  the 
friendship  of  Thacher.  The  purity  of  his  character  and  Ufe,  and 
his  devotion  to  his  profession,  render  him  peculiarly  important  to  us 
at  this  time." 

Thus  cordial,  honorable,  mutually  beneficial,  and  every  way  manly, 
were  the  relations  between  these  friends  and  a  large  circle  of  their 
brethren.  But  the  days  of  one  of  the  noblest  of  them  were  numbered. 
On  the  9th  of  June,  1812,  the  sad  tidings  of  the  death  of  Buckminster 
threw  the  whole  community  into  grief.  How  deeplj'  Mr.  Channing 
mourned  with  others  the  destruction  of  the  hopes  which  clustered 
round  this  gifted  and  accomplished  man  appears  from  man}'  of  his 
papers  of  that  period.  He  was  himself  absent  at  the  time  from  home  ; 
but  when  he  came  back,  he  preached  by  request  a  funeral  sermon 
before  the  Brattle  Street  Societ}-,  and  to  his  own  people  spoke  as 
follows  : 

"On  returning  to  this  place,  I  am  not  permitted  to  see  and 
embrace  a  Christian  brother,  a  fellow-laborer  in  the  gospel,  whom 
1  left  in  the  midst  of  usefulness,  —  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments 
of  his  profession,  and  of  this  country,  —  whose  vigor  of  mind, 
whose  eloquence,  whose  piety,  whose  sincere  devotion  to  the  in- 
terests of  Christianit}',  I  have  witnessed  with  increasing  pleasure 
and  increasing  hope.  But  God,  who  imparted  to  this  highl^^ 
favored  servant  such  unusual  gifts,  who  kindled  this  superior  in- 
tellect, has  suddenly  removed  him  from  his  wide  sphere  of  honor 
and  usefulness.  Tliat  you  followed  to  the  tomb  this  righteous  man 
witli  serious  thought  and  sorrowful  retlection  I  cannot  doubt.  My 
own  heart  sunk  within  me,  when  I  heard  the  painful  tidings  of  his 
death.  I  felt  for  the  loss  I  had  experienced  as  an  individual ;  but 
this  sorrow  was  faint,  compared  with  my  painful  sense  of  the  heavy 
loss  which  our  churches  had  exi)erienced." 

And  in  a  letter  he  thus  expresses  himself:  — 

"  Buckminster's  death  gives  me  man}'  painful  and  solicitous  feel- 
ings in  relation  to  the  interests  of  religion  in  this  place.  People 
here,  as  you  well  know,  are  attached  to  religious  institutions,  not 
so  mucli  by  a  sense  of  the  value  of  religion  as  by  their  love  to  their 
minister ;    and  I  fear  that  their  zeal  will  grow  cold,  when  their 


1803-1814.]  BUCKMINSTER'S   SERMONS.  125 

ministers  are  removed.  I  wish  that  there  were  more  attachment 
to  the  truth,  and  less  to  the  man  who  deUvers  it.  The  loss  of  Mr. 
Buckminster  appears  to  me  irreparable.  I  know  no  man  who 
unites  so  man}'  gifts  from  nature,  so  man}'  acquisitions  from  study, 
and  such  power  of  rendering  religion  interesting  to  all  classes  of 
society,  especially  to  the  improved,  the  polished,  the  fashionable." 

As  a  last  act  of  honor  to  this  alread}'  celebrated  preacher,  he, 
with  Mr.  S.  C.  Thacher,  Mr.  Buckminster's  more  particular  friend, 
was  requested  to  select  and  prepare  a  portion  of  his  sermons  for 
the  press. 

"  Mr.  Buckminster's  papers,"  writes  Mr.  George  Ticknor,  "  came 
into  my  hands  after  his  death,  so  that  I  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  this  publication,  —  a  circumstance  which  I  mention  as  account- 
ing for  my  knowledge  of  the  facts  in  relation  to  it.  Mr.  Channing 
undertook  it,  I  think,  with  interest  and  pleasure,  and  gave  a  good 
deal  of  time  to  it ;  though  of  course  the  labor  and  responsibility 
came  chief!}'  on  Mr.  Thacher.  The  tliree  sermons  on  Faith,  and 
the  sermon  on  Philemon,  attracted,  I  believe,  more  of  his  attention 
than  any  others.  In  the  last,  an  omission  was  made  at  his  sug- 
gestion ;  but  it  ma}'  be  worth  notice,  in  reference  to  the  opinions 
he  afterwards  entertained  on  the  subject,  that  the  strong  phrases 
in  the  discourse  that  touch  slavery  did  not  excite  his  attention.  At 
least,  I  am  satisfied  that  he  made  no  remarks  about  them :  and  I 
remember  the  way  in  which  he  went  over  the  whole  of  the  sermon. 
What  most  struck  me,  throughout  his  examination  of  the  manu- 
scripts, was  his  interest  in  Mr.  Buckminster's  reputation,  and  his 
care  that  justice  should  be  done  to  it." 

The  rule  by  which  he  was  governed  in  this  work  was  thus  once 
communicated  by  himself :  — 

' '  Will  }'ou  allow  me  to  suggest  a  counsel  which  I  give  to  those 
who  are  publishing  posthumous  works?  It  is,  to  beware  of  pub- 
lishing too  much.  The  best  of  a  man's  writings  should  be  selected, 
with  somewhat  fastidious  criticism,  for  the  press  ;  and  care  should 
be  taken,  lest  the  best  be  lost  and  fail  of  their  effect  by  being  sur- 
rounded with  much  that  wants  interest,  and  will  not  be  read.  I 
proceeded  on  this  principle  in  selecting  Mr.  Buckminster's  sermons, 
and  I  thinlv  their  great  success  is  in  part  owing  to  it." 

But  besides  tliese  friends,  to  whom  he  was  united  by  the  relations 
of  the  pastoral  office,  and  the  cares  and  responsibilities,  studies  and 
hopes,  incident  to  the  ministerial  profession,  Mr.  Channing  had 
others  with  whom  he  held  intercourse  by  letter  ;  and  some  passages, 
taken  from  his  correspondence  at  this  period,  may  be  of  interest, 


126  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

as  yet  further  illustrating  liis  chai'acter.  The}'  will  be  suitably 
prefaced  by  one  in  which  he  pleasantly  alludes  to  the  stiffness  of 
mental  and  moral  habits  contracted  by  too  monotonous  an  absorp- 
tion in  his  own  pursuits. 

"  1812.  The  great  objection  I  have  to  writing  letters  is,  that 
I  can  hardly  do  so  without  beginning  to  preach.  I  have  composed 
sermons  till  1  can  with  dilficulty  write  anything  else.  I  exhort 
when  I  should  smile.  Not  that  I  think  a  letter  should  be  written 
without  a  desire  to  do  good  ;  but  instruction  should  be  delivered 
with  somewhat  less  formality  than  from  the  pulpit.  I  will  tr^-, 
however,  to  lay  aside  my  grave  countenance  sometimes." 

"  1808.  This  is  m}'  birthda}-.  I  have  been  looking  back  on 
the  blessings  which  have  filled  up  my  existence.  The  last  year, 
1  find,  has  been  crowned  with  mcrcnes  ;  and  in  acknowledging  the 
unmerited  goodness  of  God,  I  cannot  but  thank  him  that  he  has 
put  it  into  the  heart  of  so  kind  a  friend  to  take  such  an  interest  in 
my  wellare,  and  to  express  toward  me  so  much  tenderness  and 
affection.  All  my  life  long,  God  has  been  raising  up  to  me  bene- 
factors. I  never  experienced  the  want  of  a  friendly  hand  to  sup- 
port me.  O  that  with  his  blessings  he  would  give  me  a  heart  to  be 
grateful  for  them !  Give  me  your  prayers,  that  the  next  year  of 
my  life  may  be  more  useful  than  the  last ;  that  every  day  may 
bring  me  nearer  to  heaven  ;  that  I  may  feel  more  of  the  power  of 
religion  ;  that  God  would  condescend  to  use  even  me  as  an  instru- 
ment in  advancing  his  cause  in  the  world." 

"  1809.  I  feel  more  and  more  that  I  am  doing  little  good  ;  but 
I  blame  myself  as  much  as  others.  Since  3-ou  have  been  absent, 
I  have  felt  more  debilitated  than  usual.  I  have  not  been  capable 
of  much  mental  exertion.  How  much  do  I  need  these  rebukes  to 
keep  me  humble  !  You  know  the  sin  which  most  easily  besets  me. 
I  have  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the  various  methods  in  which  God 
is  teaching  me  my  dependence  and  imbecility." 

"1812.  New  Tear's  day.^  The  past  year  has  been  to  us  both 
peculiarly  interesting.  It  has  made  some  important  changes  in 
our  domestic  circles,  and  it  has  left,  I  hope,  some  salutary  im- 
pressions on  ourselves  and  our  friends.  I  look  back  on  it  with 
much  humiliation.  I  fear  that  my  sufferings  have  not  refined  me 
as  they  ought.  I  am  sure  that  my  blessings  have  not  left  that 
tender  sense  of  the  Divine  goodness  which  I  wish  ever  to  maintain. 
....  My  increasing  duties  require  increasuig  activity,  and  some- 

*  To  his  mother. 


1S03-1814.]  LETTERS  TO  FRIENDS.  127 

times  the}-  suggest  many  painful  fears  and  forebodings.  Pra}-  for 
me,  tliat  I  may  be  faithful  and  useful 

"I  recollect  on  this  day  the  kindness  and  affection  which  j-ou 
have  expressed  toward  me  with  so  much  uniformity'  and  tenderness, 
since  I  first  knew  3'ou.  Your  friendship  I  have  valued  as  one  of 
the  great  blessings  of  m^-  life,  and  I  hope  it  will  not  forsake  me  in 
an3'  prosperous  or  adverse  changes  which  may  await  me 

''I  know  that  I  have  man}'  friends, — perhaps  few  are  more 
favored  than  I.  But  still  I  cannot  spare  j'ou.  How  much  of  the 
happiness,  and  I  ma}'  add  of  the  usefulness,  of  my  life  do  I  owe  to 
your  tender,  unremitting  kindness  !  How  often  have  I  been  kept 
from  fainting  In  }Our  cheering  voice  !  Do  not  say  that  I  am  in- 
clined to  exaggerate  your  offices  of  friendship.  I  cannot  express 
what  I  feel.  I  have  often  felt  that  your  partiality  to  me  was  un- 
merited, but  I  am  not  just  enough  to  wish  it  diminished.  It  has 
become  one  of  my  highest  earthly  blessings.  It  is  one  of  the  few 
blessings  to  which  I  look  forward  with  confidence.  I  feel  that 
many  other  friends  may  fail,  but  I  feel  a  strange  assurance  that 
no  changes  can  sever  us  from  each  other.  Is  it  not  religion,  that 
indissoluble  bond,  which  unites  us  ?  " 

"1811.  In  the  beginning  of  this  letter,  I  have  alluded  to  an 
affliction  which  I  have  been  called  to  sustain.  It  has  pleased  God 
this  week  to  remove  from  us  a  friend  in  whom  I  have  long  felt  a 
strong  and  increasing  interest.  You  undoubtedly  heard  of  her 
frequently,  whilst  you  lived  in  this  town  ;  but  her  character,  her 
worth,  you  probably  never  knew.  It  has  been  my  privilege  and 
hapi)iness.  for  some  time,  to  enjoy  an  intimacy  with  this  singular 
woman,  this  highly  favored  child  of  God.  She  has  been  a  great 
suflEerer  for  several  years,  but  she  has  suffered  so  meekly  and 
patiently,  her  character  has  been  so  refined  and  elevated  by  suffer- 
ing, she  embraced  all  around  her  with  such  a  strong  and  tender 
affection,  amidst  pains  which  would  have  rendered  others  insensible 
to  all  but  themselves,  she  discovered  such  unabated  energy  of  mind  at 
the  moment  that  her  emaciated  frame  seemed  just  ready  to  resign  its 
breath,  that  I  have  contemplated  her  with  a  delight  and  admiration 
which  very  few  of  our  race  have  inspired.  I  have  understood  that 
in  early  life  she  was  the  victim  of  sensibility ;  and  indeed  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  her  feelings  tended  to  excess.  But  religion,  that 
refining  and  subduing  principle,  exerted  its  kindest  influence  on 
her  heart.  She  was  called  to  a  struggle  peculiarly  arduous,  but 
she  was  conqueror.  I  cannot  mourn  for  her  departure  ;  yet  it  is  a 
thought  which  almost  saddens  me,  that  I  am  no  more  to  hear  her 
animated  voice,  no  more  to  commune  with  that  powerful  mind,  that 


128  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

warm  and  pure  heart,  on  this  side  the  gi-ave.  But  to  her  pious 
and  virtuous  friends  slie  is  not  lost ;  there  is  society  in  heaven." 

"  1810.  I  am  not  insensible  to  commendation.  I  will  go  far- 
ther. There  is  a  commendation  which  affords  me  an  exquisite  satis- 
faction, —  I  mean  a  commendation  which  flows  from  an  unaflected 
love  of  goodness,  and  from  a  desire  to  confirm  it.  8uch  com- 
mendation confers  more  honor  on  those  who  give  than  on  him 
who  receives  it,  and  shows  him  that  he  has  a  place,  not  in  the 
admiration  of  a  superficial  mind,  but  in  the  affections  of  a  good, 
pure  heart.  Of  this  praise  I  can  almost  adopt  the  language  of 
Henry  the  Fifth,— 

'  If  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 
I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive.' 

But  to  be  '  daubed  with  undiscerning  praise,'  to  have  my  frailties 
forced  on  my  mind  b}'  being  told  that  I  have  none,  to  receive  a 
tribute  which  m^-  heart  disclaims,  and  which  fills  me  with  appre- 
hension lest  I  have  been  a  hj-pocrite,  and  have  practised  conceal- 
ment more  efl^ectually  than  most  of  my  fellow-beings,  —  this  is  in- 
deed painful  and  humiliating.  You  will  not  think  that  I  mean  to 
apply  all  this  to  i/ou  ;  but  in  j'our  letter  j'ou  have  '  o'erstepped  the 
bounds'  of  that  discretion  which  I  wish  j'ou  to  observe.  You 
throw  your  colors  on  your  friends  too  profusel}'.  Humanit}'  is  but 
another  word  for  imperfection.  It  is  a  distempered  vision  which 
represents  it  as  faultless.  I  cannot  tell  you,  ni}'  dear  friend,  how 
much  more  I  should  have  been  gratified,  if  you  had  frankly  disclosed 
to  me  the  observations  you  must  have  made  on  my  character,  and 
had  set  before  me  the  weaknesses,  defects,  disproportions,  blemishes, 
which  must  have  forced  themselves  on  so  discerning  an  oyQ." 

"1812.  I  thank  them  for  their  good  opinion  ;  but  to  you  I  will 
say,  that  I  feel  almost  an  insuperable  reluctance  to  visit,  and  much 
more  to  preach,  where  people  have  taken  it  into  their  heads  that 
they  are  to  see  or  hear  anything  uncommon.  In  my  own  breast 
I  carry  a  conviction  which  contradicts  all  such  opinions,  and  ren- 
ders applause  painful  and  mortifying.  The  tender  affection  which 
3^ou  express  is  indeed  delightful^  though  1  feel  it  is  not  altogether 
deserved ;  but  fame,  general  notice,  is  not  my  right,  and  I  pray 
God  that  it  may  never  be  my  wish  or  end." 

"1810.  I  would  not  have  you  think  that  any  human  friendship 
is  of  itself  sufficient  to  raise  you  to  the  excellence  I  have  fancied. 
There  is  another  source  to  which  you  must  repair.  It  is  a  most 
consoling  doctrine  of  our  religion,  that  the  Father  of  Spirits  de- 


1803-1814.]  GENEROSITY.  129 

lights  to  perfect  the  works  which  he  has  made,  that  he  has  sent 
his  Son  to  renew  his  own  image  in  the  human  heart,  that  he  inspires 
tlie  love  of  virtue,  that  he  hears  the  aspirations  and  assists  the 
efforts  of  every  soul  which  desires  to  be  emancipated  from  its  earthly 

and  selfish  propensities 

"  I  am  very  willing  Uiat  you  should  dissent  from  the  opin- 
ion I  have  expressed  of  Hume.  When  I  reviewed  that  part  of 
my  letter,  I  feared  that  I  had  been  declamatory  rather  than  convin- 
cing ;  that  I  had  carried  my  principle  too  far.  It  is  a  fault  which  I 
have  often  observed  in  my  character,  that  I  am  prone  to  overstate 
an  argument,  —  to  infer  too  much  from  my  premises,  — to  exliil)it  a 
truth  without  the  necessary  limitations.  I  want  to  make  an  impres- 
sion, and  defeat  my  end  by  demanding  a  stronger  conviction  or  a 
more  unqualified  assent  than  I  have  a  right  to  expect.  I  need  to  seek 
the  excellence  for  which  Bishop  Butler  is  so  remarkable,  —  I  mean 
that  of  being  so  cautious  and  modest  in  his  inferences,  that  his 
readers  not  only  concede  tlie  positions  for  which  he  contends,  but 
almost  blame  him  for  not  demanding  more.  This  habit  conciliates 
great  confidence  for  a  writer ;  and  we  are  naturally  impressed  with 
the  strength  of  his  cause,  when  we  see  him  able  to  support  it  with- 
out straining  a  single  argument,  or  even  carrying  it  to  its  fair 
extent.  Some  people,  rather  than  lose  a  good  metaphor,  or  a 
fine  sentence,  are  often  tempted  to  assert  what  is  not  altogether 
accurate  ;  and  they  have  their  reward.  They  astonish,  but  do  not 
convince.  They  strike,  but  do  not  keep  their  hold  of  the  mind. 
]May  you  and  I  love  Truth  better  than  Rhetoric.'' 

Thus  warm  were  Mr.  Channing's  sympathies,  in  the  home  circle, 
in  his  congregation,  towards  his  brethren  in  the  ministry,  and  to 
many  friends.  They  were  not  limited,  however,  to  these  spheres, 
but  widened  to  embrace  the  wants  of  all  his  fellow-men  in  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  dwelt.  The  poor  were  especially  objects  of  his 
regard,  many  of  whom  freely  Ansited  him  ;  and  he  had  always  several 
destitute  f-imilies  under  his  care.  His  liberality,  indeed,  was  so  un- 
bounded, that  his  elder  brother  once  said,  "  Really,  William  should 
have  a  guardian  ;  he  spends  every  dollar  as  soon  as  he  gets  it." 
And  so  he  actually  did.  With  a  good  salary,  he  was  vet  always  poor, 
—  so  utter  was  his  dislike  to  accumulation,  and  so  little  anxious  was 
he  for  the  morrow ;  but,  as  he  seldom  mentioned  his  deeds  of  kind- 
ness, comparatively  few  of  them  are  particularly  known.  Many 
letters,  however,  which  yet  remain,  prove  how  varied,  numerous, 
judicious,  and  patient  were  his  labors  to  cheer,  encourage,  and 
redeem  the  unfortunate.     And  when  his  own  means  were  exhausted, 

9 


130  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

rich  and  generous  friends  in  his  society  made  him  their  ahnoner. 
To  one  of  these  he  writes:  "  I  shall,  indeed,  consider  it  a  great 
blessing  to  myself,  as  well  as  to  you,  to  be  able  to  suggest  oppor- 
tunities of  usefulness  ;  and  I  shall  do  this  more  readily,  if  you  resolve 
never  to  oppose  your  own  judgment  out  of  respect  to  my  feelings." 
And  again  he  sa3's  :  "I  thank  God  that  he  permits  me  to  communi- 
cate to  3'ou  the  thanks  of  the  poor  and  afflicted Rejoice  that, 

through  you,  praise  has  ascended  to  heaven, — joyful  praise  from 
the  lips  of  a  man  just  trembling  over   the  grave.     I  feel  m^'self 

indebted  to  3'ou  for  the  benevolence  you  exercise  to  others 

Ma}'  you  yet  more  earnestly  espouse  the  interest  of  the  Redeemer, 
and  imitate  his  meek  and  condescending  love."  Thus  was  he  doubly 
a  benefactor,  b}'  presenting  to  the  wealth}'  opportunities  to  bestow  on 
the  needy  the  gifts  which  God  had  intrusted  to  their  guardianship. 

"I  never  heard  him  speak  of  giving  pecuniary  aid  to  any- 
one," says  one  of  his  sisters;  "but  facts  speak  for  themselves. 
He  must  have  had  a  thousand  dollars  to  la}'  out,  of  which  he  spent 
scarcely  anything  upon  himself,  except  in  case  of  sickness,  or 
when  he  had  to  take  a  journey.  He  never  had  money  for  any 
length  of  time,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  always  disposed  of  it 
nearly  as  fast  as  he  received  it.  We  must  believe  that  he  gave 
away  nearly  eight  hundred  a  year,  and  I  have  known  many  times 
when  he  had  nothing.  In  all  his  feelings  he  was  large  and  noble. 
I  remember,  on  one  occasion,  he  had  attended  the  funeral  of  a 
gentleman  of  fortune,  and  afterwards  had  visited  the  afflicted 
family.  The  widow,  M'ishing  to  express  her  gratitude,  enclosed 
him  fifty  dollars  in  a  note.  It  was  a  sore  trial  to  him.  He  could 
not  bear  to  wound  the  feelings  of  the  lady  by  a  refusal ;  and  yet, 
to  accept  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  He  returned  it,  and,  I  am 
sure,  in  cloiug  so,  found  some  way  not  to  pain  another  by  sparing 
himself.  Think,  for  one  moment,  that  any  one  could  have  offered 
money  to  such  a  being,  as  a  return  for  his  sympath}- ;  but  then  it 
was  so  kindly  meant  on  her  part,  that  I  could  not  mention  it  even 
now,  if  she  had  not  long  been  numbered  among  the  dead.  She  only 
did  not  know  him.  He  was  as  wise,  too,  as  he  was  generous,  and 
I  never  saw  any  one  who  more  truly  understood  the  -value  of  money 
for  the  benefit  of  others,  or  who  cared  less  for  it  himself." 

One  slight  anecdote  shows  his  disposition  in  this  respect.  As  he 
was  taking  a  journey  alone  in  a  chaise,  he  was  induced  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  poverty  about  a  dwelling  to  stop  and  in(iuire  after  the 
condition  of  the  inmates.  He  found  a  very  old  couple,  helpless 
and  wretched ;  and  after  conversing  with  them  some  time  as  to 
their  simple  life,  he  bade  them  farewell,  leaving  in  their  hands  his 


1803-1814.]  INTEREST   IN   THE   POOR.  131 

purse.  He  had  ridden  some  miles  before  it  occurred  to  bim  that 
his  horse  would  suffer,  though  he  might  not,  from  his  penniless 
condition;  when,  finding  himself  in  the  neighborhood  of  an  ac- 
quaintance, he  borrowed  the  necessary  sum  to  carry  him  on  his 
way. 

His  journals  are  interesting  here,  also,  as  showing  how  compre- 
hensive at  once  and  minutely  exact  was  his  charity,  in  devising 
benefit  for  the  suffering.  There  are  long  and  full  lists  of  the  vari- 
ous classes  of  the  community  who  needed  care  or  aid  ;  sketches  of 
their  peculiar  trials,  temptations,  and  difficulties  ;  suggestions  for 
public  works,  benevolent  operations,  special  reforms ;  and  hints  of 
all  kinds  as  to  the  duties  which  society  owes  to  its  members.  But 
a  few  extracts  will  speak  for  themselves. 

"Things  to  be  done  in  town. — Comfortable  houses  to  be  let 
cheap  for  the  poor.  Innocent  and  improving  amusements.  Inter- 
esting works  to  be  circulated  among  them.  Associations  among 
mechanics  for  mutual  support  if  reduced.  Complete  course  of  in- 
struction for  3-outh  designed  for  active  life.  Dr.  Lathrop's  plan  of 
education.  Justices'  salaries  to  be  fixed ;  their  fees  ;  small  debts  ; 
petty  suits  ;  oppression  of  the  poor.  Taverns  ;  drinking-parties  ; 
a  work  on  ardent  spirits  should  be  written.  Fire-clubs.  Appren- 
tice-boys at  bad  houses  ;    &c." 

"Poor-house.  —  Rooms  to  be  better  aired.  There  should  be 
selection  in  assigning  rooms.  Tracts  to  be  circulated  there.  Let 
me  visit  them  once  a  week.  Thej'  want  plain,  pious,  unambitious, 
evangelical  ministry  ;  the}'  want  that  gospel  which  teaches  content- 
ment in  ever}'  state.  An  association  of  females  to  furnish  them 
employments.  Neatness  should  be  prescribed.  Great  regularity 
in  theu'  exercises.  Mutual  respect  required  ;  decency  of  manners 
to  each  other." 

"  Causes  of  poverty-  to  be  traced.  Charity  is  not  enough 
directed.  Intimate  acquaintance  with  poor  families.  Employment 
found.  Economical  improvements.  Store-houses.  Provisions  of 
wood  in  large  quantities  at  cheap  prices,  and  so  with  all  necessaries 
of  life  ;  to  be  bought  at  cheap  seasons,  and  sold  in  large  quantities. 
Rum  ford  boilers." 

"  Excite  no  feeling  of  dependence.  Stimulate  to  exertion.  Re- 
lief, such  as  to  call  out  energ}',  and  remove  whatever  disheartens 
and  disables." 

"  How  much  capacit}'  there  is  in  the  poorer  classes  of  knowledge 
and  affection  !  Why  is  it  not  developed  ?  Is  not  the  social  order 
bad?     Cannot   all   the   capacities  of  all  classes   be  called  forth? 


132  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  2:3-34. 

Cannot  men's  motives  in  pursuing  wealth  be  purified?  Cannot  a 
strong  conviction  be  established,  that  Christ's  precepts  in  the  plain 
sense  are  the  only  rule  for  Christians  ?  Cannot  the  power  of  fash- 
ion and  opinion,  except  in  so  far  as  they  may  be  sanctioned  by 
Christianity,  be  subverted  ?  " 

"  Employ  religious  schoolmistresses  in  different  parts  of  the  town. 
The  children  of  the  poor  need  special  care." 

In  this  project  he  was  at  this  time  much  interested,  and  was 
instrumental,  in  connection  with  others,  in  establishing  primary 
schools  —  being  prompted  by  the  considerations,  that,  by  such  a 
provision,  — 

"The  parents  are  relieved  from  a  great  burden,  especiall}'  in  the 
winter ;  the  children  are  kept  for  many  hours  of  the  da}-  at  least 
out  of  the  streets,  where  every  vice  is  contracted,  and  from  the 
crowded,  unwholesome  rooms,  where  they  too  often  witness  the 
worst  examples ;  their  faculties  are  in  a  measure  called  foilh  and 
improved ;  the}'  acquire  some  habits  of  order,  application,  and  in- 
dustrj' ;  are  trained  to  decency  of  manners,  dress,  and  appeai-ance  ; 
become  fitted  for  the  business  of  life,  and  are  instructed  in  the 
Scriptures  and  the  duties  of  morality." 

"•  A  bakehouse  for  the  poor,  established  by  a  fund  for  their  use  ; 
an  association  of  the  poor,  contributing  so  much  a  week  for  a  fund 
to  support  them  in  sickness  ;  associations  for  relief  of  the  sick,  old, 
debtors,  and  for  the  employment  of  those  who  are  without  work." 

"  What  can  be  done  to  exalt  the  poor  and  ignorant  from  a  life  of 
sense  to  an  intellectual,  moral,  religious  hfe?  How  excite  an  in- 
terest in  the  education  of  their  children?  Let  me  learn  to  extem- 
porize, that  I  may  administer  plain  instruction.  May  not  the  mind 
be  quickened  by  interesting  the  heart  in  religion?  The  Di\ine 
character,  pceuliarl}'  as  displayed  in  Christianit}-,  is  the  great  means 
of  exalting  human  nature.  The  poor  need  moral  remedies.  Let 
the  poor  be  my  end." 

"  Let  each  rich  family  have  some  poor  under  their  care  ;  espe- 
cially Christian  families.  Mention  the  poor  to  others.  Connect 
the  poor  with  good  families." 

'•  There  should  be  an  association  to  receive  prostitutes,  when  re- 
duced by  want  and  disease,  to  reform  and  emplo}'  them.  A  house 
necessary,  and  one  walled,  «fcc.  The  object,  seclusion,  sui)port, 
and  reudering  them  useful.  A  strong  aversion  to  licentiousness 
should  be  awakened." 

"Immigrants.  A  society  of  ad\dce.  They  are  subjects  of 
speculation,  exposed  to  unprincipled  men.     They  want  direction, 


1803-1814.]  LARGE  HUMANITY.  133 

friends.     Keep  them  out  of  the  way  of  designing  people.    They 
depend  on  the  wants  of  landholders,  &q." 

"  Africans.  To  enable  them  better  to  manage  the  affairs  of  this 
life ;  to  acquire  support,  property ;  to  elevate  their  desire  of  pleas- 
ure above  sense,  to  social  enjojments  and  improvement  of  mind. 
I  wish  them  to  be  thinking  persons,  to  act  from  thought.  Their 
modes  of  life  would  vary,  if  instruction  was  early  given.  A  school 
may  interest  them.  Their  present  evils  —  dirt,  bad  ah-,  crowded 
rooms,  and  their  poverty  —  originate  in  thoughtlessness,  intemper- 
ance, &c.  In  learning  they  will  find  new  pleasures,  and  be  less 
tempted  to  irregularity.  We  must  give  them  new  tastes.  What 
powers,  how  much  mind,  how  much  heart,  what  treasures,  are  con- 
tained in  tliem!  Shall  all  be  lost?  Awaken  a  sense  of  their  true 
dignity  and  true  excellence,  and  so  prevent  vain  attention  to  dress, 
&c.  Is  it  not  possible  to  make  a  party  among  them  in  support  of 
religion?  May  there  not  be  a  line  of  distinction  di-awn  among 
them,  and  a  sense  of  character  awakened?" 

These  extracts  from  papers  and  journals,  extending  through  the 
first  years  of  his  ministry,  show  how  early  and  how  earnestly  his 
sympathies  went  out  to  his  fellow-men  of  every  condition.  He 
seems  to  have  wished  —  to  quote  again  his  diary — "  to  associate 
with  all  classes,  to  know  their  wants,  and  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  world  in  which  I  am  placed."  His  longing  was  for  noth- 
ing less  than  humanity  made  universal.  The  spirit  that  dictated 
his  enthusiastic  letters  from  Richmond  was  working  in  him  still, 
and  prompting  him  to  seek  for  every  practicable  mode  of  redeem- 
ing man  from  the  inhuman  degradations  to  which  tens  of  thousands 
are  subject  in  a  society  selfish  in  its  principles,  laws,  customs, 
maxims,  influences,  tendencies.  He  saw  that  actual  life  in  Chris- 
tian communities  is  a  hideous  mockery  of  the  generall}'  professed 
discipleship  to  Him  whose  last  s^'mbolic  act  was  to  gird  himself 
with  a  towel  and  to  wash  his  disciples'  feet,  whose  test  of  dis- 
tinction was,  "  Let  him  that  would  be  greatest  among  you  be  the 
servant  of  all,"  and  who  left  as  his  dying  legacy  the  new  command- 
ment, "  ^s  I  have  loved  you,  so  love  ye  one  another." 

But  these  charities  within  his  immediate  neighborhood,  extensive 
as  they  were,  did  not  exhaust  Mr.  Channing's  interest  in  his  race. 
In  the  growing  prevalence  of  order,  justice,  freedom,  over  the  in- 
ternal legislation  of  the  nations  of  Christendom,  and  of  humanity 
and  peace  through  their  diplomatic,  commercial,  and  intellectual 
intercourse,  he  saw  a  providential  process,  b}-  which  the  scattered 
societies  of  earth  are  becoming  transformed  and  reunited  into  the 


134  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

kingdom  of  heaven,  —  a  slow  process  indeed  to  human  sight,  and 
one  accompanied  b}'  trial  and  struggle,  but  yet  a  sure  one.  And 
thus  l)elieving,  he  thought  that  a  minister  of  the  glad  tidings,  of 
universal  good-will,  was  so  far  from  being  exempt  from  the  duties 
of  a  citizen,  that  he  was,  on  the  contrary,  under  special  obligation 
to  infuse,  as  he  best  could,  the  spirit  of  love,  the  hope  of  a  higher 
future  for  mankind,  the  sense  of  responsibility  to  a  superhuman 
authority',  into  the  hearts  of  his  fellows, —  heated  as  the}'  were  by 
partisan  passions,  and  turned  from  their  rightful  function  of  mutual 
beneficence  by  worldly  jealousies. 

From  early  youth  he  had  l>een,  as  we  have  observed,  conversant 
with  political  movements  ;  he  had  been  bred  up  in  ardent  attach- 
ment to  liberty  under  constitutional  limits ;  he  had  shared  in  the 
exhilarating  anticipations  first  excited  by  the  French  Revolution, 
and  in  the  revulsion  of  shame  and  sorrow  produced  by  its  after 
excesses;  he  had  watched  the  triumphs  of  the  ''armed  apostle  of 
democracj',"  till  he  had  seen  him  rear  his  throne  of  uni\'ersal  empire 
upon  prostrate  states,  which  fell  bravely  struggling  for  independent 
national  existence  ;  and  now,  in  common  with  many  of  the  best 
and  wisest  around  him,  he  feared,  as  an  event  by  no  means  impos- 
sible, that  the  United  States  might  be  needed  as  an  ark  for  free- 
dom, when  the  deluge  of  despotism  had  overswept  Europe.  In  a 
word,  he  was  at  this  time  thoroughly  in  principle  and  affections  a 
Federalist. 

Accordingly,  in  his  Fast  and  Thanksgiving  sermons,  from  which 
extracts  will  hereafter  be  given,  he  entered  freely  into  the  consid- 
eration of  national  dangers  and  duties,  and  brought  men  and 
measures  to  the  test  of  the  Christian  standard.  In  tliis  course  of 
conduct  he  had  the  sanction  of  such  men  as  Dr.  Osgood  and  Dr. 
Kirkland  ;  but  man}'  of  his  brethren  condemned  him  for  desecrat- 
ing the  dignity  of  the  pulpit  by  the  introduction  of  such  topics,  and 
large  numbers  of  the  laity  were  indignant  at  his  presunii)tion,  as 
they  considered  it,  and  officious  intermeddling  in  matters  beyond 
his  sphere.  As  this  was  the  period  of  the  embargo  and  the  last 
war,  when  commerce  was  prostrate  and  industry  languished,  — 
when  the  bond  of  the  Union  was  almost  severed  by  civil  strife,  and 
angry  controversies  prevailed  in  public  and  private,  —  when  famil}' 
ties  and  old  friendships  were  rudely  broken  by  political  dissensions, 
—  when  the  circles  of  social  intercourse  were  limited  to  tliose  who 
adopted  the  same  party  creeds,  and  men  rose  or  fell  in  the  scale  of 
esteem  as  their  opinions  vaiied,  —  when  in  tlie  theatre  tlie  shouts 
of  '•'•(^a  ira"  and  "-God  save  the  king,"  alternatel}'  drowned  each 
other,  —  when  angry  mobs   tore  unpopular  editors  from  the  jails 


1803-1814.] 


POLITICAL  SERMONS.  135 


where  they  were  put  for  safety,  —and  when,  in  a  word,  the  nation 
was  convulsed,  —it  can  easily  be  understood  that  a  preacher  who 
espoused  the  cause  of  either  of  the  contending  bodies  was  forced  to 
bear  the  brunt  of  severe  censure,  and  to  be  made  the  object  of 
exaggerated  praise.  To  Mr.  Channing  one  of  these  results  was  as 
distasteful  as  the  other  ;  but  as  several  of  his  sermons  were  printed, 
and  thus  became  widely  known,  he  largely  experienced  both. 
Some  critics  went  so  far  as  to  ascribe  to  him  no  better  motive  for 
overstepping  the  usual  lines  of  pulpit  discussion,  than  that  of  seek- 
ing the  notoriety  which  he  thus  met ;  a  charge,  to  be  sure,  which 
seemed  sufficiently  absurd  to  those  who  knew  the  man,  and  which 
his  friends  might  have  fully  answered  by  stating  the  facts,  that  he 
had  declined  to  deliver  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration  before  Harvard 
University  from  aversion  to  appear  in  public,  that  he  habitually 
shunned  various  opportunities  for  displaying  his  talents,  and  held 
back  from  even  the  literary  enterprises  in  which  he  was  well  quali- 
fied to  excel,  because  he  feared  lest  he  might  thus  be  led  astray 
from  the  more  appropriate  duties  of  his  profession.  But  he  knew 
his  own  heart,  and  year  by  year  went  steadily  on  his  course  of  giv- 
ing with  perfect  frankness  such  warnings  and  rebukes  as  he  deemed 

timely. 

In  these  trials  he  had  in  private  the  faithful  counsel  of  his  brother 
Francis,  who  was  a  firm  and  earnest  advocate  of  the  same  political 
views,  and  in  public  he  received  the  support  of  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  his  fellow-citizens  ;  for  this  was  the  day  when 
Governor  Strong  communicated  the  stern  resolution  of  his  character 
to  the  councils  of  the  State,  when  George  Cabot  with  his  pen  and 
tongue  cast  over  perplexed  subjects  the  clear  light  of  his  sagacious 
judgment,  when  Fisher  Ames  held  private  circles  and  public  as- 
senTblies  spellbound  by  the  charm  of  his  rich  eloquence,  and  when 
Boston  and  Massachusetts  generally  were  strongly  enlisted  on  the 
Federal  side.  His  decided  action  had  the  effect  of  adding  to  his 
celebrity  and  influence  ;  and  he  took  at  this  time  in  public  respect 
the  position  which  he  held  through  the  rest  of  life.  Thenceforward 
he  was  known  as  a  man  of  unfaltering  principle,  at  once  temperate 
and  bold,  slow  to  form  opinions,  but  fearless  to  maintain  them, 
thoroughly  to  be  depended  upon  in  the  most  trying  scenes,  ready 
to  follow  through  good  or  ill  report  his  convictions  of  right,  and 

who  always 

"  walked  attended 
By  a  strong-siding  champion,  Conscience." 

Thus  passed  the  first  ten  years  and  more  of  Mr.  Channing's  minis- 
terial life.     Thev  were  uneventful,  but  inwardly  rich  in  results  ;  and 


136  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [^t.  23-34. 

many  good  seeds  then  planted  themselves,  which  were  afterwards 
to  bear  abundant  fruits.  Inherited  errors,  too,  not  a  few,  in 
thought  and  practice,  had  been  slowl}-  outgrown,  — so  slowl^',  that 
he  was  perhaps  unconscious  of  the  change  which  had  been  wrought 
in  his  principles.  Above  all,  he  had  learned  the  lesson  of  keeping 
true  to  his  purest,  highest  self,  or,  to  express  the  same  fact  more 
humbly  and  justly,  of  being  obedient  to  the  Divine  will,  however 
revealed  to  his  inmost  reason.  Goodness  had  firmly  enthroned 
itself  as  the  reigning  power  in  his  nature.  He  lived  the  life  com- 
municated from  above.  He  was  becoming  3'earl3'  and  daily  more 
and  more  a  child  of  God. 

From  his  very  entrance  on  a  public  career,  he  produced  upon  all 
who  came  into  his  presence  the  impression  of  matured  virtue  and 
wisdom,  and  inspired  reverence  though  young.  He  wore  an  air  of 
dignity  and  self-command,  of  pure  elevation  of  purpose,  and  of  calm 
enthusiasm,  that  disarmed  familiarity.  Careful  of  the  rights  of 
others,  courteous  and  gentle,  he  allowed  no  intrusions  upon  him- 
self. He  was  deaf  to  flattery,  turned  at  once  from  any  mention 
of  his  own  services  or  position,  paid  no  compliments,  and  would 
receive  none  ;  but,  b}'  constant  reference  to  high  standards  of  riglit, 
transferred  the  thoughts  of  those  with  whom  he  held  intercourse 
from  personal  vanit}-  to  intrinsic  excellence,  and  from  individual 
claims  to  universal  principles.  He  gave  no  time  to  what  was  unim- 
portant, made  demands  upon  the  intellect  and  conscience  of  those 
he  talked  with,  and  inspired  them  with  a  sense  of  the  substantial 
realities  of  existence.  In  his  treatment  of  others  there  was  no  pre- 
sumption nor  partialit}'.  He  was  deferential  to  old  and  young : 
listened  without  interruption,  and  with  patience,  even  to  the  dull 
and  rude  ;  spoke  ill  of  none,  and  would  hear  no  ill-si)eaking  ;  tol- 
erated no  levity,  l)ut  at  once  overawed  and  silenced  it  by  wise  and 
generous  suggestions  ;  was  never  hasty,  rash,  nor  impetuous  in 
word  or  act,  and  met  these  weaknesses  in  others  with  an  undis- 
turbed firmness  that  disarmed  passion  while  rebuking  it.  Above 
all,  he  recognized  in  his  fellows  no  distinctions  but  those  of  char- 
acter and  intelligence,  and,  quietly  disregarding  cai)ricious  esti- 
mates and  rules  of  mere  etiquette,  met  rich  and  poor,  learned  and 
ignorant,  upon  the  broad  ground  of  mutual  honor  and  kindness. 
Thus  his  uifluence  was  always  sacred  and  sanctifying  ;  and  no  bet- 
ter impression  can  be  given  of  him,  as  he  then  appeared,  than  is 
presented  in  his  description  of  the  Good  Minister,  in  the  sermon  — 
quite  famous  at  the  time  —  which  he  preached  at  the  ordination  of 
tlie  Rev.  John  Codman  in  1808.  Henry  Ware,  the  younger,  once 
said  truly,  that  Mr.  Channing  had  there  sketched  his  own  portrait. 


1803-1814.]  THE   GOOD  MINISTER.  137 

The  passage  is  as  follows,  and  with  it  this  chapter  may  most  suit- 
ably' be  closed. 

"On  this  occasion,  I  have  thought  that  it  would  be  useful  to 
dwell  on  the  importance  of  a  zealous  and  affectionate  performance 
of  ministeiial  duties.  On  this  subject  I  could  wish  to  hear  ratlier 
than  to  speak.  I  feel  that  the  place  which  belongs  to  me  is  not 
that  of  a  confident  teacher,  but  of  an  humble,  self-accusing  learner. 
When  I  look  round  on  m}'  fathers  and  brethren  in  the  ministry, 
whose  years  and  experience  and  improvements  in  piety  peculiarly 
fit  them  for  this  theme,  I  feel  no  faint  desire  to  resign  to  them  the 
office  I  am  expected  to  perform.  But  my  feelings  and  wishes  have 
been  overruled ;  and  now  that  I  must  speak,  I  wish  to  suggest 
something  which  will  tend  to  quicken  my  own  heart,  which  will 
stir  up  the  minds  of  ni}'  brethren,  and  which  will  impress  this 
numerous  assembl}-  with  the  duties  and  objects,  the  tremendous 
responsibility,  and  the  infinitely  solemn  consequences  of  the  sacred 
ministry 

"  To  be  instant  in  season  and  out  of  season  is  to  be  carried  by 
affection  to  habitual,  continued  efforts  for  human  salvation.  It  is 
not  to  make  a  few  convulsive  efforts  when  our  feelings  are  acciden- 
tall}'  warmed,  and  then  to  settle  down  into  supineness  and  sloth. 
It  is  not  to  confine  ourselves  to  a  cold,  mechanical  round  of  what 
we  call  our  duties,  and  to  feel  that  we  have  done  enough  when  we 
have  done  what  is  claimed  and  expected.  It  is  to  glow  with  a  de- 
sire of  success,  to  stand  watching  opportunities  of  doing  good  to 
the  souls  of  men.  It  is  to  think  that  we  have  done  nothing,  whilst 
multitudes  within  our  reach  are  peiishing  in  their  sins.  It  is  to 
think  no  labor  difficult,  no  sacrifice  great,  b}-  which  men  ma}'  be 
saved.  It  is  to  explore  new  means  of  usefulness  ;  to  inquire  what 
peculiar  forms  of  Christian  exertion  our  peculiar  conditions  and  re- 
lations may  admit ;  and  then  to  follow  with  resolute  purpose  and 
strenuous  effort  the  plans  which  approve  themselves  to  our  serious 
judgment.  Perhaps  there  is  no  profession,  no  occupation,  which 
encourages  so  much  musing  as  the  profession  of  a  minister.  It  is 
ver}-  easy  and  very  pleasing  to  mark  out  paths  of  usefulness,  to  set 
at  work  in  our  imaginations  a  variety'  of  means  from  which  the  hap- 
piest effects  are  to  flow.  But  to  do  as  well  as  to  toill,  this  is  the 
toil.  To  be  instant  in  season  and  out  of  season  implies  that  we 
carr^'  deliberation  into  practice  ;  that  we  convert  possiV)le  into  real 
good  ;  that  no  discouragements  have  power  to  shake  those  purposes 
which  we  deliberately  approve  ;  that  we  wait  not  to  consult  ease  or 
opinion,  when  we  have  already  consulted  God  and  our  own  con- 


138  EARLY  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

sciences ;  that  we  press  forward  in  the  path  of  duty,  undisraa^'ed 
b}'  the  opposition,  unabashed  b}'  the  ridicule,  of  tlie  world. 

"  Tliis  zeal  and  earnestness  ought  to  pervade  our  whole  minis- 
terial duties.  We  should  carr}-  it  into  our  private  studies  and 
devotions.  A  minister  can  impart  to  his  people  onl}'  what  he  has 
himself  received.  His  own  understanding  must  be  first  enlight- 
ened, his  own  heart  first  kindled,  before  he  can  communicate  a 
rational  and  fervent  piety.  Hence  a  minister  should  apply  with 
zeal  to  the  various  means  of  personal  improvement.  He  should 
never  be  contented  with  his  present  attainments,  never  imagine  that 
he  has  learned  all  which  God  has  revealed,  never  sa^'  that  he  has 
formed  his  S3'stem,  and  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  preach  it.  Di\ine 
truth  is  infinite  and  can  never  be  exhausted.  The  wisest  of  us  are 
but  children  ;  our  views  are  ver}-  dim  and  narrow  ;  and  even  where 
we  discern  the  truth,  how  faint  is  its  practical  impression  !   .   .   .   . 

"  But  a  minister  must  not  onl}'  be  earnest  in  his  private  studies  ; 
he  must  be  urgent  and  alive  in  his  public  duties.  P^rom  his  retire- 
ment he  should  bring  into  the  sanctuar}'  a  heart  glowing  with 
Christian  afl'ections.  His  prayers  should  discover  a  mind  familiar 
with  God,  accustomed  to  the  mercy-seat,  elevated  b}'  habitual 
devotion,  and  breathing  without  effort  the  pure  and  humble  desires 
of  a  Christian.  In  preaching,  his  heart  should  disclose  itself  in  his 
sentiments,  manner,  and  style.  Whilst  unfolding  the  Divine  perfec- 
tions, he  should  let  men  see  that  the}'  are  perfections  he  himself 
loves  and  adores.  In  enjoining  a  Christian  temper,  he  should  urge 
it  as  one  who  has  felt  its  beauty  and  power.  When  describing  the 
promises  of  the  gospel,  he  should  speak  with  the  animation  of  a 
holy  hope.  AYhilst  directing  men  to  the  cross,  he  should  speak 
as  one  who  has  prostrated  himself  at  its  foot.  This  is  pulpit  elo- 
quence. He  should  let  men  see  that  he  has  come,  not  to  dazzle 
them  with  the  studied  ornaments  of  rhetoric,  not  to  pla}'  before 
them  the  tricks  of  an  orator,  but  to  fix  their  solicitous  attention  on 
the  concerns  of  eternit}',  to  persuade  them  to  be  reconciled  to  (iod, 
and  to  incite  them  to  universal  obedience.  Let  me  here  mention, 
that  it  is  highly  important  that  his  7nanner  be  earnest.  B3'  this  I 
do  not  mean  a  nois_y,  tumultuous  manner.  I  do  not  mean  that  a 
minister  must  have  lungs  of  iron  and  a  voice  of  thunder.  Noise 
and  earnestness  are  very  dilferent  tilings.  I  only  mean  that  the 
minister  should  deliver  his  message  as  if  he  felt  its  inlinite  weight, 
as  if  his  whole  soul  were  interested  in  its  success ;  and  this  he  may 
do  without  being  a  brawler.  In  the  still,  small  voice  we  may  dis- 
cern tlie  language  of  the  heart.  I  repeat  it,  this  expression  of  the 
heart  is  the  perfection  of  ministerial  eloquence.     Rules  are  very 


1803-1814.]  THE  GOOD  MINISTER.  139 

useful  to  teach  us  what  to  avoid.  But  when  rules  have  done  all 
that  tlic3'  can  for  us,  they  will  leave  us  chilUng  preachers,  unless  we 
superadd  that  tenderness  and  earnestness  which  an  engaged  heart 
can  alone  breathe  through  our  delivery.  Ma}-  I  be  permitted  to 
mention  the  want  of  this  earnestness  as  a  prevalent  defect  at  the 
present  da}'?  My  brethren,  should  not  our  sleeping  hearers,  and 
the  faint  efl'ects  of  our  ministry,  lead  us  to  inquire  whether  we 
present  religious  truth  in  the  most  impressive  form?  Is  it  asked, 
how  this  coldness  of  manner  is  to  be  remedied  ?  Let  us  not,  for 
this  end,  mimic  feelings  we  do  not  possess.  Let  us,  before  we 
preach,  possess  our  souls  with  the  importance  of  the  truth  we  are 
to  deliver.  Let  us  make  our  discourses  truly  our  own,  by  catching 
first  ourselves  the  impressions  we  wish  to  make  on  others.  Whilst 
preaching,  let  the  presence  of  the  Divine  Majesty  frequently  recur 
to  us,  that  it  may  extinguish  our  fear  of  man,  and  excite  an  ani- 
mating confidence  in  the  blessing  of  God.  Were  these  our  habits, 
should  we  not  be  more  interesting  preachers? 

"But,  further,  the  zeal  of  the  minister  of  Christ  should  extend 
beyond  the  sanctuary.  He  should  carry  into  his  common  walks 
and  conversations  a  mind  bent  on  his  great  end,  and  ever  ready  to 
seize  an  oi)portunity  of  impressing  men  with  religion.  He  should 
particularly  labor  in  his  own  life,  in  his  own  familiar  intercourse,  to 
exhibit  a  uniform  and  interesting  example  of  the  truth  he  preaches. 
He  should  not  only  be  solicitous  to  preach,  but  still  more  to  live, 
Christianity.  That  minister  is  not  instant  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  who  has  learned  to  excite  in  hunself  some  momentary  feel- 
ings,  and  to  employ  words  and  tears  of  entreaty,  whilst  in  the 
pulpit ;  but  who  comes  into  the  world  ready  to  sympathize  with 
its  evil  feelings,  and  to  comply  like  a  slave  with  its  tyrannical 
requisitions. 

"  Such  is  Christian  zeal.  I  need  not  mention  that  this  zeal  can- 
not be  maintained  without  great  attention  to  the  government  of  our 
desires  and  passions.  The  mind  and  heart  can  never  act  vigorously 
on  religion  whilst  fettered  and  benumbed  by  any  sensual  lust,  by 
avarice  or  ambition.  Would  we  attain  the  bold  and  persevering 
zeal  enjoined  by  the  ai)ostle  ?  We  must  keep  under  the  body  ;  we 
must  partake  with  rigid  temi)erance  of  animal  pleasure  ;  we  must 
look  with  holy  indifTerence  on  worldly  wealth  and  honor;  and  thus 
preserve  unwasted  the  energy  of  our  souls,  that  we  may  consecrate 
it  to  the  work  which  we  have  voluntarily  assumed. 

"  This  genuine  Christian  earnestness  is  too  rarely  seen.  Minis- 
ters and  private  Christians  are,  indeed,  very  often  in  earnest ;  but 
their  zeal  is  not  seldom  an  unhallowed  fire,  kindled  at  any  altar 


140  EARLY  MINISTRY,  [iEi.  23-34. 

rather  than  that  of  God.  There  are  some  whose  zeal  is  madness, 
who  place  religion  in  the  fervors  and  ecstasies  of  a  disordered 
mind,  and  who  shatter  their  own  and  others'  understandings  in  a 
whirlwind  of  sound.  There  are  some  whose  zeal  is  paitial ;  they 
spend  it  all  on  forms  and  opinions,  which,  though  not  unimportant, 
are  not  the  essentials  of  Christianit}'.  Tliey  compass  sea  and  land, 
not  to  make  followers  of  Christ,  but  converts  to  their  sect.  Thej^ 
overlook  the  heart,  that  the}'  may  rectify  the  head  ;  and  make  Chris- 
tianity, not  a  vital,  inward,  efficient  principle,  expressed  in  increasing 
conformity  to  Jesus  Christ,  but  a  dr}',  cold,  barren  system  of  modes 
and  speculations.  There  are  some  who  are  earnest  enough,  but 
their  earnestness  is  passionate  and  irritable.  The}'  cannot  bear 
contradiction.  They  do  not  address  serious  argument  to  the  erro- 
neous, and  affectionate  persuasion  to  the  sinful ;  but  express  then* 
zeal  in  clamor,  abuse,  hard  names,  and  all  the  varieties  of  perse- 
cution which  their  situation  places  within  their  reach.  There  is 
also  a  zeal  which  is  the  base-born  progeny  of  pride  and  ambition. 
It  is  ever  busy  and  active,  for  it  loves  to  be  seen  and  heard,  and  to 
\/  acquire  influence  in  the  church.  It  is  greedy'  of  services  which 
draw  attention,  and  seeks  to  heighten  itself  by  casting  severe  reflec- 
tions on  the  lukewarmness  of  others.  Remote  from  all  these  is 
true  Christian  zeal.  True  zeal  is  enlightened  and  judicious,  meek 
and  gentle  ;  sensible  of  its  own  infirmities,  and  therefore  ready  to 
bear  long  with  others ;  not  devoted  to  a  part}',  but  to  the  wide 
interests  of  Christian  piety ;  not  anxious  for  elevation,  but  willing 
to  be  eclipsed  and  thrown  far  behind  by  the  more  si)lendid  and 
useful  exertions  of  others  for  the  common  cause  of  Christianity. 
So  single,  disinterested,  and  fervent  is  the  zeal  which  the  gospel 
requires  of  its  ministers." 


Chapter  II.  —  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH. 

^T.  23-34.     1803-1814. 

We  have  followed  Mr.  Channing  through  the  first  ten  years  of  his 
ministr}',  and  have  seen  how  the  livmg  temple  was  built  up  within 
him,  —  from  the  holy  of  holies,  where  Divine  Love  shone  on  the 
tabernacle  of  conscience,  to  the  outer  courts  in  which  even  worldl}' 
interests  were  taught  to  l)ow  before  the  presence  of  the  All  Good. 
lie  had  entered  upon  the  pastoral  office  with  many  doubts  and  fears, 
humbled  by  conscious  unvvorthiness,  subdued  beneath  a  sense  of  the 


1803-1814.]  MORAL  AND  MENTAL  UNITY.  141 

stern  realities  of  eartlily  discipline,  and  intent  with  all  his  moral 
energ}'  to  lead  the  heavenl}-  life.  His  enthusiasm  had  been  concen- 
trated in  a  solemn  purpose  of  perfect  fidelit}',  and  the  force  of  his 
intellect  absorbed  in  solving  the  problems  of  man's  degeneracj',  and 
his  restoration  to  dignit}'  and  freedom.  The  feeling  that  he  had 
assumed  the  most  responsible  of  human  functions,  in  the  perform- 
ance of  whose  duties  he  could  not  but  affect  a  large  number  of 
fellow-beings  by  the  contagion  of  his  inward  maladies,  or  the  re- 
freshment of  his  health,  had  made  him  severely  scrupulous.  And 
through  every  act,  in  all  relations,  he  had  offered  the  petition,  — 

"Lord!  place  me  in  tliy  concert,  give  one  strain 
To  my  poor  reeJ." 

His  earliest  preaching  was  pathetic,  perhaps  even  sad,  in  tone.  It 
was  full  of  aspirations  after  the  peace  of  a  will  made  one  with  the 
will  of  God,  and  of  strict  demands  for  the  purest  self-denial.  But 
gradually,  as  he  was  prepared,  the  beaut}'  and  blessedness  of  Di- 
vine communion  streamed  in  upon  his  wakeful  heart,  like  the  glow 
of  dawn  through  eastern  windows. 

This  spiritual  development  we  have  now  to  trace,  and  extracts 
from  his  sermons  will  afford  us  the  surest  guidance.  His  discourses, 
indeed,  were  his  best  diar^'.  Their  topics  and  the  treatment  of 
them  were  transcribed  from  the  records  in  his  heart ;  and  his  re- 
proofs and  appeals  to  his  people  were  but  the  outward  symbol  of 
his  own  private  struggles.  In  making  these  extracts,  the  rule  has 
been  kept  of  selecting  such  passages  as  were  apparently  of  most 
interest  to  him  at  the  time  when  they  were  written,  and  which  are 
proved  to  have  been  the  native  growth  of  his  mind  b^^  contain- 
ing the  views  most  fully  and  frequently  unfolded  by  him  in  later 
j'ears. 

The  attentive  reader  can  hardl}'  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the 
manifestation  of  moral  and  mental  unity  given  in  these  papers. 
Through  modes  of  thought  and  expression  merely  adventitious, 
a  few  grand  ideas  are  put  forth,  at  first  feeble,  but  slowly  expand- 
ing until  the}^  absorb  into  their  strong  trunks  and  wide-spread 
boughs  the  whole  vigor  of  his  life.  In  sentiment  and  style  these 
sermons  are  original,  in  the  sense  that  they  were  not  derived  from 
the  atmosphere  of  the  suiTounding  community,  or  from  the  leading 
minds  with  which  Mr.  Channing  held  intercourse.  Indeed,  there 
was  little  resembling  them  in  the  preaching  at  that  time  prevalent 
in  Boston  or  New  England.  But  while  original,  he  was  far  from 
being  eccentric.  He  felt  no  desire  to  push  his  views  to  their 
extremes,  no  passion  for  system-making  prompted  him,  no  un- 
qualified statements  were  hazarded,   no  extravagant  zeal  led  to 


142  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  23-34. 

reckless  positiveness,  and  imagination  throw  around  his  patli  no 
dehisive  glare  ;  but  good  sense  and  modest}^  made  him  always 
moderate  and  mindful  of  due  limits.  Again,  while  true  to  him- 
self, he  was  not  isolated  in  his  intellectual  aims.  On  the  con- 
trarj^  his  mind  was  open  to  the  full  influences  of  the  age,  and 
his  heart  beat  responsively  to  the  great  impulses  and  longings 
with  which  humanit}'  throughout  Christendom  was  then  instinct. 
The  chief  value,  indeed,  of  these  writings  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact, 
that  the}-  are  the  answers  of  a  sincere  seeker  to  the  questions  which 
all  the  leading  minds  of  the  time  were  discussing  throughout  Europe. 
They  are  the  observations  of  a  patient  student  of  tlie  skies  on 
this  side  of  tlie  ocean,  and  so  ma}-  serve  to  determine  by  parallax 
the  orbit  of  tlie  truths  whose  light  was  then  just  discerned  in  the 
firmament. 

In  the  ver}-  first  sermon  which  Mr.  Channing  wrote,  he  showed 
the  singular  consistency  of  his  inward  nature  b}-  thus  expressing  the 
essential  principle  of  all  his  after  thoughts  and  teachings  :  ' '  The  end 
of  life,  God's  one  grand  purpose,  is,  to  prepare  mankind  for  the 
holiness  and  blessedness  of  heaven  b}-  forming  them  to  moral  ex- 
cellence on  earth.  Redemption  is  the  recovery  of  man  from  sin,  as 
the  preparation  for  glory.  And  all  Cln-istian  moi'als  ma}-  be  reduced 
to  the  one  principle,  and  declared  in  one  word,  Love.  God  is  love  ; 
Christ  is  love  ;  the  gospel  is  an  exhibition  of  love  ;  its  aim  is  to 
transform  our  whole  spirits  into  love.  The  perfection  of  the  Divine 
system  is  revealed  in  the  mutual  dependencies  which  unite  all  crea- 
tures. All  lean  upon  one  another,  and  give  wliile  they  receive  sup- 
port. No  man  is  unnecessary ;  no  man  stands  alone.  God  has 
brought  us  thus  near  to  each  other,  that  his  goodness  may  be 
reflected  from  heart  to  heart.  Holiness  is  light.  We  glorify  God 
when  by  imitation  we  display  his  character.  The  good  man  mani- 
fests the  beauty  of  God."  Thus  he  struck  the  key-note  of  tlie  s}'m- 
pliouy,  in  the  evolving  of  whose  melodious  strains  his  whole  life  was 
to  be  passed. 

The  order  adopted  in  arranging  the  following  extracts  is  the  one 
chosen  l)y  himself  for  the  work  which  he  was  engaged  in  writing  at 
the  time  of  his  death,  and  of  which  a  full  notice  will  be  hereafter 
given.  As  it  was  his  purpose,  in  that  book,  to  sum  up  the  results 
of  his  inquiries,  and  to  justify  his  leading  views,  its  general  divisions 
will  safely  direct  us  in  attempting  to  trace  his  upward  path. 


1803-1814.] 


GOD   OUR  FATHER.  143 


SECTION  FIRST. 
religion. 
1805.  Love  the  principle  of  harmony  in  the  universe. 
"  The  Christian  possesses  a  great  advantage  in  the  contemplation 
of  nature.  He  beholds  unity  in  the  midst  of  variety.  He  looks 
round  on  the  changing  scenery,  and  in  every  leaf  of  the  forest, 
every  blade  of  grass,  every  hill,  every  valley,  and  every  cloud  of 
heaven,  he  discovers  the  traces  of  Divine  benevolence.  Creation 
is  but  a  field  spread  before  him  for  an  infinitely  varied  display  of 
love.  This  is  the  harmonizing  principle  which  reduces  to  unity  and 
simplicity  the  vast  diversity  of  nature,  —  this  is  the  perfection  of 
the  universe.  It  clothes  in  moral  glory  every  object  we  contem- 
plate. The  Christian  truly  may  be  said  to  hear  the  music  of  the 
spheres.  He  hears  suns  and  planets  joining  their  melody  in  praise 
to  their  benignant  Creator.  His  ear,  and  his  alone,  is  tuned  to  this 
heavenly  harmony.     His  soul  is  love." 

1811.  God  olti  Father.  "When  we  conceive  of  God  as  a 
pure  Spirit,  and  dwell  on  his  incommunicable  perfections,  of  which 
.we  see  no  image  or  resemblance  in  any  beings  around  us,  he  eludes 
the  feeble  vision  of  our  minds.  It  is  then  almost  impossible  that 
the  affections  can  be  excited  and  centred  upon  him.  Such  views 
of  God  furnish  us  no  object  on  which  we  can  rest,  as  on  a  reality. 
Now  the  Scriptures  invest  this  pure  and  infinite  Spirit  with  a  char- 
acter, relations,  and  qualities  which  we  can  comprehend,  —  such  as 
are  continually  displayed  around  us,  such  as  constantly  address 
and  touch  our  hearts,  such  as  we  can  revolve  in  thought  and  med- 
itate upon  with  ease  and  delight,  such  as  are  attractive  and  promise 
happiness  ;  and  thus  they  furnish  us  the  best  and  most  effectual 
means  for  exciting  and  cherishing  the  love  of  God.  Of  all  the 
interesting  characters  and  relations  in  which  the  Scriptures,  espe- 
cially the  books  of  the  New  Testament,  exhibit  the  Supreme  Being, 
that  of:  Father  is  the  most  common,  prominent,  striking 

"  No  character  could  bring  God  so  nigh  as  this  of  the  Father. 
There  is  no  relation  which  we  know  so  familiarly  as  the  parental. 
What  name  recalls  so  many  thoughts  and  feehngs,  so  many  favors 
and  tender  remembrances,  as  that  of  parent?  The  Scriptures, 
then,  in  giving  this  view  of  God,  place  him  before  us  in  a  clear, 
intelligible  light.  We  are  not  called  to  dwell  on  perfections  which 
are  utterly  incomprehensible,  the  names  of  which  are  sounds  m  the 
ear,  but  excite  no  ideas  in  the  mind,  and  which  have  no  tendency 
to  interest  the  heart.     God  is  our  Father 


144  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

"  I  fear  it  has  been  the  influence  of  many  speculations  of  ino-e- 
nious  men  on  the  Divine  character  to  divest  God  of  tliat  paternal 
tenderness  which  is  of  all  views  most  suited  to  touch  the  heart. 
I  fear  we  have  learnt  insensibly'  to  view  him  as  possessing  only 
a  general  benevolence,  which  he  extends  over  his  wide  creation,  — 
a  benevolence  neither  very  strong  nor  ardent,  not  descending  to 
individuals,  and  not  essential  to  the  felicity  of  the  Divine  nature. 
Now  this  distant  and  almost  indifferent  benevolence  will  hardly 
seize  on  our  affections.  It  may  please  us  in  moments  of  calm 
speculation.  It  will  not  inspire  a  love  strong  enough  to  curb  our 
passions,  to  compose  our  sorrows,  to  influence  our  lives.  For 
these  ends,  we  need  to  have  other  views  frequentlj'  suggested  to 
us,  —  those  views  of  God's  affection  for  us  and  for  his  wide  familj', 
which  his  parental  relation  to  us  suggests,  and  which  the  kindness 
of  his  providence  compels  us  to  receive. 

"  Let  me  now  ask,  wh}'  these  views  of  God  may  not  be  cherished, 
and  why  we  ma^-  not  suppose  that  God  has  properly  the  feelings 
of  a  father  towards  us.  It  is  objected,  that  the  supposition  implies 
that  God  is  not  infinitely  happ}-^  in  himself,  but  derives  happiness 
from  his  creatures  ;  and  this  derivation,  we  are  told,  is  dishonorable 
to  God.  But  I  do  not  perceive  that  we  dishonor  God  bj-  believing 
that  his  creation  is  a  real  source  of  felicity  to  him,  that  he  finds  a 
real  happiness  in  doing  good,  and  in  viewing  with  complacency 
obedient,  virtuous,  and  hai)py  children.  To  me  there  is  no  view 
of  God  more  honorable  than  this.  Is  it  not  the  character  of  a 
perfect  man,  that  the  happiness  of  others  is  his  own,  that  he  knows 
no  higher  joy  than  to  confer  and  to  witness  felicity,  that  his  heart 
responds  to  the  feelings  of  those  around  him  ?  And  if  this  is  per- 
fection in  man,  can  it  be  an  imperfection  in  God?  Do  we,  indeed, 
exalt  God,  when  we  represent  him  as  unaffected  b^'  the  state  of  his 
creatures?  Next  to  ascribing  malignity  to  him,  what  can  we  say 
worse  of  him  than  this,  —  that  he  looks  on  the  joj's  and  sorrows  of 
his  own  creatures  without  joy  and  without  pity  ?  .  .  .  . 

' '  We  cannot  see  much  to  envy  in  the  felicity  of  a  being  who  has 
no  feeling  of  interest  and  love  extending  beyond  himself.  Deprive 
God  of  the  happiness  of  love,  and  we  deprive  him  of  that  enjoy- 
ment which  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  the  purest  and  most 
inexhaustible  in  the  universe." 

1811.  The  mercy  and  justice  of  God.  "  Mere}' is  an  essen- 
tial attribute  of  God,  not  an  affection  produced  in  him  by  a  foreign 
cause.  His  blessings  are  free,  and  bestowed  from  a  real  interest 
in   his   creatures,  —  not   purchased   from    him,   and   bestowed   by 


1803-1814.1 


REGENERATION.  145 


another  on  those  whose  welfare  he  disregards.  He  really  loves  man- 
kind ;  and  this  is  the  great  motive,  first  cause,  and  highest  spring 
of  their  redemption.  Thus  I  have  endeavored  to  place  before  you 
Divine  goodness  in  the  glory  in  which  it  shines  in  Scripture. 

"But  I  must  not  stop  here.  This  doctrine,  whilst  obscured  by 
some,  is  carried  to  excess  by  others.  There  are  those  who,  when 
they  hear  of  the  essential  and  infinite  mercy  of  God  towards  even 
the  sinful,  imagine  that  God  has  no  aversion  towards  sin,  and  can- 
not punish.  Unhappily  the  minds  of  men  are  prone  to  run  to 
extremes.  They  cannot  be  driven  from  one  sentiment  without 
vibrating  to  its  opposite 

"To  guard  against  such  a  perversion  of  the  doctrine  I  have 
enforcedtlet  me  repeat,  that  his  mercy  is  not  an  undistinguishing 
ibndness  ;  that  whilst  he  compassionates  the  oflTendmg,  and  has 
appointed  methods  for  their  reformation  and  forgiveness,  he  is  un- 
changeably the  enemy  of  sin  ;  that  his  very  character,  as  the  universal 
Father,  requires  him  to  punish  and  humble  the  disobedient,  selfish, 
unjust,  proud,  and  impure,  to  redress  every  principle  and  practice 
opposed  to  the  order  and  happiness  and  perfection  of  his  creatures." 

1811.  Eegeneration.  "A  religious  character  is  an  acquisi- 
tion, and  implies  a  change;  a  change  which  requires  labor  and 
prayer,  which  requires  aid  and  strength  from  heaven;  a  change 
so  great  and  important,  that  it  deserves  to  be  called  a  new  birth. 
The  Christian  is  a  new  man.  Once  the  dictates  of  conscience 
might  have  been  heard;  now  they  are  obeyed.  Once  an  occa- 
sional gratitude  might  have  shed  a  transient  glow  through  his 
heart;  now  the  Divine  goodness  is  a  cherished  thought,  and  he 
labors  to  requite  it  by  an  obedient  life.  Once  his  passions  were 
his  lords  ;  now  he  bows  to  the  authority,  and  waits  to  hear  the 
will,  of  God.  Once  human  opinion  was  his  guide,  and  human 
favor  the  reward  he  proposed;  now  he  feels  that  another  eye  is 
upon  him,  that  his  heart  and  life  are  naked  before  God,  and  to 
approve  himself  to  this  righteous  and  unerring  witness  and  judge 
is  liis  highest  ambition.  Once  he  was  ready  to  repine  and  despond 
when  his  wishes  and  labors  were  crossed  ;  now  he  sees  a  providence 
in  life's  vicissitudes,  the  discipline  of  a  father  in  his  sufferings,  and 
bears  his  burdens,  and  performs  his  duties,  with  cheerful  resigna- 
tion to  Him  who  assigns  them.  Once  he  was  sufficiently  satisfied 
witli  himself,  or  unwilling  to  feel  his  deficiencies  ;  now  he  is  humble, 
conscious  of  having  sinned,  desirous  to  discover  his  errors,  contrite 
in  his  acknowledgments,  earnest  in  his  application  to  Divine  mercy, 
and  resolute  in  his  opposition  to  temptation.     Once  the  thought  of 

10 


14G  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [Mr.  23-34. 

a  Saviour  siiflbring  for  human  pardon,  and  rising  from  the  dead  to 
confer  immortahty,  excited  little  interest ;  now  the  promises,  love, 
cross,  and  resurrection  of  Jesus  come  home  to  him  with  power,  and 
awaken  gratitude  and  hope.  Once  he  lived  chiefl}'  for  himself; 
now  he  has  learnt  to  love  his  fellow-beings  with  a  sincere  and  an 
efficient  kindness,  to  lose  sight  of  himself  in  the  prosecution  of 
benevolent  designs,  to  feel  for  the  miser}-,  for  the  sins,  of  those 
around  him,  and  to  endure  labors  and  sacrifices,  that  he  ma}-  give 
relief  to  the  frail  bod}',  and  peace  and  health  to  the  immortal  mind. 
To  conclude,  —  once  he  was  alive  to  injury,  and  suflered  anger  and 
revenge  to  direct  his  treatment  of  an  enemy ;  now  his  indignation 
is  temi)ered  by  mercy,  and  he  is  ready  to  forgive 

"  Still,  to  be  Christians,  all  have  much  to  put  off,  to  sul)due,  to 
correct,  to  renounce  ;  and  all  have  much  to  put  on,  to  acquire,  to 
cherish.  So  that  the  Christian  character  may  still  be  called  a  second 
birth.  The  best  Christians  can  ordinarily  look  back  to  the  period, 
when  they  were  governed  by  inferior  and  unworthy  principles ; 
when  the  world  was  more  powerful  than  conscience  and  God,  or  at 
least  when  the  sense  of  duty  was  comparatively  faint  and  uninllu- 
ential.  By  the  precepts,  doctrines,  motives,  promises  of  Christian- 
ity, and  by  the  secret  influences  of  God's  Spirit  on  the  heart,  they 
have  been  raised  to  a  faith,  hope,  and  love  which  may  be  called  a 
new  life.     They  have  been  born  again 

"The  fact  is,  there  is  a  general  resemblance  between  birth  and 
the  production  of  the  Christian  character.  By  both,  a  being  is 
brought  into  a  new  state,  and  a  most  interesting  change  is  produced 
in  his  conduct.  Here,  indeed,  the  analogy  stops.  The  difference 
between  the  two  changes  which  are  here  compared  proves  that  the 
mode  and  cn-cumstanccs  of  their  production  must  be  very  ditlorent. 
Scripture  and  experience  lead  us  to  believe  that  the  change  which 
makes  a  man  a  Christian  is  gradual,  progressive.  The  Scriptures 
are  very  far  from  speaking  of  regeneration  and  conversion  in  the 
language  of  human  systems,  as  effects  which  take  place  in  a  moment. 
On  the  contrary,  regeneration  and  conversion  are  spoken  of  as  if 
they  were  taking  place  through  the  whole  of  life.  The  Christian  is 
continually  experiencing  the  change  which  is  expressed  by  these 
and  similar  terms." 

1810.  LovK  OF  r.oD.  "The  love  of  God  which  the  Scriptures 
call  us  to  cherish,  and  which  ^ve  are  formed  to  attain  and  enjoy,  is 
not  a  blind,  irrational  sentiment.  It  is  founded  on  the  clearest 
views  of  the  understanding,  on  the  abundant  evidence  we  possess, 
that  there  is  an  Infinite  Being,  in  whom  reside  wisdom,  and  power, 


1803-1814. 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD.  147 


ami  goodness,  without  beginning,  or  end,  or  any  limit ;  who  sustains 
to  us  the  near  and  tender  relation  of  Creator,  Father,  Benefactor, 
and  Lord  ;  whose  commands  are  equitable  and  kind ;  and  who  is 
willing  to  pardon  our  otfences  on  the  terms  of  repentance.  It 
is  the^oifering  of  the  heart  to  this  best  of  beings ;  it  venerates  his 
majesty,  esteems  and  adores  his  excellence,  is  grateful  for  his  good- 
ness, rejoices  in  his  felicity  and  in  the  felicity  of  his  creation,  im- 
plores his  forgiveness,  resigns  itself  to  his  providence,  and  desires 
to  do  his  will ;  and  is  this  an  affection  to  be  decried  and  renounced? 
In  the  love  of  God  are  united  the  most  delightful  affections  we 
exercise  towards  our  fellow-beings,  —  filial  love,  thankfulness  to 
benefactors,  reverence  for  the  great  and  good,  symi)athy  with  the 
happy,  and  universal  good-will.  These  pure  affections  all  meet  in 
the  love  of  God  ;  and  are  refined,  exalted,  and  rendered  sources  of 
inconceivably  high  delight,  in  consequence  of  the  infinite  amiable- 
ness  and  superiorit}-  of  the  Being  whom  we  love. 

"  Do  not  confound  this  love  with  the  ravings  of  enthusiasm.  It 
is  a  calm,  mild,  reverential  sentiment,  improving  the  understanding, 
subduing  the  passions,  giving  serenity  to  affliction,  and  uniformity 
to  the  whole  character  and  life.  Do  not  conlbund  it  with  a  morose, 
churlish,  and  censorious  bigotry.  It  is  a  happy,  cheerful  principle  ; 
accepting  blessings  with  a  gratitude  which  improves  them,  delighting 
in  all  God's  works,  and  seeing  him  in  all,  rejoicing  in  his  provi- 
dence, and  hoping  innnortality  from  his  mercy,  regarding  all  men 
as  his  children,  and  discerning  with  pleasure  all  the  excellences 
with  which  he  has  endowed  them.  Can  that  heart  be  gloomy, 
which  adores  and  loves  the  infinitely  wise  and  merciful  God,  and 
views  him  as  a  father,  —  which  associates  him  with  all  its  joys  and 
pains,  with  all  the  works  of  nature,  and  all  the  changes  of  life,  — 
which  feels  him  near  in  danger  and  in  death,  and  which  hopes  from 
his  mercy  a  blessed  immortality?  No  !  It  is  not  the  love  of  God 
which  sheds  gloom  and  despair,  but  a  very  different  principle. 
True  love  of  God  illuminates  the  darkness  of  the  present  life,  and 
is  a  foretaste  of  the  felicity  of  heaven." 

1808.  The  uappiness  of  beinCx  loved  by  God.  "  In  consider- 
ing the  great  hai)piness  of  possessing  the  Divine  favor,  I  first  obsei-ve 
that  they  who  love  God  must  derive  an  inexpressible  joy  from  the 
mere  consciousness  that  they  are  behned  by  such  a  Being,  without 
regard  to  the  benefits  which  flow  from  this  lavor. 

''  The  Christian  views  God  as  the  best,  the  most  lovely,  the  most 
venerable  of  all  beings.  He  sees,  that  to  this  glorious  Being  he  and 
all  things  owe  their  existence  ;  that  the  universe  is  full  of  God  ;  and 


148  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  23-34. 

that  all  happiness,  from  the  rapture  of  archangels  down  to  the 
faintest  pleasures  of  animal  life,  is  his  unmerited  and  constant  gift. 
With  these  exalted,  delightful  views  of  God,  how  full  of  joy  is 
the  conviction  of  the  Christian,  that  this  God  looks  on  him  with 
complacency  and  approbation !  His  heart  is  softened  bj'  the 
condescension  of  the  infinite  Deity,  who  notices  with  pleasure 
his  feeble  attempts  to  serve  and  to  imitate  him.  He  would 
not  resign  the  honor  of  such  friendship  for  the  empire  of  the 
universe. 

"  My  friends,  did  3'our  hearts  never  beat  with  joy,  when  j-ou  have 
seen  the  eye  of  a  beloved  and  revered  friend  and  benefactor  fixed 
on  30U  with  tenderness  and  approbation  ;  and  can  you  be  wholly 
insensible  to  the  pleasure  of  him  who  feels  the  presence  of  God 
wherever  he  goes,  and  is  able  to  sa}',  '  The  infinite  Parent  of  the 
universe  is  m}'  approving  friend '  ?  Can  any  one  be  so  blind  as  not 
to  see  that  here  is  a  source  of  unfailing,  of  increasing  happiness  ? 
To  the  real  Christian,  the  Divine  character  continually  becomes 
more  and  more  amiable.  All  creation,  all  the  events  of  life,  tend 
to  endear  to  him  his  God.  But  the  more  he  loves  God,  the  more 
lie  must  delight  in  the  consciousness  of  his  favor.  The  more  his 
conceptions  of  the  Supreme  Being  are  enlarged,  the  more  his  heart 
must  thrill  at  the  thought,  that  this  Being  looks  on  him  with  the 
tenderness  of  friendship.  You  who  know  not  from  experience  the 
pure  and  joyful  sensations  which  are  here  described,  can  you  form 
no  conception  of  the  happiness  of  that  man  who  looks  round  with 
adoring  humility  on  the  immensity  of  creation,  on  the  endless  variet}' 
of  Divine  blessings,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  reverence  and  gratitude 
feels  that  the  universal  Parent,  though  encircled  in  his  majesty, 
thinks  of  him  continually,  despises  not  his  humble  offering,  is  well 
pleased  with  his  sacrifices  of  praise  and  love,  and  bears  towards 
him  an  increasing,  an  unbounded  affection?  .... 

"Is  there  one  who  is  wholly  insensible  to  the  blessedness  of  tliat 
man  who  has  liberty  of  access  to  God,  approaches  him  with  confi- 
dence, speaks  to  him  as  a  friend,  spreads  before  him  all  his  wants, 
believes  that  he  is  heard,  and  knows  that  he  shall  advance  continu- 
ally nearer  and  nearer  to  his  Father,  and  be  introduced  to  his  pres- 
ence in  a  purer  world  ?  These  are  the  indescribable  enjoyments  of 
the  man  who  is  reconciled  to  God.  The  Christian  who  views  God 
as  his  approving  friend  needs  no  compulsion  to  bring  him  into  the 
Divine  presence.  The  thought,  that  God  condescends  to  regard 
him  with  a  favorable  eye,  swells  his  heart  with  unutterable  grati- 
tude, and  gives  new  ardor  and  confidence  to  his  devotions.  He  no 
longer  worships  with  cold  formality  a  distant  Deity,  but  casts  him- 


1803-1814.]  GROWTH  IN  HOLINESS.  149 

self  into  the  arms  of  an  ever-present  Father.  He  no  longer  shrinks 
from  God  as  a  being  whom  he  has  offended.  He  may,  indeed, 
shed  tears,  but  they  are  filial  tears ;  he  may  blush,  but  it  is  from 
ingenuous  shame,  called  forth  by  unmerited  love  ;  he  feels  that  the 
Father  whom  he  has  offended  has  requited  his  guilt  with  infinite 
tenderness,  and  the  recollection  of  his  sins  only  gives  a  new  glow 
and  sensibility  to  the  exercise  of  his  devotion.  What  happy  com- 
munion necessarily  results  from  a  consciousness  of  the  favor  of  God  ! 
This  consciousness  disperses  all  those  fears  which  haunt  the  guilty 
mind.  The  thought  of  God,  which  once  was  painful,  once  filled  us 
with  apprehension  of  judgment,  now  becomes  our  highest  joy,  the 
centre  of  all  our  thoughts,  all  our  hopes,  all  our  affections.  We 
glow  with  new  sentiments,  new  anticipations.  We  feel  a  new 
dignity  in  our  nature,  when  we  conceive  of  ourselves  as  being  the 
friends  of  God." 

1805.  Gaovrrn  m  holiness.  "  True  religion  is  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  subservience  to  a  farther  end ;  but  is  the  end  of  ends 
itself.  It  is  the  health,  purity,  vigor,  rectitude,  of  the  soul ;  and 
can  too  much  of  these  be  possessed?  Is  there  an  attainable  de- 
gree of  them  which  we  should  not  desire  and  pursue  ?  Can  God, 
the  infinite  fountain  of  good, — whose  glory  creation  reflects,  and 
before  whom  creation  is  as  nothing,  — can  he  be  too  much  loved, 
revered,  or  praised?  Can  we  ever  render  him  all  the  honor  which 
is  his  due?  Shall  we  ever  embrace  his  whole  character  and  govern- 
ment, and  have  reason  to  restrain  our  views  and  affections,  for 
want  of  new  excellence  to  behold  and  admire  ?  .   .   .   . 

"  Let  us  feel  that  the  authority  and  excellence  of  God  claim  all 
our  hearts,  all  which  we  now  are,  all  which  we  can  be  ;  that  it  is 
the  glory  of  the  hosts  of  heaven  to  be  conformed  to  his  image  and 
his  law  ;  that  we  can  approach  those  higher  orders  only  b}'  growing 
in  pietj'  and  goodness ;  that  religion  is  the  excellence  of  the  in- 
tellectual nature  in  all  its  varieties  and  degrees  ;  that  this  is  the 
only  true  improvement  of  our  nature,  and  that  we  can  never  rise  too 
high  ;  that  according  to  our  growth  in  these  will  be  our  rank  in  the 
scale  of  existence  ;  and,  in  a  word,  that  b}'  these  alone  we  approach 
God  and  prove  ourselves  his  children 

' '  Religion  is  the  rectification  of  the  soul ;  it  is  inward  health  ;  it 
is  the  direction  of  affection  to  the  most  interesting  objects.  It  con- 
sists of  feelings  and  dispositions  which  include  everjthing  gener- 
ous, disinterested,  sympathetic,  and  pure.  It  is  in  its  ver}'  nature 
peace 

"  If,  indeed,  there  were  narrow  limits  to  the  Divine  nature  and 


150  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

perfection,  and  scanty  happiness  to  be  promoted  in  bis  system,  then 
the  joy  of  extended  piety  and  goodness  might  be  changed  into 
sorrow,  at  the  discovery  of  the  imperfection  and  narrowness  of  the 
objects.  But  the  infinit}'  of  God  and  of  his  designs  and  govern- 
ment is  an  assurance  that  the  most  fervent  affections  shall  not  be 
disappointed.  His  character  invites  the  warmest  friendship,  the 
most  exalted  complacenc}'  and  esteem.  His  condescension  encour- 
ages  unljounded  confidence.     His  goodness  animates  unbounded 

hope 

"  What  an  argument  is  it  for  growth  in  religion,  that  by  it  we 
shall  be  raised  to  angelic  purity  and  happiness !  What  a  com- 
mendation is  it  of  that  excellence  which  the  Christian  is  called  to 
cultivate,  that  heaven  holds  nothing  more  precious,  —  that  heaven 
consists  only  in  superior  degrees  of  this  excellence  of  soul !  " 

1805.  Signs  of  grov^^th.  "  We  are  not  growing  in  religion,  if 
we  make  piety  a  substitute  for  kindness,  or  kindness  a  substitute 
for  piety  ;  if  we  hope  by  generosity  to  atone  for  extravagance  or 
hist,  or  b}-  honesty  to  atone  for  avarice.  We  are  not  growing  in 
religion,  if  we  are  satisfied  with  performing  occasional  acts  which 
suggest  themselves  to  our  minds,  but  make  no  exertion  to  learn 
how  we  may  pursue  the  whole  will  of  God.  AVe  are  not  growing 
in  religion,  if  the  thought  of  living  habitually  in  an}'  omission  or 
any  positive  disobedience  sits  easy  upon  us,  and  makes  no  painful 
impression.  If,  on  the  contrary,  our  consciences  testify  that  God's 
goodness  and  majesty  excite  us  to  seek  universal  obedience  ;  if  in  our 
hearts  we  feel  that  every  branch  of  known  duty  is  the  object  of  our 
attention  and  pursuit ;  if  we  can  hope  that  not  one  sin  of  heart 
or  life  is  habitually  allowed  and  knowingly  indulged, —  then  we  may 
expect  to  grow  in  all  excellence.  Then  the  various  duties  which 
we  seek  to  perform  will  co)ifirra  one  another.  Our  temperance  will 
invigorate  our  love,  and  this  our  piety,  and  piety  will  add  stabil- 
ity to  both.  In  a  life  in  which  all  duties  meet,  there  is  a  harmony 
which  is  favorable  to  all.  One  spirit  circulates  through  all.  They 
grow  like  the  limbs  of  a  well-proportioned  bod}' 

"  When  our  duty  and  our  happiness  shall  entirely  coincide,  then 
we  shall  be  perfect  beings  ;  and  in  proportion  as  we  approach  this 
state,  we  approach  perfection 

"When  one  is  growing  in  religion,  in  excellence,  he  converts 
more  and  more  the  common  pursuits  of  life  into  means  of  piety  and 
goodness,  and  makes  them  the  way  to  heaven.  The  spiritual  tem- 
per gives  more  and  more  its  own  color  to  all  objects,  and  inlhi- 
ences  every  choice  of  the  mind.     The  soul  becomes  more  and  more 


1803-1814.]  HARMONY  OF  HOLINESS.  151 

impregnated  with  piety  and  love,  and  sees  and  pursues  all  things 
under  the  influence  of  these  principles 

"If  we  are  growing  in  Christian  excellence,  we  shall  become 
more  simple  in  our  characters.  We  shall  be  the  same  everj'where. 
The  love  of  God  and  man  will  diffuse  itself  more  and  more  through 
our  common  looks  and  words,  emotions  and  actions.  We  shall  feel 
this  temper  at  home  and  abroad.  It  will  influence  us  when  no 
eye  sees  us,  as  well  as  when  we  are  excited  by  numbers.  It  will 
lead  us  peculiarl}'  to  secret,  unobserved  performance  of  dut}',  to 
habitual  acts  of  kindness  and  devotion  which  lie  beyond  the  notice 
of  man.  We  shall  not  only  be  more  serene  in  provocation,  more 
cheerful  in  affliction,  more  moderate  in  prosperity,  but  everj^thing 
will  take  a  hue  from  religion,  and  lead  to  the  exercise  of  pious, 
humble,  disinterested  affections 

"If  we  are  growing  in  religion,  we  shall  make  advance  to  this 
simplicity  of  heart,  this  harmonious,  tranquil  state  of  mind.  We 
shall  act  more  from  one  principle^  act  more  and  more  for  one 
end;  and  hence  our  feelings  and  actions  will  be  more  consistent, 
uniform ;  the  color  of  our  souls  and  lives  will  become  more  sin- 
gle ;  and  we  shall  exhibit  one  form  to  the  world  and  to  our  own 
consciences." 

1804.  Harmony  of  HOLmEss.  "  As  no  holy  temper  can  exist 
in  separation  from  any  branch  of  moral  excellence,  it  follows  that 
particular  actions  are  to  be  approved  only  when  they  evince  a  gen- 
eral conformity  of  heart  to  the  law  of  God.  There  is  a  beauty  in 
real  religion.  All  its  sentiments  and  views  and  desires  are  harmo- 
nious ;  all  its  actions  are  guided  by  one  light,  and  animated  by  one 
spirit.  It  is  founded  on  the  crucifixion  of  selfish  aflfections,  and 
it  flows  out  in  good-will  to  God  and  man,  and  in  complacent 
regard  to  all  excellence  in  heaven-  and  in  earth.  It  has  no  desire 
to  avoid  particular  duties,  for  its  happiness  springs  from  the 
simplicity  and  consistency  of  its  principles  and  pursuits ;  and  its 
serenity  would  be  destroyed  by  the  counteraction  of  holy  and  sin- 
ful dispositions. 

"  If,  my  friends,  you  are  animated  by  real  religion,  it  will  ap- 
pear in  the  beautiful  and  harmonious  exercise  of  all  hoi}-  disposi- 
tions. You  will  possess  a  principle  of  devotion  and  of  impartial 
benevolence,  which  will  eradicate  the  debasing  and  enfeebling  lusts 
and  passions  of  your  souls  ;  which  will  dispose  yon  to  blend  your 
interests  with  those  of  other  beings ;  which  will  unite  j'ou  with 
the  univei'se,  and  flow  out  in  tenderness  to  man,  and  submission  to 
God.     Trust  not  in  an}'  single  virtue.     If  3'our  religion  be  genuine, 


152  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

it  will  draw  in  its  train  the  whole  of  moral  excellence.  Search, 
then,  whether  in  all  respects  you  are  conformed  to  the  law  of 
God." 

1805.  Future  rewards  of  usefulness.  "  One  great  end  of 
the  Deit}'  in  forming  such  an  extensive  connection  and  dependence 
in  his  S3'stem  undoubtedly  is,  that  he  may  give  room  to  the  benevo- 
lent exertions  of  his  children.  He  peculiarl}'  delights  in  communi- 
cating happiness  through  the  good  exertions  of  his  creatures.  He 
has  so  constituted  the  universe,  that  its  happiness  flows  from  the 
co-operation  of  its  various  parts,  from  benevolent  reciprocation, 
and  the  mutual  dispensing  of  blessings.  God,  therefore,  may  be 
considered  as  governing,  not  so  much  to  impart  good  immediately, 
as  to  bless  the  good  exertions  of  the  benevolent.  Hence  we 
see  that  every  benevolent  deed  will  produce  b}'  its  success  peace 
and  joy  to  the  heart  from  which  it  flows  ;  for  there  is  One  in- 
finitely wise  and  powerful,  who  has  taken  upon  Inmself  the  care 
of  advancing  every  labor  of  love ;  the  good  heart,  therefore, 
will  forever  be  called  to  rejoice  in  the  happiness  which  it  has  pro- 
duced. 

"  Why  may  we  not  suppose  that  the  blessedness  which  will  be  en- 
J03'ed  in  the  heavenl}'  world  will  be  the  result  of  the  joint  exertion  of 
all  good  beings  ;  and  that  each  will  have  the  felicity-  of  knowing  that 
b}'  his  humble  labors  the  blessings  of  God  have  contributed  to  this 
abundant  increase?  In  the  present  state,  indeed,  we  see  but  little  of 
the  consequences  of  actions.  Often  the  benevolent  seem  to  labor  in 
vain  ;  seldom  do  they  witness  a  harvest  proportioned  to  their  desires  ; 
and  hence  the}-  are  in  danger  of  fainting  in  well-doing.  But  the  scene 
which  now  meets  our  eyes  is  narrow  in  comparison  with  the  mighty 
system  of  God.  We  know  not  the  modes  in  which  he  operates.  We 
cannot  take  in  the  innumeraljle  ways  in  which  he  makes  the  labors 
of  the  good  conducive  to  the  end  the}'  i^ropose.  At  the  great  con- 
summation of  all  things,  the  darkness  will  be  dissipated,  and  the 
good  will  reap.  Then  the}'  will  see  their  prayers,  their  toils,  their 
liberal  contributions,  their  exhortations,  all  their  various  exertions 
for  the  interests  of  men,  and  for  the  kingdom  of  the  Redeemer, 
improved  b}'  infinite  wisdom  to  accomplish  the  happiest  ends. 
They  will  see  that  their  good  works  failed  to  accomplish  the  object 
they  desired,  only  that  they  might  conduce  to  greater  good.  They 
will  see  hai)piness  existing  and  destined  to  exist  and  to  increase 
forever,  which  they  were  the  honored  instruments  of  promoting. 
The}'  will  be  hailed  by  some  grateful  voice,  ascribing  to  their 
prayers   and   exertions   the   attainment  of  heavenly   blessedness. 


1803-1814.]  HAPPINESS   OF  HEAVEN.  153 

They  will  see  the  connection  of  their  labors  with  the  prosperity 
and  triumphs  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  And  joy  will  fill  their  hearts 
at  finding  that  the}^  have  not  lived  in  vain,  —  that  while,  perhaps, 
they  have  labored  in  stations  too  humble  for  the  notice  of  man, 
they  have  been  workers  together  with  God,  and  been  permitted  to 
lay  the  foundation  of  felicit}-  which  shall  never  end 

"True  benevolence  is  not  happ}-  in  itself;  it  is  happy  in  the 
felicity  of  other  beings  ;  and  in  proportion  to  its  strength  we  shall 
ardently  desire  to  attain  to  a  state  of  existence  in  which  we  may 
behold  and  promote  the  highest  good,  may  grow  in  goodness,  be- 
come members  of  an  active  society  warmed  with  purest  benevolence, 
and  be  entirely  devoted  to  the  designs  of  the  merciful  God.  The 
prospect  of  eternal  life  must  be  inconceivably  more  dear  to  a  benevo- 
lent heart  than  to  anj'  other  being,  because  this  heart  is  fixed  on 
an  object  so  glorious  and  extensive,  that  it  wants  an  eternity  to 
enjoy  and  pursue  it.  Take  away  the  rewards  of  the  gospel  from 
the  benevolent  soul,  let  him  see  no  spheres  of  usefulness  be^-ond 
the  grave,  let  him  see  all  his  labors  confined  to  the  narrow  sphere 
of  this  changing  world,  and  his  heart  will  sink  and  grow  cold. 
There  will  be  no  object  large  enough  for  him  to  embrace.  The 
good  heart  naturally  allies  itself  with  eternity.  It  is  its  nature  to 
expand  its  views.  Let  ^it  behold  a  kingdom  of  endless  and  in- 
creasing glor}'  under  the  government  of  infinite  love,  and  let  it  be 
invited  to  press  forward  to  this  kingdom,  and  its  benevolence  will 
give  it  vigor  to  pursue  the  prize. 

"  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  if  the  common  conceptions  of  the  world 
respecting'  the  rewards  of  the  gospel  were  just,  the  benevolent 
heart  could  not  pursue  them.  Men  make  a  heaven  of  pleasures  in 
no  respect  congenial  to  the  heart  of  benevolence.  A  good  man 
can  be  quickened  only  by  the  prospect  of  a  future  world  in  which 
goodness  will  be  exercised  and  displayed.  Jesus  will  reward  his 
followers,  not  by  introducing  them  to  a  paradise  of  sensual  delight 
and  to  bowers  of  undisturbed  repose  ;  but  by  enlarging  their  facul- 
ties, shedding  new  light  into  their  minds,  and  welcoming  them  to 
a  state  where  ever}'  excellence  will  be  confirmed,  —  where  the}' 
will  behold  God  as  a  friend  face  to  face,  and  approach  the  Divine 
majesty  with  new  aflfection,  —  where  they  will  accomplish  the  Di- 
vine purposes  with  increasing  vigor,  delight,  and  success,  and  receive 
and  communicate  more  happiness  in  an  hour  or  a  day  than  they 
have  done  in  the  whole  of  their  lives  on  earth.  Here  is  an  object 
worth  ambition.  Here  is  an  immortalit}'  the  thought  of  which 
should  kindle  every  hope  and  desire,  and  quicken  to  the  practice 
of  universal  piety." 


154  SPIRITUAL   GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

1810.  Man's  spiritual  perfection  the  end  of  Providence. 
"  By  these  obvious  remarks  we  are  led  to  the  very  important  truth, 
that  Providence  has  a  principal  regard  to  the  mind  of  man,  that 
divine  principle  by  which  man  is  distinguished  above  all  the  other 
inhabitants  of  the  earth,  and  is  rendered  so  capable  of  progression 
in  truth,  virtue,  and  happiness.  To  the  Infinite  Mind  nothing  can 
be  so  dear  as  7n{nd.  There  is  nothing  over  which  he  must  watch 
with  such  affection.  To  a  wise  and  good  Creator  no  object  can 
be  so  important  as  souls  capable  of  goodness  and  wisdom  ;  and  to 
form,  expand,  enlighten,  purify,  invigorate,  and  bless  these  souls 
must  be  the  great  end  of  his  administration.  The  perfection  of 
mind,  or  of  intelligent  creation,  is  the  great  end  of  God. 

"Do  you  ask  in  what  this  perfection  consists?  I  answer,  in 
knowledge,  in  love,  and  in  activity.  That  mind  which  has  a  wide 
range  of  thought,  knows  much  of  God  and  of  his  creation,  and  loves 
what  it  knows,  —  which  is  bound  by  a  strong  affection  to  its  Crea- 
tor and  its  fellow-beings,  and  acts  as  well  as  loves,  — which  puts 
forth  all  its  powers,  employ's  all  its  knowledge,  in  the  service  of 
God,  and  in  blessing  his  creatures,  —  that  mind  is  a  perfect  mind  ; 
and  it  is  as  happy  as  it  is  perfect.  Its  happiness  partakes  of  the 
purity  and  serenit}'  of  the  Divine  felicity.  Now  this  I  conceive  is 
the  end  of  God,  to  bring  his  rational  offspring  to  this  perfect  and 
blessed  state,  to  give  them  the  widest,  clearest,  and  brightest  views, 
to  give  them  the  strongest,  purest,  most  disinterested  love,  and 
to  form  them  to  the  most  vigorous  and  efficient  exertion  of  all  their 
powers  in  the  promotion  of  the  best  designs." 

SECTION     SECOND. 

HUMAN    NATURE. 

1811.  Principle  of  religion  in  human  nature.  "We  have 
not  merely  capacities,  of  attaining  just  ideas  of  God  ;  there  is  a 
foundation  in  our  nature  for  feeling  and  loving,  as  well  as  dis- 
cerning, his  character.  Let  us  dwell  on  this  point.  In  human 
nature  there  is  a  sensibility  to  what  is  great  and  good.  There  is 
no  man  whose  heart  has  not  sometimes  been  moved,  wlien  he  has 
heard  of  illustrious  deeds,  of  pure,  exalted,  disinterested  goodness, 
of  an  enlarged  and  vigorous  mind  emplo^'ed  in  vast  and  noble 
designs.  Now  this  moral  sensibilitj'  is  a  preparative  for  the  love 
of  God,  an  impulse  towards  him,  and  evidently  designed  to  be  a 
bond  of  union  between  him  and  the  human  heart.  In  his  character 
alone  can  this  love  of  excellence  find  an  adequate  object  and  full 
gratification.     We  represent  to  ourselves  higher  excellences  than 


1803-1814.]  DISCIPLINE  OF  LIFE.  155 

we  discern  in  the  best  around  us,  and  want  a  purer  and  more  dis- 
interested friend  than  earth  can  give.  God  is  the  only  being 
without  stain  or  blemish,  without  excess  or  defect.  He  is  unerring 
wisdom,  unsullied  purity,  unfailing  faithfulness,  impartial  recti- 
tude, and  unbounded,  unwearied,  all-ennobling,  universal  goodness. 
Are  we  so  constituted,  that  these  qualities,  when  dimly  seen  in 
imperfect  man,  impress  the  heart,  and  shall  we  not  direct  our  minds 
and  hearts  to  this  Being,  in  whom  they  are  concentred  in  infinite 
perfection,  and  shine  with  unclouded  splendor? 

"  This  sensibility  to  excellence  should  be  cherished  b}'  us,  and 
employed  to  unite  us  to  God.  Have  you  ever  felt  the  heart  glow, 
whilst  you  have  contemplated  the  true  and  good?  Then  you  will 
acknowledge  that  this  is  one  of  the  happiest,  most  improving,  and 
ennobling  sentiments  of  which  we  are  capable.  We  not  only  enjoy, 
but  catch  the  excellence  we  admire.  That  mind  which  is  often 
directed  towards  the  best  of  beings  will  not  onl}-  possess  a  happi- 
ness peculiarl}'  pure  and  refined ;  it  will  approach  the  goodness  it 
loves,  it  will  catch  a  ray  of  the  celestial  glor^',  it  will  be  changed 
into  the  same  image.  God  cannot  enter  the  heart  without  leaving 
traces  of  himself.  It  might  seem  presumptuous  to  speak  of  man 
as  being  a  partaker  of  the  Divine  nature,  did  not  Scripture  employ 
this  bold  and  elevated  language.  But  this  is  really  the  happiness 
of  him  who  contemplates  God  in  his  venerable  and  amiable  per- 
fections, until  he  is  warmed  with  love.  Wh}',  then,  do  we  not 
love  God?  .... 

"God  is,  in  the  strictest  propriety  of  language,  our  Father. 
What  is  the  love  of  God,  then,  but  a  refined  filial  affection  ?  And 
this  is  an  affection  which  we  drew  in  with  our  first  breath,  and 
which  was  implanted  at  the  ver}^  dawn  of  our  being.  From  this 
view  of  love  to  God,  we  may  see  that  the  foundation  of  it  is  laid, 
that  the  heart  is  in  a  degree  prepared  for  it,  b}'  the  earliest  feelings. 
We  were  learning  this  dut}^  as  soon  as  we  began  to  learn  anything. 
This  bond  of  union  with  God  was  formed  in  our  cradle  ;  wh}',  then, 
do  we  not  follow  this  indication  of  the  end  for  which  we  were 
formed?  Why  do  we  not  lift  up  our  hearts  to  our  Heavenly  Father? 
Does  not  the  sentiment  of  filial  reverence  and  love  towards  such  a 
parent  approve  itself  to  our  minds,  our  consciences,  as  reasonable, 
becoming,  fair,  and  lovely?  Is  man  ever  more  ennobled  than  when 
he  feels  his  high  and  near  relation  as  a  child  of  the  infinite  God?" 

1807.  The  discipline  of  life.  "If,  indeed,  God  designed  to 
give  as  much  ease  and  rest  to  rational  beings  as  possible,  —  if  this 
were  the  happiest  state,  —  we  might  wonder  at  many  vicissitudes 


156  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  23-34. 

which  we  behold.  But  God  has  the  better  end  in  view,  of  training 
up  the  mind  to  attention,  observation,  perseverance,  and  efficiency  ; 
and  in  tliis  view  all  those  changes  are  good  which  disturb  our  indo- 
lence, which  compel  us  to  look  forward  and  to  form  and  execute 
long  and  laborious  plans.  Even  danger  is  sometimes  the  best  state 
for  the  individual.  Apprehensions  of  great  evil  may  be  necessary" 
excitements.  Tliis  is  not  mere  speculation.  We  ever3-whcre  see 
the  hapi)y  influence  of  tiie  difficulties,  exigencies,  hardships,  and 
even  dangers  of  life.  We  see  minds,  if  I  may  so  speak,  of  a  stronger 
texture  formed  by  scenes  of  trial.  Those  habits  of  sound  judgment, 
of  calm  deliberation,  of  steady  effort,  of  bold,  unconquerable  perse- 
verance, wliich  we  so  much  admire,  are  the  effects  of  situations  in 
which  men  feel  that  they  have  much  at  stake,  that  they  are  exposed 
to  serious  evils,  that  they  must  act  with  prudence  and  vigor,  or  they 
will  certainly  suffer." 

1810.  The  blessings  of  hardship.  "Let  none  consider  this 
state  of  things  as  severe,  as  reflecting  on  the  goodness  of  the  Crea- 
tor. The  difficulties  of  our  state  are  among  its  best  blessings.  The 
distance  at  which  good  objects  are  placed,  and  the  obstacles  which 
intervene,  are  tlie  means  by  which  Providence  rouses,  quickens, 
invigorates,  expands,  all  our  powers.  These  form  the  school  in 
which  our  minds  and  hearts  are  trained.  Difficulty  and  hardsliip 
bind  us  more  closely  to  objects.  We  love  more  ardently  what  we 
have  suffered  to  attain,  and  enjoy  nothing  so  exquisitely  as  what 
we  have  pursued  through  calamity-  and  danger.  It  is  in  such  i)ur- 
suits,  when  we  endure  and  labor  for  ends  wliicli  conscience  and  re- 
ligion enjoin,  that  our  whole  nature  is  called  forth  and  perfected. 
The  heart  gains  new  ardor,  the  understanding  new  clearness  and 
vigor.  A  delightful  consciousness  of  rectitude  sustains  us  even  if 
we  fail,  and  gives  a  rapture  to  success.  Especiall}'  if  the  ends  for 
which  we  toil  and  suffer  are  of  a  benevolent  character,  do  we  receive 
a  reward  which  swallows  up  our  sacrifices  and  pains.  The  virtuous 
friendships  which  grow  out  of  such  labors,  the  glow  of  affection  with 
which  we  are  embraced  by  the  good  and  holy,  the  consciousness  of 
acting  in  union  with  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  excellent  of  all  ages  and 
all  worlds,  the  sympathy,  and  approbation,  and  love  which  we 
excite,  are  indeed  luxuries  of  the  heart  which  cannot  be  too  dearly' 
purchased.  Never  does  conscience  speak  to  us  in  such  cheering 
tones  ;  never  does  our  Ilcavenl}'  Father  look  on  us  with  such  ai)i)ro- 
bation  ;  never  are  we  so  dear  to  those  whose  love  it  is  indeed  an 
honor  and  pri\'ilege  to  enjoy  ;  never  does  our  nature  seem  so  ex- 
alted, so  worthy  of  its  Author,  so  worthy  of  immortalit}-,  as  when 


1803-1814.]  SEEKING   TRUTH.  157 

we  devote  ourselves  to  the  best  interests  of  our  fellow-beings,  and, 
undismaj'ed  by  danger,  unseduced  b}-  pleasure,  unwearied  by  hard- 
ship, unprovoked  b^'  contempt,  and  reposing  a  humble  confidence  in 
God,  the  originator  and  rewarder  of  all  good  exertions,  press  for- 
ward with  ever}'  power  to  the  hoi}'  end  we  have  proposed.  Who, 
then,  will  repine  at  the  hardships  of  a  good  life?  These  prove,  re- 
fine, and  exalt  the  human  character.  Ease,  indulgence,  luxury, 
sloth,  are  the  sources  of  miser}'.  They  benumb  the  mind,  quench 
the  warm  emotions  of  the  heart,  sever  man  from  his  Creator  and 
his  fellow,  and  make  him  a  poor,  sordid,  selfish,  wretched  being." 

1811.  Duty  of  seeking  truth.  "  It  is  the  great  excellence  of 
man,  that  he  is  capable  of  knowledge,  —  that  he  not  only  receives 
impressions  from  outward  things,  but  can  compare  and  combine 
what  he  sees,  can  learn  the  properties,  causes,  and  influences  of 
surrounding  objects,  can  discern  the  future  in  the  present,  and  rise 
from  visible  nature  to  its  invisible  Author.  He  is  formed  for  the 
acquisition  and  application  of  truth ;  and  his  happiness  and  excel- 
lence very  much  depend  on  the  truths  he  perceives.  A  mind  which 
is  open  to  truth,  which  sees  things  as  they  are,  which  forms  right 
judgments  of  its  own  duties  and  condition,  and  of  the  character  and 
rights  of  all  with  whom  it  is  connected,  is  immeasurably  exalted 
above  the  narrow,  dark,  confused  intellect,  which  sees  everything 
as  through  a  mist,  gives  to  everything  the  color  of  its  own  feelings, 
confines  itself  to  what  coincides  with  its  wishes,  contents  itself 
with  superficial  views,  and  thus  perpetually  falls  into  errors  and 
misapprehensions 

"  Am  I  asked  in  what  this  honesty  of  mind  consists,  or  what  is 
included  in  it?  I  answer,  — would  we  be  honest,  we  must  fill  our- 
selves with  a  deep  sense  of  the  infinite  value  of  truths  with  a  desire 
to  see  everything  as  it  is,  to  form  a  right  judgment  on  every  suliject ; 
and  we  must  labor  that  this  desire  may  exceed  in  strength  all  those 
passions  which  so  often  darken  and  blind  the  understanding.  A 
supreme  love  of  truth,  a  disposition  to  make  all  sacrifices  to  it,  and 
to  follow  it,  though  it  lead  to  contempt,  loss,  and  danger,  —  this  is 
the  very  essence  of  honesty  of  mind ;  and  where  this  exists,  it  will 
induce  imi)artial  and  serious  inquiry. 

"  Our  honesty  of  mind  bears  an  exact  proportion  to  the  patience, 
steadiness,  and  resolution  with  which  we  inquire.  When  an  opinion 
is  proposed  to  us  which  does  not  agi'ee  with  our  past  conceptions, 
we  must  not  reject  it  as  soon  as  proposed,  and,  to  save  ourselves 
the  trouble  of  inquiring  and  the  shame  of  retracting,  say  that  on 
this  point  we  have  made  up  our  mind ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  under 


158  SPIRITUAL   GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

a  sense  of  fallibilit}',  we  must  be  willing  to  review  om*  opinions,  to 
examine  afresh  their  foundations,  and  to  receive  an}'  new  light 
which  our  opponent  may  throw  on  the  subject.  We  must  be  very 
careful,  too,  not  to  enter  on  the  discussion  with  a  previous  determi- 
nation to  form  only  one  opinion.  This  is  the  case  with  many. 
The}'  profess  to  be  willing  to  inquire  ;  and  yet  the}'  are  fully  satis- 
fied, before  they  begin,  as  to  the  point  at  which  they  will  stop. 
But  this  is  only  a  mockery  of  examination  ;  and  we  may  as  well 
spare  ourselves  all  trouble,  and  hold  fast  our  present  opinions  with- 
out pretendmg  to  sift  them.  Our  duty  is  to  enter  on  the  consider- 
ation of  every  subject  with  a  sincere  desire  to  learn  the  truth,  and 
to  renounce  whatever  errors  we  may  have  hubibed.  For  this  end, 
we  should  meet  the  subject  fairl}-,  look  it  fully,  if  I  may  say  so,  in 
the  face,  and  give  ourselves  time  to  examine  it  with  deliberation. 
We  must  not  cast  over  it  a  glance,  and  from  unmanl}-  sloth  pretend 
that  we  see  all  which  can  be  seen,  and  hurry  to  a  conclusion  before 
we  have  laid  a  foundation  for  correct  judgment.  We  must  not  catch 
at  arguments  which  support  the  sentiment  we  approve,  and  say  these 
are  unanswerable,  and  refuse  to  look  further.  We  are  very  apt  to 
shut  our  eyes,  under  pretence  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen,  at 
the  very  moment  that  new  light  is  breaking  in  upon  us.  Unhai)pily, 
this  new  light  detects  old  errors,  and  therefore  it  is  that  we  eagerly 
exclude  it.  Instead  of  this  partial  view,  we  must  labor  to  attain  as 
full  and  comprehensive  a  knowledge  of  the  subject  as  possible. 
We  must  invite  e^■idcnce  from  all  quarters,  open  our  ears  to  all  that 
can  be  urged  on  both  sides,  and  give  attention  to  every  argument 
proportioned  to  its  importance.  In  this  especially  consists  an  honest 
inquiry  for  the  truth.  All  our  passions  and  prejudices  incline  us  to 
hear  only  one  party.  Would  Ave  be  honest,  we  must  extend  our  views, 
and  weigh  Avith  seriousness  what  is  urged  in  favor  of  opinions  we 
dislike.  We  too  easily  take  it  for  granted  that  an  opponent  has 
nothing  to  urge  in  his  favor.     Let  us  first  hear,  and  then  decide. 

"  After  this  dispassionate  attention  to  all  the  evidence  within  our 
reach,  the  time  for  judginfj  has  come.  Perhaps  our  inquiries  have 
left  us  in  a  state  of  doubt  on  subjects  where  before  we  were  confi- 
dent. In  this  case  we  must  be  careful  not  to  express  a  stronger 
belief  of  a  sentiment  than  we  really  feel.  Perhaps  it  will  be  ex- 
pected that  we  shall  use  the  language  of  decision.  But  our  lan- 
guage should  ever  be  the  faithful  expression  of  our  conviction. 
When  we  affect  greater  confidence  in  a  sentiment  than  we  possess, 
we  become  interested  in  bringing  our  mind  into  this  state  of  confi- 
dence, and  shall  almost  inevitably  be  led  to  practise  imposition  on 
ourselves,  as  well  as  on  others.     Perhaps,  in  consequence  of  this 


1803-1814.]  TRUE   HUMILITY.  159 

inquiiy,  we  shall  come  to  a  decision,  but  to  a  very  different  decision 
from  what  others  wish  and  expect.  This  is  a  tr^'ing  condition  ;  bnt 
we  must  show  our  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  truth  b}-  steadfastly 
adhering  to  it,  wherever  we  are  called  to  express  our  sentiments. 
Nothing  should  tempt  us  to  belie  the  convictions  of  our  minds.  It 
is  better  to  be  forsaken  and  renounced  by  men,  than  to  seek  their 
friendship  by  affecting  compliance  with  what  seem  to  us  errors. 
We  are  not  called  to  be  forward,  rude,  intemperate,  in  expressing 
our  sentiments.  We  ought  to  be  prudent ;  but  Christian  prudence 
is  never  to  be  separated  from  Christian  simplicity  and  sincerit}'. 
When  called  to  act,  we  should  uniforml}-  espouse  what  we  deem  to 
be  truth,  and  in  this  cause  should  be  willing  to  suffer 

"  This  is  honesty-  of  mind,  —  a  most  noble  spirit,  — the  distinc- 
tion of  a  truly  good  and  great  man.  It  is  a  quality  of  character 
without  which  the  most  splendid  talents  are  of  little  avail ;  for 
then  intellectual  vigor  may  prove  a  curse,  and  may  only  help  to 
plimge  us  deeper  into  error.  This  fairness  of  mind  is  not  a  very 
showy  virtue,  especially  when  it  is  exercised  in  the  common  con- 
cerns of  life  ;  but  perhaps  it  includes  more  magnanimitj-,  courage, 
and  self-denial  than  any  other  virtue.  Multitudes  have  dared  to 
face  death  in  the  field  of  battle,  who  have  3'et  wanted  strength  and 
spirit  to  oi:)pose  their  own  and  others'  prejudices 

"  This  virtue  will  especially  give  inward  peace.  The  man  of  an 
honest  mind  has  a  consciousness  of  the  truth  of  his  convictions, 
which  no  other  man  can  have.  lie  learns  to  distinguish  truth  with 
an  ease  peculiar  to  himself.  Truth  offers  herself,  if  I  ma^-  so  speak, 
in  her  natiye  simplicity  and  beaut}-  to  an  upright  mind 

"  The  fair  and  upright  mind  dwells  in  a  region  of  light.  Con- 
scious of  sincerity,  it  does  not  wish  to  hide  itself  from  its  own 
inspection,  or  from  the  inspection  of  God.  It  is  conscious  of  his 
approbation,  and  confidently-  hopes,  through  his  mercy,  to  be  at 
length  released  from  all  error,  and  to  attain  pure  and  unclouded 
vision  in  his  heavenly  kingdom." 

1810.  Humility  and  the  dignity  of  man.  "  Humility  is  that 
impartial,  just,  and  upright  state  of  mind  in  which  we  view  our- 
selves as  we  are.  Humility  has  sometimes  been  described  as  a 
disposition  to  deny  ourselves  what  we  have,  to  think  worse  of  our- 
selves than  we  really  are,  to  take  a  lower  seat  than  belongs  to 
us.  But  Christianity  is  a  religion  of  truth,  and  never  calls  us  to 
practise  deception  on  ourselves.  It  does  not  ask  us  to  spend  use- 
less tears  and  regrets  on  sins  we  have  never  committed,  or  to  appl}' 
to  ourselves  terms  of  degradation  and  reproach  which  we  have  not 


160  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^x.  23-34. 

deserved.  There  is  no  firm  foundation  of  religion  but  truth.  To 
ascribe  to  ourselves  imaginary  imperfections  and  crimes  is  the 
mark  of  an  abject  and  timid  mind,  and  gives  little  reason  to  hope 
from  us  that  improvement  which  is  the  great  end  of  Christian 
humilit}' 

"  It  is  a  duty  to  estimate  highly  the  nature  which  God  has  given. 
It  should  be  regarded  with  reverence,  rather  than  contempt.  Our 
danger  is,  that  we  shall  think  of  it  too  meanl}',  not  too  highly-. 
We  ought  to  think  of  this  nature  soberly-,  indeed,  but  still  to  attach 
to  it  a  high  importance.  Man  was  formed  in  the  image  of  God, 
and,  notwithstanding  the  unhappy  change  which  has  taken  place  in 
his  state,  he  has  yet  capabilities  of  excellence  which  show  him  to 
be  a  noble  work  of  the  Creator.  There  are  yet  in  him  powers  of 
thought  and  action,  a  range  of  intellect,  an  ardor  of  feeling,  a 
tenderness  of  conscience,  a  sensibility  to  what  is  right,  which  entitle 
man  to  respect.  There  are  j-et  in  him  many  indications  of  a  being 
formed  for  the  highest  happiness,  the  happiness  of  wisdom,  piety, 
and  goodness.  There  are  many  testimonies,  too,  that  man  is  not 
forsaken  by  his  IVIaker.  There  is  an  indulgent  providence  extended 
over  him  ;  there  is  a  liberality  in  the  suppl}-  of  his  wants,  there  is 
a  provision  for  the  improvement  of  his  faculties,  which  prove  that 
he  is  3'et  an  interesting  object  in  the  sight  of  God.  Yet  more,  we 
have  an  evidence  of  the  most  affecting  kind  to  the  value  of  human 
nature.  God  has  given  his  own  Son,  —  a  being  respecting  whose 
nature,  perhaps,  revelation  communicates  no  precise  ideas,  but 
whom  we  are  yet  taught  to  view  as  sustaining  a  peculiar  relation 
to  the  infinite  Father,  and  peculiarly  beloved  by  him,  —  he  has 
given  this  only-begotten  Son  to  perform  for  us  the  kindest  offices, 
to  sustain  towards  us  the  most  interesting  relation,  —  that  of 
saviour,  friend,  guide,  and  giver  of  eternal  life.  He  has  sent  this 
beloved  Son  to  take  our  nature,  to  become  one  of  us,  in  the  human 
form  to  display  the  vn-tues  of  heaven,  and,  by  his  promises,  example, 
and  aid,  to  inspire  the  same  virtues  into  the  hearts  of  mankind. 

"  Here  is  enough  to  attest  the  worth  of  our  nature.  Here  we 
are  assured  that  man  is  capable  of  the  greatest,  best,  and  most 
honorable  endowments  ;  that  he  can  resemble  God ;  that  he  is 
designed  for  immortality  ;  that  abodes  in  heaven  are  provided  for 
his  reception  ;  that  the  society  of  that  better  world  are  ready  to 
welcome  him  as  a  sharer  of  their  excellence  and  happiness.  Con- 
sider man  as  a  favored  child  of  God,  united  by  the  tie  of  brother- 
hood to  the  Son  of  God,  called  to  an  immortal  life,  destined  to 
endure  and  improve  through  all  ages,  to  extend  his  views  and 
affections,  to  fill  a  wider  and  a  wider  sphere,  and  to  perform  more 


1803-1814.]  CHRIST  AND   CHRISTIANITY.  161 

and  more  noble  services  in  the  universe,  through  an  endless  exist- 
ence ;  and  surel}'  such  a  being  is  not  to  be  viewed  with  contempt. 
There  is  something  sacred  in  tliat  spiritual  nature  w^hich  the  breath 
of  God  has  quickened,  and  which  the  blood  of  Jesus  has  been 
shed  to  cleanse,  refine,  and  make  forever  hajDpy. 

"  These  views  of  human  nature  are  not  onl^'  warranted  b}-  Scrip- 
ture, but  I  think  an  acquaintance  with  our  race  will  lead  a  reflect- 
ing and  pious  mind  to  cherish  the  same  hopes.  We  are  sometimes 
permitted  to  behold  humanit}'  in  so  delightful  a  form,  adorned  with 
such  virtues,  exalted  b}-  such  vigor  of  thought  and  such  ardor  of 
affection,  so  dead  to  self  and  so  alive  to  all  other  beings,  so 
superior,  yet  so  unassuming,  exerting  an  influence  so  beneficent, 
cheering,  consoling,  so  resigned  and  devoted  to  God,  and  so  sus- 
tained by  the  hope  of  heaven,  so  arrayed  in  intellectual  and  moral 
glor}-,  that  we  have,  as  it  were,  a  pledge  of  the  height  which  man 
is  to  attain.  Humility  does  not  check  these  views,  but  rather  calls 
us  to  cherish  them,  to  cast  our  eyes  forward  to  the  glory  and  honor 
with  which  humanity  is  to  be  crowned,  to  form  large  and  generous 
hopes,  to  burn  with  a  strong  desire  for  this  elevated  state.  It  is 
b}'  feeding  on  these  sentiments  that  the  mind  is  expanded,  fortified, 
and  impelled  to  excellence.  It  is  by  this  hope  we  are  saved.  This 
hope  makes  us  to  become  what  it  promises." 


SECTION    THIRD. 

CHRIST   AND   CHRISTIANITY. 

1811.  Christ  a  gift  of  God's  love.  "  There  are  some  who 
are  so  desirous  to  magnifj-  the  justice  of  God,  that  the}-  represent 
him  as  viewing  our  race  with  unmingied  indignation,  and  speak  as 
if  his  love  towards  man  were  excited,  and  even  purchased,  by  the 
sacrifice  of  his  Son.  In  this  vfay  the  unthinking  are  led  to  asso- 
ciate the  ideas  of  an  awful  justice  with  the  Father,  whilst  the}' 
clothe  the  Son  with  the  delightful  and  attractive  attributes  of 
mercy,  and  consider  him  as  peculiarly  the  source  of  their  deliver- 
ance. I  do  not  say  that  it  is  the  intention  of  an}-  to  make  this 
impression.  I  only  state  the  fact,  that  such  impressions  are  pro- 
duced by  the  unguarded  language  used  on  this  subject, 

' '  I  fear  that  false  conceptions  have  arisen  on  this  subject,  from 
the  habit  of  speaking  of  our  pardon  and  future  happiness  as  '  pur- 
chased for  us  by  the  death  of  Christ.'  The  eflfect  of  such  language 
is  to  fix  in  man}-  minds  the  idea  that  our  Saviour  has  oflfered  to  God 
an  equivalent,  — a  price  for  our  happiness,  — and  thus  obtained  for 

11 


162  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

us  what  would  have  been  reluctantly  bestowed,  had  we  been  left  to 
the  mere}'  of  God.  Man}-,  indeed,  do  not  carr}-  this  language  so  far  ; 
but  the}'  still  feel  as  if  forgiveness  and  future  happiness  were  a 
purchase,  and  therefore  not  altogether  the  gift  of  free  and  pure 
benevolence.  I  will  not  say  that  it  is  improper  to  speak  of  our 
deliverance  as  purchased  by  Christ,  because  we  usually  speak  in 
this  manner  of  blessings  which  have  been  procured  for  us  by  the 
labor  and  love  of  other  beings.  But  I  am  certain  that  this  lan- 
guage never  should  be  used,  if  the  tendency  is  to  weaken  our  con- 
victions of  the  great  truth,  that  God  is  moved  with  compassion 
towards  us  by  the  essential  benignity  of  his  nature  ;  that  of  himself 
he  is  inclined  to  save  our  race  ;  that  his  blessings  flow  to  us  from 
a  sincere  desire  to  bless  us ;  and  that  pardon  and  life  are  free  gifts, 
—  not  something  paid  for,  —  not  something  obtained  for  us  from  the 

severe  justice  of  the  Father  by  the  compassion  of  the  Son 

' '  According  to  the  customs  of  the  age  when  the  Scriptures  were 
written,  it  was  very  common  to  redeem  men  from  captivity  b}'  pay- 
ing a  price.  The  blood  or  death  of  Christ,  which  is  the  instrument 
of  our  deliverance  from  the  captivity  of  sinful  affections  and  of 
death,  is  therefore  called  a  price,  a  ransom  ;  and  we  are  said  to  be 
bought  by  it.  This  is  the  plain,  obvious  meaning  of  Scripture,  and 
so  far  from  representing  our  blessings  as  bought  for  us  from  God 
by  another,  it  represents  God  as  buying  or  purchasing  us,  that  he 
may  shed  on  us  his  richest  blessings.  The  mercy  of  God  has  not 
been  excited  towards  us  by  the  mediation  of  the  Son  ;  but  his  mercy 
preceded,  appointed  this  mediation,  and  gives  it  its  efficacy." 

1812.  The  life  of  Christ.  "Among  the  truths  relating  to 
Jesus  Christ,  which  should  be  preached,  I  have  mentioned  the 
holiness  of  his  life.  Let  me  here  observe,  that,  from  the  large  por- 
tion of  the  Gospels  which  is  taken  up  in  relating  the  life  and  actions 
of  our  Saviour,  I  cannot  but  think  that  preaching  should  be  often 
directed  to  this  subject.  I  cannot  but  think  that  this  most  delight- 
ful part  of  the  Christian  system  —  the  life  which  Jesus  led,  the 
charade?'  which  he  expressed  —  has  been  too  much  overlooked. 
The  controversies  relating  to  the  precise  dignity  of  his  person 
have  drawn  attention  from  the  holy  and  heavenly  spirit  which  is 
everywhere  discovered  in  the  simple  history  of  the  Evangelists. 
The  life  of  Jesus,  as  drawn  in  the  Gospels,  has  been  pronounced, 
perhaps  with  truth,  the  strongest  evidence  of  his  gospel,  more  im- 
pressive to  a  good  mind  even  than  the  miracles.  This,  I  think, 
may  be  affirmed  with  truth,  that,  if  we  would  learn  perfect  good- 
ness, if  we  wish  to  warm  our  hearts  with  the  love  of  it,  we  can  adopt 


1803-1814.]  CHARACTER  OF   CHRIST.  163 

no  method  so  eifectual  as  the  stud}',  the  frequent  contemplation,  of 
the  hfe  of  Jesus." 

1810.  Character  of  Christ.  "  Jesus  Christ  is  the  Son  of  God 
in  a  peculiar  sense,  the  temple  of  the  Divinit}',  the  brightest  image 
of  his  glory.  In  seeing  him  we  see  the  Father.  On  this  account 
it  is  delightful  to  contemplate  him.  It  is  delightful  to  think  that 
his  mildness,  compassion,  forbearance,  and  unwearied  goodness 
are  beams,  reflections,  of  the  character  of  the  universal  Father. 
No  other  manifestation  is  so  suited  to  teach  us  that  God  is  love. 

"It  is  also  interesting  to  contemplate  Jesus  Christ,  as  in  him  are 
displa3ed,  in  the  brightest  forms,  all  the  virtues  and  excellences  of 
human  nature.  He,  and  he  alone,  is  the  perfect  man,  an  unerring 
standard ;  and  it  is  in  contemplation  of  Jesus  that  we  can  best 
learn  the  glorj'  for  which  our  nature  is  designed,  that  we  shall  best 
learn  to  love  and  aspire  after  excellence 

"  It  is  a  kind  ordination  of  God  that  the  evidence  of  Christianity 
should  be  a  growing  evidence.  When  we  begin  our  inquiries  into 
the  truth  of  Christianity,  we  are  first  impressed  with  the  miracu- 
lous works  of  Christ,  those  exertions  of  divine  power  which  prove 
that  the  Father  was  in  him,  that  he  was  commissioned  from 
heaven.  In  proportion  as  we  attend  to  the  subject,  a  new  source 
of  evidence  springs  up  and  brings  new  conviction  to  our  minds. 
In  the  moral  character  of  Jesus  we  see  a  miracle  more  striking 
than  the  most  stupendous  work  of  a  physical  nature.  AVe  see 
in  brighter  and  clearer  light  the  impressions  and  evidences  of 
a  sincere,  upright,  devout,  and  most  benevolent  heart.  We  see  a 
character  most  original  and  yet  most  consistent ;  sucli  as  tlie 
Evangelists  could  never  have  feigned,  sucli  as  impostors  would 
never  have  imagined,  but  which  is  exactl}-  suited  to  the  wants  and 
miseries  of  man,  and  to  our  highest  conceptions  of  the  Divinity'. 

' '  If  from  the  contemplation  of  this  character  we  are  so  blest  as 
to  imbibe  the  spirit  of  Jesus,  our  conviction  of  his  excellence  and 
sincerity  acquires  new  vigor.  Every  attainment  in  purity  and 
benevolence  opens  our  minds  to  behold  and  enjoy  yet  more  of  the 
benignity  and  glory  of  tlie  Saviour.  We  feel  a  new  delight  in  study- 
ing his  history,  in  tracing  his  life.  We  feel  an  accordance  between 
our  best  and  purest  sentiments  and  the  conduct  and  instructions  of 
Christ,  and  we  find  tliese  invigorated  as  our  knowledge  of  his  char- 
acter is  enlarged.  We  perceive  ourselves  gi'owing  more  and  more 
like  God  ;  we  perceive  our  narrow  and  sensual  hearts  expanding 
with  pure  benevolence  ;  we  perceive  the  storms  of  passion  calmed, 
and  a  serene  hope  in  God,  and  a  patient  endurance  of  injuries  tak- 


164  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^r.  23-34. 

ing  possession  of  our  souls.  We  know  b}'  an  evidence  whicli  we 
cannot  communicate  to  any  but  Cliristians,  tliat  Jesus  is  the  Son 
of  God,  for  we  feel   ourselves  elevated  and   strengthened  b}'  his 

presence 

"I  hope  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  obligations  of  virtue  and 
piet}'  and  benevolence,  however  displayed,  however  enforced.  But 
never  do  I  feel  how  lovel}'  is  virtue,  —  never  do  1  feel  so  deepl}'  my 
own  wretchedness,  unworthiness,  and  guilt, — never  do  I  so  ear- 
nestly desire  to  subdue  mj'  evil  passions,  and  to  put  on  hurailit}-  and 
universal  love,  as  when  I  behold  the  glor}'  of  God  in  the  face,  in 
the  actions,  in  the  words,  of  Jesus  Christ." 

1808.  The  majestic  claims  of  Jesus.  "  Can  we  read  this 
solemn  declaration  of  Jesus  without  wonder  and  veneration?  We 
now  see  him  in  a  situation  where  everything  tended  to  depress  his 
mind,  ^¥e  see  him  surrounded  by  men  who  he  well  knew  would 
ridicule  his  claims,  and  make  them  the  foundation  of  his  ruin.  We 
see  him  in  circumstances  in  which  ambition  and  every  earthly  inter- 
est united  to  oppose  the  assertion  of  this  high  character.  From  his 
silence  we  see  that  at  this  trying  moment  he  was  perfectly  com- 
posed, not  agitated,  not  provoked,  not  hurried  to  imprudence  b}' 
violence  of  passion,  but  capable  of  the  calmest  anticipation  of  the 
consequences  of  his  acknowledgment.  In  this  situation,  when  the 
solemnity  of  an  oath  was  imposed  on  him,  and  when  life  or  death 
rested  on  the  words  he  uttered,  we  hear  him  breaking  that  silence 
which  calumu}'  could  not  interrupt,  and  in  the  most  firm,  serious, 
and  majestic  language  claiming  the  honors  of  the  Son  of  God,  of 
the  promised  Messiah,  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  We  not  only 
hear  him  assenting  to  the  question,  'Art  thou  the  Christ?'  but  add- 
ing to  his  assent  a  declaration  of  his  glory,  which  he  must  have 
known  would  have  been  peculiarly  offensive  to  the  Jews,  and  ap- 
plying to  himself  language  which,  under  the  old  dispensation,  had 
been  limited  to  God,  — thus  expressing  his  intimate  union  with  the 
Father.  If  we  consider  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  the  lan- 
guage employed  by  Christ,  we  are  authorized  in  saying,  that,  if 
Jesus  did  not  declare  the  truth,  he  was  not  merely  a  common  de- 
ceiver, but  the  very  worst  of  deceivers.  But  how  can  this  be  rec- 
onciled with  his  whole  Ufe  and  doctrines?  and  how  could  a  man  of 
such  a  cliaracter  have  made  such  a  profession  in  circumstances 
which  threatened  nothing  but  humiliation  and  suffernig? 

"If  we  view  Jesus,  bound  as  a  criminal  at  a  human  tribunal, 
hemmed  in  with  malignant  enemies  thirsty  for  his  blood,  how  can 
we  help  astonishment  at  the  serene,  dignified,  sublime  language  in 


1803-1814.]  DIGNITY  OF  JESUS.  165 

which  he  spoke?  What  marks  of  an  elevated  mind,  conscious  of 
majesty,  unintimidated  by  the  worst  forms  of  danger,  and  assured 
of  triumphs  over  all  opposers  !  It  cannot  be  said  that  this  is  the 
language  of  boasting.  It  was  extorted  from  the  silent  sufferer  by 
an  oath.  He  who  had  heard  without  reply  the  accusations  of 
malice,  and  discovered  a  mind  free  from  ever}^  discordant  feeling,  at 
length  lifted  his  eyes  to  his  judges,  and  declared,  '  Ye  shall  here- 
after see  me  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  and  coming  in  the 
clouds  of  heaven.'  " 

1808.  Dignity  of  Jesus.  "  A  few  daj's  before,  he  had  entered 
this  city  in  triumph,  he  had  wrought  miracles  which  extorted  ad- 
miration, he  had  heard  the  shouts  of  a  crowd  welcoming  him  as  the 
promised  Son  of  David.  Through  this  same  city  he  now  passed  as 
a  criminal  in  bonds,  a  silent  sufferer,  and  experienced  only  con- 
tempt or  indifference.  He  saw  a  fickle,  worldly  people  converted 
into  enemies,  because  he  had  refused  to  assume  the  outward  glory 
which  they  expected  in  the  Messiah.  It  is  peculiarly  hard  to  bear 
a  sudden  reverse  of  circumstances,  to  maintain' benevolence  towards 
men  who,  from  selfish  feelings,  express  attachment,  and  then  for- 
sake, injure,  and  conspire  to  destroy  us.  But  Jesus  wept  o\ev 
Jerusalem,  when  he  foresaw  its  ingratitude  ;  and  even  whilst  its 
inhabitants  thronged  after  him  to  extort  a  sentence  of  condemna- 
tion, he  expressed  no  emotions  of  disappointment  or  anger,  and 
bore,  with  equal  tranquillity,  the  malignity  of  rulers  and  the  versa- 
tility of  the  populace.  He  saw  how  little  effect  had  been  produced 
by  his  ministry.  He  saw  his  enemies  prosecuting  their  designs 
without  any  of  the  opposition  tliey  had  feared.  No  friends  ap- 
peared to  accompany  and  defend  him.  But  he  made  no  attempts 
to  excite  anew  the  hopes  and  attachment  of  the  multitude.  And 
he,  who  had  so  often  addressed  tliem  for  their  own  salvation, 
offered  not  one  appeal  to  secure  himself.   .... 

"  Pilate  marvelled  greatl}'.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  observe 
in  prisoners  a  disposition  to  clear  themselves  from  such  aggravated 
charges.  He  saw  how  easily  these  accusations  might  be  repelled  ; 
he  was  astonished  at  the  composed,  unbroken  silence  of  the  accused. 
This  silence  of  Jesus  expresses  great  dignity  and  conscious 
innocence.  He  knew  that  the  occasion  required  no  defence.  A 
Roman  governor,  residing  in  tihe  narrow  province  of  Judea,  needed 
not  to  be  told  that  no  insurrection  had  been  stirred  up  within 
his  jurisdiction.  Pilate  must  have  been  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
affairs  of  Judea,  to  need  that  Jesus  should  declare  that  he  had 
forbidden  none  to  pay  tribute  to  Caesar.     Pilate  must  have  known 


166  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [Mr.  23-34. 

the  Jewish  people  too  well  to  believe  that  they  would  ever  have  ac- 
cused a  man  who  reallj-  aimed  to  break  the  Roman  ^'oke  from  their 
necks.  It  was  not  necessary  that  he  should  speak  in  order  to  pre- 
vent misconception  in  his  judge  ;  and  he  was  therefore  silent.  In 
this  position  of  Jesus,  in  tliis  declining  to  use  any  means  with  the 
governor  or  populace  for  his  safetj",  we  see  the  evidences  of  a  mind 
submissive  to  God,  superior  to  fear,  undisturbed  by  passion,  and 
persuaded  that  its  sufterings  were  instrumental  to  some  important 
end.  This  conduct  of  Christ,  especiall}'  if  we  consider  the  friendly 
sentiments  of  Pilate,  was  inconsistent  with  all  the  views  and  mo- 
tives which  influence  selfish  men 

"In  these  words  we  see  the  majesty  and  fearless  composure  of 
Jesus.  '  I  cannot  and  will  not  deny  that  I  am  a  king.  It  is  my 
great  office  to  declare  the  truth  ;  it  is  by  the  influence  of  truth,  that 
I  am  to  reign  in  the  hearts  of  men  ;  and  I  cannot  shrink  from  as- 
serting this  most  important  truth,  that  I  have  the  power  and 
authority  of  a  sovereign  at  once  to  rule  and  to  defend  mj-  people. 
Let  not  this  doctrine  offend.  Ever}-  one  who  is  of  the  truth,  who 
loves  the  light,  and  whose  mind  is  open  to  conviction,  heareth  and 
acknowledgeth  this  and  all  my  doctrines.'  Tiiese  words,  spoken  at 
so  interesting  and  trying  a  period,  discover  to  us  the  elevation  of 
our  Saviour  in  a  very  striking  light.  We  see  his  mind  unbroken 
bj'  suffering.  We  see  in  him  tlie  firmest  adherence  to  the  doctrines 
he  had  formerly  tauglit.  We  see  in  him  a  conscious  diguit}',  a  full 
conviction  of  the  glory  and  power  with  which  he  was  invested.  He 
asserts  his  royal  office,  not  from  ostentation,  not  amidst  a  host  of 
flatterers,  but  in  the  face  of  enemies ;  and  when  he  made  tliis  sol- 
emn declaration,  his  appearance  bore  little  conformity,  indeed,  to 
the  splendor  of  earthly  monarchs." 

1810.  The  universality  of  Christianity  a  proof  of  its  Divine 
ORIGIN.  "  I  wish  at  this  time  to  call  your  attention  to  the  extent 
of  the  influence  whicli  Jesus  ascribes  to  himself  in  the  text,  '  I  am 
the  light  of  the  world.' 

"  He  here  represents  himself  as  sent  to  diff'use  his  lustre  through 
all  the  regions  of  the  earth,  to  introduce  a  religion  for  the  whole 
human  race,  to  improve  the  human  character  in  every  nation  under 
heaven,  to  be  a  universal  benefactor,  to  guide  the  steps  of  all  men, 
however  widely  dispersed,  to  a  better  world 

"From  tlic  whole  tenor  of  the  New  Testament,  we  learn  that 
Jesus  Christ  claimed  to  himself  the  high  cliaracter  of  the  guide,  in- 
structor, and  Lord  of  the  whole  human  family.  He  declared  him- 
self connnissioned  to  diff'use  most  salutary  doctrines  through  the 


1803-1814.]  UNIVEESALITY  OF  CHRISTIANITY.  167 

earth,  to  bring  all  nations  to  one  faith,  to  introduce  a  new  worship 
in  the  place  of  the  various  s^'stems  which  divided  mankind,  to  unite 
the  discordant  world  under  himself  as  a  common  head 

"  Let  me  point  out  some  of  those  features  of  the  gospel  which  fit 
it  for  being  a  universal  religion.  The  representations  of  God,  given 
by  Jesus  Cln-ist,  are  fitted  to  draw  to  him  the  hearts  and  hopes  of 
all  human  beings.  Under  all  other  religions,  the  Divinity  was  rep- 
resented as  sustaining  a  peculiar  relation  to  the  particular  nation 
for  which  the  religion  was  designed 

"But  Jesus  represented  him  as  the  Father  of  all,  as  having  no 
regard  to  outward  distinctions,  as  the  God  of  Jew  and  Gentile,  as 
looking  with  a  father's  compassion  on  those  nations  who  had  wan- 
dered from  him,  and  as  extending  his  arms  to  receive  them.  In 
the  gospel,  the  paternal  character  of  God  is  continually  brought  to 
view.  '  Our  Father,'  is  the  language  in  which  we  are  to  address 
him  ;  and  all  men  are  invited  to  approach  in  the  character  of  chil- 
dren. This  is  at  once  a  ver}'  tender  and  a  ver}'  noble  sentiment. 
We,  indeed,  are  so  accustomed  to  it,  that  we  see  nothing  singular 
in  that  religion  which  enforces  it.  But  we  should  go  back  to  the 
age  of  Christ.  We  should  remember  the  blindness  of  the  idolater, 
and  the  narrow  feelings  of  the  Jew ;  and  then  we  shall  be  struck 
with  the  elevated  and  enlarged  mind  of  Jesus  Cluist,  who  so  clearly 
taught  that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  that  he  is  the  God  and 
Fatlier  of  all  men,  and  that  before  his  thi'one  all  nations  may  bow 
and  find  equal  acceptance 

"  Again,  another  feature  of  the  gospel  which  renders  it  fit  to  be 
a  universal  religion  is  this.  The  worsliip  it  prescribes  is  remark- 
ably free  from  forms,  rules,  ceremonies,  and  thus  it  is  adapted  to 
all  climates,  all  modes  of  life,  all  states  of  societ}',  and  other  cir- 
cumstances under  whicli  men  ai'e  placed 

"  It  is  ver}'  remarkable,  that  when  he  was  brought  up  and  living 
amidst  the  pomp,  and  show,  and  forms,  and  bigotr}'  of  the  Jews,  he 
should  yet  teach  a  religion  in  which  the  whole  stress  is  laid  upon 
sentiments,  dispositions,  and  principles,  which  give  to  forms  all 
their  value  ;  in  which  the  worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth  is 
declared  to  be  the  onl}'  acceptable  worship,  and  in  which  nothing  of 
the  outward  religion  and  burdensome  ritual  of  his  time  is  to  be 
found  ;  in  which  are  enjoined  onl}'  two  positive  institutions,  so  sim- 
ple and  so  expressive  that  they  may  be  observed  b}'  all  men  of  all 
nations  with  equal  ease  and  with  constant  improvement.  Does  not 
this  purit}-,  this  simplicit}-,  this  spirituality  of  the  gospel,  substan- 
tiate the  claim  of  Jesus,  that  he  came  indeed  from  God,  to  be  the 
light  of  all  manlcind  ?  .  .   .  . 


168  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34, 

"  Let  me  conclude  this  branch  of  the  subject  with  directing  j-ou 
to  another  feature  of  the  gospel  which  fits  it  to  be  a  universal  relig- 
ion. It  is  a  plain,  perspicuous  religion,  and  suited  to  the  compre- 
hension and  wants  of  all  classes  of  societ}'.  A  universal  religion 
ought  to  have,  if  I  ma}'  so  speak,  the  clearness,  brightness,  of  the 
sun,  and  to  diffuse  its  beams  of  truth  and  consolation  on  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  —  on  all  the  varieties  of  the  social  state.  This 
is  eminently  the  character  of  the  gospel,  and  distinguishes  it  from 
all  other  religions.  Jesus  Christ,  whilst  he  claimed  the  highest 
title,  yet  descended  in  a  sense  to  the  level  of  the  humblest  of  man- 
kind. He  dispensed  his  religion  in  familiar  language,  in  striking 
and  eas}'  comparisons,  in  affecting  narratives,  and  in  brief  and 
comprehensive  precepts.  He  did  not,  like  the  ancient  teachers, 
affect  a  distance  from  the  multitude,  and  reserve  his  mj'steries,  in- 
comprehensible by  vulgar  minds,  for  select  disciples.  He  addressed 
all  men  with  one  voice,  with  the  same  doctrines,  promises,  and  ad- 
monition ;  and,  what  is  remarkable,  whilst  he  instructed  the  igno- 
rant, he  3'et  presented  to  the  refined  and  intelligent  more  sublime 
and  interesting  truths  than  they  had  ever  conceived  before.  He 
was  simple  and  familiar,  but  in  reading  his  discourses  we  discover 
a  majesty'  in  his  simplicitj',  an  authority  mingled  with  his  conde- 
scension. He  taught  as  one  who  came  to  instruct  the  race,  for  he 
spoke  on  subjects  which  come  home  to  ever}'  man's  breast.  He  did 
not  adapt  himself  to  the  circumstances  of  an}'  particular  age,  or 
nation,  or  rank.  He  spoke  of  that  God  on  whom  all  men  depend, 
of  that  obedience  and  love  which  all  men  owe,  of  tliose  sorrows 
which  pierce  every  heart,  of  that  sin  which  burdens  every  con- 
science, of  that  death  wliich  terminates  every  mere  earthl}'  pros- 
pect, and  of  that  futurity  to  which  the  eyes  of  all  nations  have  ever 
turned  with  inquiring  anxiety.  This  is  the  excellence  of  the  gos- 
pel, that  it  is  fitted  for  the  many,  for  the  mass  of  mankind,  in  every 
age  and  every  nation.  It  does  not  treat  of  local  or  temporary  in- 
terests. It  warns  of  danger  to  whicli  all  are  exposed,  enjoins  vir- 
tues which  all  may  practise,  and  offers  consolation  which  all  at 
some  seasons  need.  Its  spirit,  which  is  universal  love  and  benev- 
olence, is  fitted  for  all  climes,  for  all  classes.  It  makes  the  true 
dignity  of  man  in  every  condition  ;  it  forms  the  hai)piness  of  fami- 
lies and  communities  ;  and  it  is  the  best  preparation  for  happiness 
in  heaven.  Surely  a  religion  so  suited  to  the  whole  luunan  race  is 
wortliy  tlie  universal  P'atlier.  And  when  we  consider  the  circum- 
stances of  liim  who  proclaimed  it,  and  the  darkness,  narrowness, 
and  corruption  of  tlie  age  in  wlilcli  he  lived,  have  we  not  conclusive 
proof  that  he  came  from  God,  that  the  end  for  which  he  was  sent 


1803-1814.]        CHEIST'S  RELATIONS  TO   THE  RACE.  169 

will  be  accomplished,  that  he  will  3'et  be  the  light  of  the  world,  in 
the  most  extensive  sense  of  the  words,  and  that  his  truth,  designed 
for  all  nations,  will  finally  be  extended  to  all  the  regions  of  the 
earth  ? 

"  Before  this  sun  of  righteousness,  the  mists  of  error,  supersti- 
tion, idolatry,  will  melt  away  ;  all  nations,  receiving  one  pure  faith, 
will  be  reduced  to  peace.  The  predicted  time,  when  the  lion  and 
lamb  shall  lie  down  together,  will  come  ;  from  an  enlightened  and  a 
united  world  one  offering  will  ascend  to  the  common  Father  and 
Redeemer.  These  are  prospects  which  almost  overpower  belief  by 
their  vastness  and  their  happiness.  But  God  has  sent  his  Son  to 
be  the  light  of  the  world  ;  and  causes  are  in  operation  sufficiently 
powerful  to  produce  these  desired  effects.  The  diff'usion  of  Chris- 
tianity through  so  man^^  nations,  amidst  so  man}-  difficulties  in  the 
past,  is  a  pledge  of  its  future  progress.  This  religion  is  now  the 
religion  of  the  civilized  world,  of  the  most  improved  nations,  of 
nations  who  are  extending  themselves  through  the  earth,  and  who, 
according  to  all  human  probability,  must  acquire  a  decided  influ- 
ence over  all  other  countries.  Here,  then,  is  a  rock  and  foundation 
of  hope  to  the  good  man  amidst  the  fluctuations  of  the  world.  The 
cause  of  truth,  holiness,  and  human  improvement  is  the  cause  of 
God  himself." 

1811.  Christ's  relations  to  the  race.  "The  exalted  state 
of  our  Saviour  is  a  subject  on  which  the  Scriptures  often  dwell, 
although  it  is  necessarily  attended  with  a  degree  of  obscurity.  The 
manner  in-which  he  now  exists  can  very  faintly  be  conceived  b}'  us. 
Our  experience  is  limited  to  this  world.  Jesus  is  the  inhabitant  of 
heaven ;  he  has  entered  on  an  immortal  life,  and  is  clothed  with 
power,  such  as  is  unknown  amongst  men,  —  a  power  felt  through 
heaven  and  earth,  —  a  power  which  is  one  day  to  be  displayed  in 
the  most  wonderful  eflfects 

"That  God  has  invested  his  Son  with  authority  over  the  whole 
human  race,  to  accomplish  the  most  benevolent  ends,  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  as  something  unprecedented,  and  unlike  everything 
we  see  in  the  course  of  providence.  This  relation  of  Jesus  Christ 
to  the  human  race  is  not  altogether  without  example.  On  the  con- 
trar}',  it  is  God's  common  method  to  connect  one  being  with  others, 
for  the  sake  of  imparting  to  them  the  blessings  we  need.  All  the 
good  which  we  have  received  has  flowed  to  us,  not  immediately 
from  the  Father,  but  from  other  beings,  who  have  received  power, 
authority,  wisdom,  and  love  from  God,  that  they  might  be  sources 
of  good  to  us  and  all  around  us 


170  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

"  It  may  be  objected  to  the  views  which  have  now  been  given  as 
to  the  power  to  which  Christ  is  exalted  for  human  salvation,  that  we 
do  not  see  such  sensible  effects  as  might  be  expected  from  this 
universal  sovereign.  To  this  I  answer,  that  a  being  so  far  exalted 
above  us  must  have  innumerable  modes  of  operation  which  we  can- 
not discern  or  comprehend.  His  agenc}'  ma}-  continually  be  mingled 
with  human  events,  and  ^et  we  not  discern  it.  No  being  acts,  if  I 
ma}-  use  the  words,  with  so  much  silence  and  secrecy  as  the  Infinite 
Father.  He  is  ever  present,  and  ever  operating,  and  3'et  we  see  him 
not,  we  hear  him  not ;  and  his  Sou  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  the  image 
of  his  power  as  well  as  of  all  his  perfections,  ma}'  act  in  the  same 
unseen,  j-et  efficacious  manner.  The  narrowness  of  our  vision  is 
sufficient  to  account  for  our  not  distinguishing  more  sensibl}'  the 
operation  of  Jesus  Christ  in  human  affairs 

' '  The  agency  of  Christ  is  at  present  silent  and  concealed  ;  but 
the  time  is  approaching,  when  the  veil  which  conceals  our  Lord  will 
be  removed,  when  he  will  be  revealed,  with  the  angels  who  now 
obey  him,  in  the  glory  of  the  Father,  when  his  power  will  be  felt 
through  the  regions  of  the  dead,  when  all  who  have  lived  will 
receive  new  life  at  his  hands,  and  when  all  will  surround  his 
judgment-seat.  Then  will  be  seen,  and  felt,  and  acknowledged  by 
all,  the  exalted  authority  of  Jesus  Christ 

"  At  that  da}-  men  will  be  as  angels,  and  will  be  associated  in  a 
measure  with  angels ;  and  then  will  be  understood  that  striking 
language  of  Paul,  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  God  to  '  gather  together 
in  one  all  things  in  Christ.' " 

1811.  Christ's  relations  to  the  Church.  "By  his  Church 
our  Saviour  does  not  mean  a  part}-,  bearing  the  name  of  a  human 
leader,  distinguished  by  a  form  or  an  opinion,  and,  on  the  ground 
of  this  distinction,  denying  the  name  or  character  of  Christians  to 
all  but  themselves.  He  means  by  it  the  body  of  his  friends  and 
followers,  who  truly  imbibe  his  spirit^  no  matter  b}'  what  name  they 
are  called,  in  what  house  they  worship,  by  what  peculiarities  of 
mode  and  opinion  they  are  distinguished,  under  what  sky  the}-  live, 
or  what  language  they  speak.  These  are  the  true  church,  —  men 
made  better,  made  holy,  virtuous,  by  his  religion,  —  men  who, 
hoping  in  his  promises,  keep  his  commands. 

"Ever  since  Christ's  church  was  established  such  a  unity  has 
existed,  such  characters  have  been  formed  by  the  gospel ;  and  this 
influence  it  will  exert  through  all  ages.  As  we  have  said,  we  have 
reason  to  suppose,  from  what  has  been  experienced,  that  great 
changes  will  take  place  in  the  present  state  of  Christianity  ;  and  the 


1803-1814.]  PROGRESS  OF  SOCIETY.  171 

time  is,  perhaps,  coming,  when  all  om*  present  sects  will  live  only  in 
histor}'.  But  the  influences  of  the  gospel  will  not  therefore  cease  ; 
the  church  will  not  die  with  the  sects  into  which  it  is  broken.  On 
the  contrar}-,  we  ma}'  hope  that  the  vine  of  God  will  flourish  more, 
when  these  branches  are  lopped  off  which  exhaust  its  strength  and 
bear  little  fruit.  Men  will  then  learn  that  Christianit}'  is  designed 
for  practice,  and  not  for  contention  ;  ceasing  to  censure  others,  the}^ 
will  aim  to  reform  themselves.  The  simple  gospel,  divested  of 
human  addition,  no  longer  disfigured  by  absurd  explanation,  will 
be  the  centre  and  bond  of  union  to  the  world.  The  name  of  Chris- 
tian will  absorb  all  other  names  ;  and  the  spirit  of  love  to  God  and 
man  will  take  the  place  of  unhallowed  zeal  and  bitter  contention. 
Human  churches,  human  establishments,  —  the  effects  and  monu- 
ments of  folly  and  ambition,  —  will  fall.  But  the  church  of  Christ 
—  which  is  another  name  for  piet}',  goodness,  righteousness,  peace, 
and  love  —  shall  endure  forever 

"The  recover}'  of  men  to  holiness,  by  the  diff'usion  of  a  holy 
doctrine,  was  not  one  of  the  inferior  objects  of  Christ's  mission,  not 
an  accidental  end,  which  may  fail,  and  yet  his  great  purpose  be 
accomplished.  This  was  the  central  work  which  brought  him  into 
the  world.  Forsaking  all  other  ends,  he  lived  for  this,  — to  unfold, 
and  confirm,  and  enforce  a  religion  which  should  fill  the  whole  earth, 
and  subsist  to  the  end  of  time 

"It  is  a  delightful  and  elevating  thought,  that  the  Son  of  God, 
of  whom  the  Scriptures  speak  in  such  magnificent  language,  has 
this  peculiar  interest  in  the  sanctification  and  recover}'  of  our  race  ; 
that,  after  living  to  teach,  and  dying  to  confirm,  his  truth,  he  is  now 
clothed  with  majesty  and  might,  to  extend  it  through  the  earth. 
Can  that  cause  fail  which  has  this  advocate  in  heaven  ;  that  king- 
dom be  overthrown  which  this  immortal  and  benignant  Sovereign 
watches  with  a  constant  care?  We  must  never  imagine  Jesus 
Christ  withdrawn  from  the  support  of  his  church,  or  indifferent  to 
the  holiness  and  virtue  of  our  race." 


SECTION    FOURTH. 

SOCIETY. 

1810.  Providence  manifested  in  the  progress  of  society. 
"We  must  not  suffer  the  miseries  which  histor}'  brings  to  view  to 
fill  our  minds,  and  to  crowd  from  them  the  animating  conviction  of 
an  overruling  Providence,  which  will  make  light  spring  up  in  dark- 
ness, and  the  furious  waves  subside  into  peace.     We  ought  to  re- 


172  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  23-34. 

member,  that,  whilst  societ}'  has  been  so  agitated,  innumerable 
individuals  have,  in  all  ages,  enjoyed  peace  and  security- ;  that,  in 
the  famil}'  retreat  where  history  never  penetrates,  the  domestic 
virtues  have  been  cherished,  and  all  the  endearments  and  improve- 
ments of  social  intercourse  enjoyed.  We  ought  to  remember,  that, 
amidst  the  convulsions  of  the  world,  the  cause  of  truth  and  religion 
has  ever  maintained  its  ground,  and  been  silentl}-  extending  its  in- 
fluence ;  that  the  race  has  been  progressive ;  that  the  light  of 
revelation,  which  at  first  faintU'  gleamed  in  an  obscure  corner  of 
the  world,  is  now  beaming  on  many  nations ;  and  that  treasures 
of  knowledge  and  wisdom  have  constantly  been  accumulating  as 
they  have  been  transmitted  from  age  to  age.  Let  us  not,  then, 
waver  in  the  belief,  which  there  is  so  much  to  confirm,  that  there  is 
a  wise  and  almighty  Providence  extended  over  all  the  changes  of 
society. 

"As  the  individuals  of  the  human  race  pass  through  stages  of 
helplessness,  inexperience,  and  suffering,  before  they  attain  the 
vigor  of  their  powers,  so  the  race  itself  is  destined  to  pass  through 
its  infanc}'  and  growth,  before  it  attains  to  wisdom  and  happiness. 
As  the  individual  improves  by  experience,  and  gains  the  best 
lessons  from  suffering,  so,  perhaps,  society  is  to  be  instructed  and 
ameliorated  by  calamity.  Future  ages  ma}'  look  back  on  the 
present,  and,  whilst  they  shudder  at  the  scenes  of  confusion  and 
bloodshed  which  are  now  exhibited,  ma}-  be  kept  from  that  de- 
pravity of  manners,  that  selfish,  mercenary  spirit,  that  neglect  of 
Christianity  and  of  education,  that  pride  and  ambition,  which  are 
the  sources  of  our  miseries.  But,  whatever  be  the  methods  of 
Providence,  we  may  be  assured  that  the  interests  of  virtue  and 
religion  will  triumph,  and  with  these  all  the  interests  of  society  will 
be  advanced.  Nothing  is  wanting  except  the  extension  of  pure 
principle  and  pure  manners,  to  make  society  happy ;  and  without 
this,  all  other  improvements  will  be  of  no  avail.  But  this  will  be 
effected 

"The  time  is  coming  when  the  wicked  will  be  remembered  only 
to  instruct  and  improve,  and  the  miseries  of  men  be  remembered 
only  to  illustrate  the  triumphs  of  goodness  and  happiness.  Let  us, 
then,  never  faint ;  but  in  the  darkest  period  cleave  to  the  cause  of 
righteousness,  seek  to  bless  and  reform  mankind,  and  exult  in  the 
thought  that  our  labors  shall  not  be  in  vain  in  the  Lord  Jesus." 

1809.  Peace  on  eautii.  "  Peace  is  a  state  of  harmony  between 
beings  who  have  one  interest,  arc  alive  to  the  same  pleasures  and 
pains,   and  participate  in  each  other's  views  and    feelings.      Our 


K 


1803-1814.]  PEACE  ON  EARTH.  173 

Saviour,  in  his  last  prayer  for  his  disciples,  has  taught  us  what  he 
meant  bj'  the  peace  which  he  came  to  establish  on  earth,  when  he 
expresses  again  and  again  this  desire,  that  they  might  '  be  one,  even 
as  he  and  the  Father  were  one.' 

"  By  this  peace  we  are  not  to  understand  merel}'  that  state  of 
things  in  wliich  men  abstain  from  mutual  injury.  It  is  that  mutual 
affection  which  prompts  us  to  ever}'  sacrifice  for  one  anotlier's  good, 
and  renders  each  happy  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  his  friend.  Peace 
is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  a  negative,  inactive  state.  But  in  the 
gospel  it  expresses  something  very  different, —  the  union  of  good 
hearts,  which  are  inflamed  with  the  best  sentiments,  which  are  at- 
tracted b}'  congeniality,  and  which  conspire  to  act  for  the  com- 
mon welfare.  This  peace  is  not  the  profession  of  lips,  but  living 
concord. 

"  The  end  for  which  Jesus  Christ  came  was  to  convert  men  into  real 
friends,  to  make  them  objects  of  each  other's  attachment,  to  give 
them  a  common  feeling  and  a  common  interest.  He  came  to  oper- 
ate on  the  spirit,  to  produce  inward  effects,  to  implant  a  principle 
of  true  love,  to  fit  men  for  the  most  endearing  relations.  He  came  to 
adorn  the  human  character,  to  strip  it  of  ever3-thing  fierce  and  re- 
pulsive, to  make  it  attractive,  to  shed  round  it  the  mild  lustre  of 
benevolence.  He  came  to  take  from  men's  hands  the  implements  of 
war,  and  to  open  their  arms  to  embrace  one  another.  He  came 
to  dispel  distinast,  suspicion,  and  jealous}"^,  to  render  man  worthj'  of 
the  confidence  of  his  brother,  to  bring  men  to  that  exalted  state  in 
which  the}-  will  lay  bare  their  whole  souls  without  fear.  He  came  to 
draw  men  off  from  separate  interests,  and  to  win  them  to  objects  in 
which  all  may  combine,  to  which  all  may  lend  their  aid,  and  which 
will  thus  form  the  means  of  affectionate  intercourse.  He  came  to 
soften  insensibilit}',  to  make  many  hearts  beat  in  unison,  to  excite 
the  tenderest  concern  for  each  individual's  welfare,  and  the  most 
generous,  disinterested  labors  for  the  common  good.  He  came  to 
root  out  envy,  to  give  every  person  an  interest  in  the  excellence  of 
others,  to  make  us  look  with  delight  on  all  promises  of  goodness, 
to  rouse  us  to  be  helpers  of  each  other's  purity  and  perfection,  to 
teach  us  to  feel  that  the  progress  of  our  brethren  is  our  own.  He 
came  to  form  such  a  union  amongst  men  as  would  lead  them  to 
pour  freely  from  their  hearts  the  noblest  views  and  feelings,  and 
thus  become  the  means  of  enkindling  every  grace  and  virtue,  and 
mutual  sources  of  love  and  wisdom.  He  came,  in  a  word,  so  to 
bind  us  together  that  we  should  count  nothing  material  or  spiritual 
our  own,  but  hold  all  things  in  common,  and  give  all  to  the  general 
well-being." 


174  SPIRITUAL   GROWTH.  [Mi.  23-34. 

1810  (April  5,  Day  of  Public  Fast).  The  military  despotism 
OF  France.  "  Am  1  asked,  what  there  is  so  peculiar  in  our  times? 
I  answer :  In  the  veiy  heart  of  Europe,  in  the  centre  of  the  civ- 
ilized world,  a  new  power  has  suddenly  arisen  on  the  ruins  of  old 
institutions,  peculiar  in  its  character,  and  most  ruinous  in  its  influ- 
ence. We  there  see  a  nation,  which,  from  its  situation,  its  fertilit}', 
and  population,  has  always  held  a  commanding  rank  in  Europe, 
suddenly-  casting  off  the  form  of  government,  the  laws,  the  habits, 
the  spirit,  by  which  it  was  assimilated  to  surrounding  nations,  and 
b^'  which  it  gave  to  them  the  power  of  restraining  it ;  and  all  at  once 
assuming  a  new  form,  and  erecting  a  new  government,  free  in  name 
and  profession,  but  holding  at  its  absolute  disposal  the  proi)erty 
and  life  of  every  subject,  and  directing  all  its  energies  to  the  sub- 
jugation of  foreign  countries.  We  see  the  supreme  power  of  this 
nation  passing  in  rapid  succession  from  one  hand  to  another.  But 
its  object  never  changes.  We  see  it  dividing  and  corrupting  b}^  its 
arts,  and  then  overwhelming  by  its  arms,  the  nations  which  surround 
it.  We  see  one  end  steadily  kept  in  view,  — the  creation  of  an  irre- 
sistible military  power.  For  this  end,  we  see  ever}'  man,  in  the 
prime  of  life,  subjected  to  military  service.  We  see  military  talent 
everywhere  excited,  and  by  every  means  rewarded.  The  arts  of 
life,  agriculture,  commerce,  all  are  of  secondary  value.  In  short, 
we  see  a  mighty  nation  sacrificing  ever}'  blessing  in  the  prosecution 
of  an  unprincipled  attempt  at  universal  conquest. 

"The  result  3'ou  well  know.  The  surrounding  nations,  unpre- 
pared for  this  new  conflict,  and  absolutel}'  incapacitated  b}'  their 
old  habits  and  institutions  to  meet  this  new  power  on  equal  tcnns, 
have  fallen  in  melancholj' succession  ;  and  each,  as  it  has  fallen,  has 
swelled  by  its  plunder  the  power  and  rapacit}'  of  its  conquerors. 
We  now  behold  this  nation  triumphant  over  Continental  P!)urope. 
Its  armies  are  immensely  numerous  ;  j'et  the  number  is  not  the  cir- 
cumstance which  renders  them  most  formidable.  These  armies  have 
been  trained  to  conquest  by  the  most  perfect  discipline.  At  their 
head  are  generals  who  have  risen  only  by  military  merit.  They  are 
habituated  to  victory,  and  their  enemies  are  habituated  to  defeat. 

"All  this  immense  power  is  now  centred  in  one  hand,  wielded  by 
one  mind,  —  a  mind  formed  in  scenes  of  revolution  and  blood, — 
a  mind  most  vigorous  and  capacious,  but  whose  capacity  is  filled 
with  plans  of  dominion  and  devastation.  It  has  not  room  for 
one  thought  of  mere}'.  The  personal  character  of  Napoleon  is  of 
itself  sufficient  to  inspire  the  gloomiest  forebodings.  But  in  addi- 
tion to  his  lust  for  power,  he  is  almost  impelled  by  the  necessity  of 
his  circumstances  to  cairy  on  the  bloody  work  of  conquest.     His 


1803-1814.1 


NAPOLEON  AND  FRANCE.  175 


immense  armies,  the  only  foundations  of  his  empire,  must  be  sup- 
ported. Impoverished  France,  however,  cannot  give  them  support. 
Tliey  must  tlierefore  live  on  tlie  spoils  of  otlier  nations.  But  the 
nations  which  they  successively  spoil,  and  whose  industry  and  arts 
they  extinguish,  cannot  long  sustain  them.  Hence  they  must 
pour  themselves  into  new  regions.  Hence  plunder,  devastation, 
and  new  conquests  are  not  merely  the  outrages  of  wanton  bar- 
barity ;  tliey  are  essential  even  to  the  existence  of  this  tremendous 

power. 

"  What  overwhelming,  disheartening  prospects  are  these!  In 
the  midst  of  Christendom,  this  most  sanguinary  power  has  reared  its 
head,  and  holds  the  world  in  defiance  ;  and  now,  let  me  ask,  how  are 
we  impressed  in  these  dark,  disastrous  times?  Here  is  every  form 
of  misery.  We  are  called  to  sympathize  with  fallen  greatness,  with 
descendants  of  ancient  sovereigns,  hurled  from  their  thrones,  and 
cast  out  to  contempt ;  and  if  these  do  not  move  us,  our  sympathy  is 
demanded  by  a  wretched  peasantry,  driven  from  their  humble  roofs, 
and  abandoned  to  hunger  and  unsheltered  poverty.  The  decaying 
city,  the  desolated  country,  the  weeping  widow,  the  forsaken  orphan, 
call  on  us  for  our  tears.  Nations,  broken  in  spirit,  yet  forced  to 
smother  their  sori'ows,  call  on  us,  with  a  silent  eloquence,  to  feel  for 
their  wrongs ;  and  how  are  we  moved  by  these  scenes  of  ruin,  hor- 
ror, and  alarm?  Does  there  not,  my  friends,  prevail  among  us  a 
cold  inditference,  as  if  all  this  were  nothing  to  us,  as  if  no  tie  of 
brotherhood  bound  us  to  these  sufferers  ?  Are  we  not  prone  to  fol- 
low the  authors  of  this  ruin  with  an  admiration  of  their  power  and 
success,  which  almost  represses  our  abhorrence  of  their  unsparing 

cruelty  ? 

"  But  we  are  not  merely  insensible  to  the  calamities  of  other 
nations.  There  is  a  still  stranger  insensibility  to  our  own  dangers. 
We  seem  determined  to  believe  that  this  storm  will  spend  all  its 
force  at  a  distance.  The  idea,  that  we  are  marked  out  as  victims  of 
this  all-destroying  despotism,  that  our  turn  is  to  come  and  perhaps  is 
near, —  this  idea  strikes  on  most  minds  as  a  fiction.  Our  own  deep 
interest  in  the  present  conflict  is  unfelt  even  by  some  who  feel  as 
they  ought  for  other  nations.   .... 

"It  may  be  asked,  whether  I  mtend  by  these  remarks  to  repre- 
sent our  country  as  in  a  hopeless  state.  No,  m}-  friends.  I  have 
held  up  the  danger  of  our  country  in  all  its  magnitude,  only  that 
I  may  ui  my  huml)le  measure  excite  that  spirit  which  is  necessary, 
and  which  by  the  blessing  of  Providence  may  be  elTectual,  to  avert 
it.  Alarming  as  our  condition  is,  there  does  appear  to  me  to  be 
one  method  of  safety,   and  only  one:  — Js  a  people,  we  must  he 


176  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  23-34. 

brought  to  see  and  to  feel  our  danger ;  we  must  he  excited  to  a  public 
spirit^  an  energy^  a  magnanimity^  proportioned  to  the  solemnity  of  the 
times  in  which  we  are  called  to  act.  If  I  may  be  permitted,  I  would 
say  to  the  upright,  tlie  disinterested,  tlie  enlightened  friends  of 
their  countr}',  that  the  times  demand  new  and  peeuUar  exertions. 
In  the  present  state  of  the  world,  there  is,  under  God,  but  one 
hope  of  a  people ;  and  that  is,  their  own  exalted  virtue.  This, 
therefore,  should  be  your  object  and  labor,  —  to  fix  the  under- 
standings of  the  people  on  the  calamities  that  are  approaching 
them  ;  to  enlighten  the  public  mind  ;  to  improve  our  moral  feelings  ; 
to  breathe  around  you  an  elevated  spirit ;  to  fortif}'  as  many  hearts 
as  possible  with  the  generous  purpose  to  do  all  which  men  can  do 
for  the  preservation  of  their  countr}-.  You  should  labor,  not  to 
excite  a  temporary'  parox3'sm,  for  the  danger  is  not  to  be  repelled 
by  a  few  impassioned  efforts.  We  want  a  calm  and  solemn  appre- 
hension fixed  in  ever}*  mind,  that  we  have  ever3-thing  at  stake,  — 
that  great  sacrifices  are  to  be  expected,  but  that  the  evils  are  so 
tremendous  as  to  justifj^  and  require  ever}"  sacrifice.  We  want  to 
have  a  general  impression  made  of  the  character,  spirit,  designs, 
power,  and  acts  of  France; — of  the  unparalleled  wretchedness, 
the  political,  moral,  and  religious  debasement,  attendant  on  union 
with  her,  or  on  subjection  to  her  power.  To  effect  this  end,  I  have 
said  that  new  exertions  should  be  made.  The  common  vehicles 
of  political  information  have  done,  and  may  do,  much,  but  cannot 
do  all  which  is  required.  Authentic  publications  in  the  names  of 
our  wisest,  purest,  most  venerated  citizens  should  be  spread  abroad, 
containing  the  plain,  unexaggerated,  uncolored  history  of  the  revo- 
lution and  domination  of  France. 

"  It  may  be  said  that  the  people  have  all  the  evidence  on  this 
subject  already  communicated  to  them.  I  fear  that  many  have 
not  received  suflflciently  distinct  and  connected  information  from 
sources  on  which  they  rely ;  and  I  am  confident  that  many  who 
know  the  truth  need  to  have  the  convictions  of  their  understandings 
converted  into  active  principles,  into  convictions  of  the  heart. 
I  fear  there  are  many  who  are  blinded  to  the  true  character  of  the 
conqueror  of  Europe,  by  the  splendor  of  his  victories ;  many  who 
attach  to  him  tlie  noble  qualities  which  have  been  displayed  by 
other  heroes,  and  who  repose  a  secret  hope  in  his  clemency.  The}' 
ought  to  know,  and  they  might  know,  that  he  has  risen  to  power 
in  a  revolution  which  has  had  a  peculiar  influence  in  hardening  the 
heart ;  that  his  character  is  unillumined  by  one  ray  of  beneficence  ; 
that  he  is  dark,  vindictive,  unrelenting ;  that  no  man  loves  him, 
that  he  cares  for  no  man's  love ;  that  he  asks  only  to  be  feared, 


1803-1814.]  CHRISTIANITY  OUR   SAFEGUARD.  177 

and  that  fear  and  horror  are  the  only  sentiments  he  ought  to 
inspire 

"On  these  topics,  and  on  man}-  others  which  would  illustrate  the 
character  and  tendency-  of  the  French  domination,  might  not  con- 
viction be  carried  to  some  minds  at  least,  and  might  not  many 
sluggish  minds  be  aAvakened,  if  persevering,  steady  efforts  were 
made  b}'  men  whose  characters  would  be  pledges  of  their  veracity 
and  disinterestedness?  Sudden  effects  might  not  be  produced,  and 
perhaps  sudden  effects  are  not  to  be  desired.  We  do  not  want  a 
temporary',  evanescent  ardor,  excited  for  partial  purposes  and  lo- 
cal objects.  We  want  a  rational  conviction  of  their  great  danger 
fastened  on  the  people,  and  a  steady  and  generous  purpose  to  re- 
sist it  b}'  every  means  which  Providence  has  put  within  their  power. 
Let  me  entreat  all  who  are  interested  in  this  great  object,  the  im- 
provement and  elevation  of  public  sentiment,  to  adhere  to  such 
means  only  as  are  worthy  that  great  end  ;  to  suppress  and  condemn 
appeals  to  unworthy  passions,  misrepresentation,  and  that  abuse 
which  depraves  public  taste  and  sentiment,  and  malces  a  man  of  a 
pure  mind  ashamed  of  the  cause  which  he  feels  himself  bound  to 
support.  Let  me  also  urge  3-ou  to  check  the  feelings  and  the  ex- 
pressions of  malignity  and  revenge.  Curses,  denunciations,  and 
angr}'  invectives  are  not  the  language  of  that  spirit  to  which  I 
look  for  the  safety  of  our  country.  We  ought  to  know  that  the 
malignant  passions  of  a  people  are  among  the  powerful  instruments 
hy  which  the  enemy  binds  them  to  his  yoke.  The  patriotism  which 
we  need  is  a  benevolent,  generous,  forbearing  spirit ;  too  mucli 
engrossed  with  the  public  welfare  to  be  stung  by  personal  opposi- 
tion ;  calm  and  patient  in  exhibiting  the  truth,  and  tolerant  towards 
those  who  cannot,  or  who  will  not,  receive  it.  Let  me  repeat  it ; 
the  end  we  should  propose,  the  elevation  of  public  sentiment  and 
feeling,  is  not  to  be  secured  by  violence  or  passion,  but  by  truth 
from  the  hearts  and  lips  and  pens  of  men  whose  lives  and  char- 
acters give  it  energ}'. 

"But  as  the  most  effectual  method  of  exalting  the  views,  pur- 
poses, and  character  of  our  nation,  let  me  entreat  3'ou  who  are 
lovers  of  your  country  to  labor  witli  all  your  power  to  diffuse  the 
faith  and  practice  of  the  gospel  of  Christ.  The  prevalence  of  true 
Christianity  is  the  best  defence  of  a  nation,  especially  at  this 
solemn  and  cA'entful  period.  It  will  secure  to  us  the  blessing  of 
Almighty  God ;  and  it  will  operate  more  powerfully  than  any  other 
cause  in  making  us  recoil  from  the  embrace  of  P^ ranee.  No  gi-eater 
repugnance  can  be  conceived  than  what  subsists  between  the  mild, 
humane,  peaceful,  righteous,  and  devout  spirit  of  the  gospel,  and 

12 


178  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [Mt.  23-34. 

the  impious,  aspiring,  and  rapacious  spirit  of  this  new  nation. 
Christianity  will,  indeed,  exclude  from  our  breasts  all  feelings  of 
ill-will,  malice,  and  revenge  towards  France  and  her  sovereign ; 
for  these  are  feelings  which  it  never  tolerates.  But  it  will  inspire  a 
hoh'  abhorrence  of  her  spirit  and  designs,  and  will  make  us  shudder 
at  the  thought  of  sinking  under  her  power,  or  aiding  her  success. 

"But  it  becomes  us  to  promote  Christianit}',  not  only  because 
it  will  helj}  to  save  our  countr}'.  We  should  cherish  and  diffuse  it, 
because  it  will  be  a  refuge  and  consolation,  even  slwuld  our  country 
fall;  a  support  which  the  oppressor  cannot  take  from  us.  The 
sincere  Christian  is  not  comfortless,  even  in  the  darkest  and  most 
degenerate  times.  He  knows  that  oppressive  power  is  but  for  a 
moment ;  and  his  benevolence  is  animated  b}'  the  promise  of  God, 
that,  even  in  this  world,  this  scene  of  cruelt}'  and  wretchedness, 
there  will  yet  be  enjoyed  the  reign  of  peace,  of  truth,  and  holiness 
under  the  benignant  Saviour." 

Extracts  from  a  Sermon  preached  in  Boston,  July  23,  1812, 

THE    DAY    of     THE     PUBLIC     FaST    APPOINTED     BY   THE    EXECUTIVE    OK 

THE  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  in  consequence  of  the 
declaration  of  war  against  Great  Britain.  "That  we  have 
received  no  injuries  from  the  nation  we  have  selected  as  our  enemv 
I  do  not  say ;  but  when  I  consider  the  conduct  of  our  own  govern- 
ment in  relation  to  the  two  belligerents,  —  the  partiality  and  timid 
submission  they  have  expressed  towards  the  one,  the  cause  of  sus- 
picion they  have  given  to  the  other,  —  and  the  spirit  in  which  they 
have  sought  reparation  from  England,  I  am  unable  to  justify  the 
war  in  which  we  have  engaged.  To  render  the  war  justifiable,  it 
is  not  enough  that  we  have  received  injuries  ;  —  we  must  ask  our- 
selves. Have  we  done  our  duty  to  the  nation  of  which  we  complain  ? 
have  we  taken  and  kept  a  strictly  impartial  position  towards  her 
and  her  enemy  ?  have  we  not  submitted  to  outrages  from  her  enemy 
by  which  he  has  acquired  advantages  in  the  war?  have  we  sought 
reparation  of  injuries  in  a  truly  pacific  spirit?  have  we  insisted  only 
on  luidoubted  rights?  have  we  demanded  no  unreasonable  con- 
cessions ?  These  questions  must  be  answered  before  we  decide  on 
the  character  of  the  war,  and  I  fear  the  answer  must  be  against 
us.  .  .  .  If  we  have  rushed  into  it  when  we  might  have  avoided 
it  by  an  impartial  and  pacific  course,  then  we  have  wantonly  and 
by  our  own  fault  drawn  on  ourselves  its  privations  and  calamities. 
Our  enemy  may,  indeed,  divide  the  guilt  with  us  ;  but  on  ourselves, 
as  truly  as  on  our  enen\y,  falls  the  heavy  guilt  of  spreading  tumult, 
slaughter,  and  misery  through  the  fiimily  of  God.' 


1803-1814.]  DEMORALIZING  INFLUENCES.  179 

"If  on  the  ground  of  right  and  justice  this  war  cannot  be  de- 
fended, what  shall  we  say  when  we  come  to  consider  its  expediency, 
its  effects  on  ourselves  and  the  world  ?  It  is  a  war  fraught  with 
ruin  to  our  propert}"",  our  morals,  our  religion,  our  independence, 
our  dearest  rights,  —  whilst  its  influence  on  other  nations,  on  the 
common  cause  of  humanity,  is  most  unhappy 

"  This  war  is  a  death-blow  to  our  commerce.  The  ocean,  which 
nature  has  spread  before  us  as  the  field  of  our  enterprise  and  ac- 
tivity, and  from  which  we  have  reaped  the  harvest  of  our  prosperity, 
is,  in  effect,  forbidden  us.  Our  ships  and  superfluous  produce  are 
to  perish  on  our  hands,  —  our  capital  to  waste  awa}^  in  unproductive 
inactivity,  —  our  intercourse  with  all  foreign  nations  is  broken  off', 
and  the  nation  with  which  we  sustained  the  most  profitable  inter- 
course is  our  foe.  Need  I  tell  you  the  distress  which  this  war  must 
spread  through  the  commercial  classes  of  society,  and  among  all 
whose  occupations  ai-e  connected  with  commerce?  How  many  are 
there  from  whom  the  hard  earnings  of  years  are  to  be  wrested  by 
this  war,  whose  active  pursuits  and  cheering  prospects  of  future 
comfort  are  exchanged  for  discouragement,  solicitude,  and  ap- 
proaching want ! 

"In  addition  to  this,  as  our  resources  are  decreasing,  the  public 
burdens  are  growing  heavier ;  and  government,  after  paralyzing 
our  industr}'  and  closing  the  channels  of  our  wealth,  are  about  to 
call  on  us  for  new  contributions  to  support  the  war  under  which  we 
are  sinking.  And,  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  injur}',  we  are  told  that 
this  war,  so  fatal  to  commerce,  so  dreaded  by  the  friends  of  com- 
merce, is  carried  on  for  its  protection.  We  are  required  to  believe, 
that  restriction  and  war,  the  measures  which  have  drained  awa}'^  the 
life-blood  of  our  prosperity,  are  designed  to  secure  our  rights  on  the 
ocean. 

"  But  loss  of  property  is  a  small  evil  attending  this  war,  — its 
effect  on  our  character  cannot  be  calculated.  I  need  not  tell  you 
the  moral  influence  of  a  war  which  is  bringing  to  a  gloomy  pause 
the  activit}'  of  the  community,  —  which  is  to  fill  our  streets  with 
laborers  destitute  of  employment, — which  is  to  reduce  our  young 
men  to  idleness,  —  which  will  compel  a  large  portion  of  the  commu- 
nit}'  to  esteem  their  own  government  their  worst  eneni}'.  Regular 
industry  is  the  parent  of  sobriet}^  and  gives  strength  to  all  the  vir- 
tues. A  community  must  be  corrupted  in  proportion  as  idleness, 
discontent,  and  want  prevail.  We  have  reason  to  fear  that  these 
temptations  will  prove  too  strong  for  the  virtue  of  common  minds, 
—  that,  with  the  decline  of  commerce,  the  sense  of  honor  and  upright- 
ness in  pecuniary  transactions  will  decline,  —  that  fair  dealing  will 


180  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  [iET.  23-34. 

be  succeeded  b}'  fraud,  — that  civil  laws  will  be  treated  with  con- 
tempt, —  that  habits  of  dissoluteness  and  intemperance,  already'  too 
common,  will  be  awfull}'  multiplied,  —  that  our  3'oung  men,  thrown 
out  of  emplo3^ment  and  having  no  field  for  their  restless  activity 
and  ardent  hopes,  will  give  themselves  up  to  lawless  pleasure  or 
immoral  pursuits. 

"  Let  me  here  mention  one  pursuit  which  this  war  will  encourage, 
and  which  will  operate  very  unhappily  on  our  character.  I  have 
said  that  the  ocean  will  be  abandoned.  I  mistake  ;  — the  merchant- 
vessel  will  indeed  forsake  it,  but  the  privateer  will  take  her  place. 
The  ocean  is  no  longer  to  be  the  field  of  useful  and  honest  enter- 
prise. We  are  no  longer  to  traverse  it,  that  we  may  scatter 
through  the  world  the  bounties  of  Providence.  Henceforth  plun- 
der, —  plunder  is  our  only  object.  We  are  to  issue  from  our  ports, 
not  to  meet  the  armed  ship  of  our  enem}',  —  not  to  break  her 
naval  power,  —  not  to  wage  a  war  for  public  purposes ;  but  we 
shall  go  forth  to  meet  the  defenceless  private  merchant,  and,  with 
our  sword  at  his  breast,  we  are  to  demand  his  property,  and  to  en- 
rich ourselves  with  his  spoils.  This  pursuit  is,  indeed,  allowed  by 
the  law  of  nations  ;  but  Christians,  and  the  friends  to  public  morals, 
must  dread  and  abhor  it,  as  pecuHarly  calculated  to  stamp  on  a 
people  the  character  of  rapacity'  and  hardness  of  heart.  Yet  this 
is  the  pursuit,  this  the  character,  in  which  Americans  are  hence- 
forth to  be  found  on  the  ocean. 

"  But  all  the  ruinous  effects  of  this  war  are  not  yet  unfolded. 
To  see  it  in  its  true  character,  we  must  consider  against  what  nation 
it  is  waged^  and  with  what  nation  it  is  connecting  us.  AYe  have 
selected  for  our  enemy  the  nation  from  which  we  sprang,  and  which 
has  long  afforded  and  still  offers  us  a  friendly  and  profitable  inter- 
course, —  a  nation  which  has  been  for  ages  the  stronghold  of  Protes- 
tant Christianity,  —  which  everj-where  exhibits  temples  of  religion, 
institutions  of  benevolence,  nurseries  of  science,  the  aids  and  means 
of  human  improvement,  —  a  nation  which,  with  all  the  corruptions 
of  her  government,  still  enjoys  many  of  the  best  blessings  of  civil 
liberty,  and  which  is  now  contending  for  her  own  independence, 
and  for  the  independence  of  other  nations,  against  the  oppressor 
of  mankind.  When  I  view  my  country  taking  part  with  the  op- 
pressor against  that  nation  which  has  alone  arrested  his  proud 
career  of  victor^',  —  which  is  now  spreading  her  shield  over  deso- 
lated Portugal  and  Spain, — which  is  the  chief  hope  of  the  civil- 
ized world,  — I  blush,  —  I  mourn.  We  are  linking  ourselves  with 
the  acknowledged  enem}'  of  mankind,  —  with  a  government  .... 
which  has  left  not  a  vestige  of  liberty  where  it  has  extended  its 


1803-1814.]  HOLINESS,  TRUTH,  HUMANITY.  181 

blasting  sway,  —  which  is  at  this  moment  ravaging  nations  that 
are  chargeable  with  no  crime  but  hatred  of  a  foreign  j-oke.  Into 
contact  and  communion  with  this  bloody  nation  we  are  brought 
by  this  war,  —  and  what  can  we  gain  by  building  up  its  power  ? 
On  this  subject  too  much  plainness  cannot  be  used.  Let  our 
government  know  that  we  deem  aUiance  with  France  the  worst 
of  evils,  threatening  at  once  our  morals,  oui'  liberty, 'and  our 
religion."  ^ 


Chapter  III.— THE    UNITARIAN    CONTROVERSY. 

Events  were  now  about  to  summon  Mr.  Channing  from  the  quiet 
scenes  in  which  he  was  earnestly'  seeking  a  religious  life,  to  take 
an  active  though  unwilling  part  in  the  Unitarian  controvers}' ;  and 
any  one  who  wishes  to  understand  aright  his  relations  to  this  move- 
ment should  cast  a  glance  backward,  aud  note  the  progress  of  the 
different  influences  which  then  met  to  intermingle  in  unpleasant  but 
inevitable  conflict.  If  with  a  catholic  and  not  sectarian  temper  we 
surve}'  the  ecclesiastical  history  of  New  England,  we  cannot  fail 
to  see,  that  in  this  commotion  of  the  spiritual  world,  as  in  those 
which  disturbed  the  atmosphere,  the  elements  were  but  seeking 
equilibrium,  and  that  modes  of  thought  and  feeling  which  at  first 
seem  to  run  most  counter  to  each  other  were  really  different  cloud- 
currents  of  one  storm.  Certainly  the  candid  of  all  parties  must 
admit,  that,  by  means  of  this  agitation,  the  heaven  of  piety  has 
become  more  clear,  the  air  of  thought  more  fresh,  the  earth  of 
charit}-  more  green. 

From  the  middle  of  the  last  century  onwards,  three  distinct 
tendencies  may  be  traced  in  the  minds  of  the  Christians  of  this 
country,  and,  indeed,  of  Europe  also.  The  first  is  Spiritual  Piet}% 
devoutly  longing  for  a  near  communion  with  the  Infinite  Being  and 
the  heavenly  world,  manifesting  itself  in  various  forms  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  desiring  universal  sanctification.  The  second  is  Phi- 
lanthropy, demanding  a  thorough  application  of  the  law  of  love 
to  all  the  actual  relations  and  practical  concerns  of  life,  and  ani- 
mating men  to  an  unprecedented  zeal  in  moral  and  social  reforms. 

1  Tlie  reader  who  wishes  to  learn  more  fully  Mr.  Channing's  views  at  this 
eventful  period,  is  referred  to  the  remarks  on  the  "  Duties  of  the  Citizen  in 
Times  of  Trial  and  Danger."  Works,  Vol.  V.  pp.  411-421.  One  Volume  Edi- 
tion, pp.  679-684. 


182  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

The  third  is  Free  Inquiry,  seeking  a  harmon}'  between  religion, 
philosophy,  and  experience, — between  revelation,  reason,  and 
common-sense,  — and  aiming  to  give  such  a  view  of  man's  destiny 
upon  earth  as  shall  do  justice  to  nature,  to  history,  and  to  Divine 
Order.  With  what  was  good  in  each  of  these  tendencies  Mv. 
Chanuing  sympathized  and  co-operated,  while  from  the  extrava- 
gances of  each  he  sought  to  guard  himself  and  others ;  and  the 
sincere  student  of  his  writings  cannot  but  observe  with  admiration 
the  calm  consistency  with  which  he  twined  his  threefold  cord  of 
existence.  He  was  from  original  impulse,  by  method,  and  in 
action,  complex  and  not  simple,  always  reconciling  differences  by  a 
living  synthesis,  averse  to  every  kind  of  partisanship,  and  each 
year  becoming  more  liberal,  various,  expansive,  well-balanced.  The 
appropriate  motto  of  his  life  is  Holiness,  Truth,  Humanity. 

Extracts  from  letters,  manuscripts,  and  publications,  at  this 
period,  will  sufficiently  indicate  Mr.  Channing's  position.  The}' 
are  suitably  introduced  by  one  in  which,  at  the  veiy  close  of  his 
career,  he  has  himself  reviewed  the  wa^^  whereby  Providence  had 
led  him  up  to  peace. 

"  February,  1840. 

"  I  read  3'our  communication  with  much  sympathy.  Indeed,  it 
carried  me  back  to  the  earlier  stages  of  m}'  own  religious  history. 
Not  that  I  have  ever  suffered  as  you  have  done ;  but  no  person  can 
think  on  the  subject  of  religion  without  encountering  difficulties. 
Most  people  owe  their  freedom  from  doubts  to  the  absence  of 
thought.  As  soon  as  we  begin  to  reflect,  we  are  compelled  to  call 
in  question  a  part  of  our  traditionary  faith  ;  and  the  shaking  of  a 
part  sometimes  makes  us  tremble  for  the  whole.  1  have  spent 
years  of  earnest,  anxious  search  for  the  truth ;  nor  do  I  repent  of 
my  toil.  All  n\y  toil  and  solicitude  vanish,  when  I  think  of  the 
calm  faith,  the  enlargement  of  views  and  hopes,  in  which  the}-  have 
issued. 

"  You  wish  to  know  the  history  of  my  mind,  but  it  would  fill  a 
volume.  M3'  inquiries  grew  out  of  the  shock  given  to  1113-  moral  na- 
ture by  the  popular  system  of  faith  which  I  found  prevailing  round 
me  in  my  early  years.  All  my  convictions  of  justice  and  goodness 
revolted  against  the  merciless  dogmas  then  commonly  taught.  I 
went  to  tlie  Scriptures,  and  the  blessed  light  gradually  beamed  on 
me  from  the  word  of  God.  I  soon  learned  the  great  end  for  which 
Christ  came  into  the  world,  —  that  his  first,  highest  purpose  was, 
not  to  deliver  us  from  punishment,  but  from  that  which  deserves 
l)uni.shment,  from  moral  evil,  from  every  impurit}'  of  heart  and 
life,  from  whate\er  separates  us  from  God  ;  that  he  came  to  exert 


1803-1814.]  STANDARD  OF  TRUTH.  183 

a  moral,  spiritual  influence,  by  which  man  was  to  become  a  pure, 
disinterested,  excellent  being.  I  soon  learned  that  heaven  and  hell 
belong  to  the  mind,  that '  the  fire  and  the  worm  '  have  their  seat  in  the 
soul,  and  that  we  can  attain  to  the  happiness,  only  by  drinking  into 
the  spirit,  of  heaven.  In  other  words,  I  learned  that  '  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  within  us,'  — that  Christianity  is  eminently  a  spiritual 
system,  or  intended  chiefly  to  redeem  the  mind  from  evil,  —  that 
we  understand  its  records  only  when  we  interpret  them  according 
to  this  principle.  One  great  truth  came  out  to  my  apprehension 
more  and  more  strongly.  I  felt,  I  saw,  that  God  is  most  willing  to 
impart  his  '  Holy  Spirit,'  his  strength  and  light,  to  every  man  who 
labors  in  earnest  to  overcome  evil,  to  press  forward  to  that  per- 
fection which  is  the  only  heaven.  You  will  easily  see  how  these 
views  scattered  all  the  darkness  into  which  I  had  been  plunged  by 

a  false,  traditionary  faith 

"I  beg  you  to  feel  that  I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  trials. 
I  can  say  for  3'our  encouragement,  that  the  noblest  human  beings 
have  sometimes  passed  through  similar  ones,  and  have  emerged  into 
the  light  of  a  calm  and  happy  faith.  Be  not  anxious  to  make  up 
3-our  mind  in  a  moment.  Be  assured  that  God,  the  good,  the  just, 
cannot  demand  of  you  assent  to  what  shocks  your  best  feelings. 
Inquire  as  you  have  opportunity.  Seek  light  from  above.  Espe- 
cially- be  faithful  to  your  convictions  of  duty,  and  live  up  to  the  light 
you  already  have,  and  I  am  confident  that  3'our  difficulties,  as  far  as 
they  are  mental,  will  give  way." 

TO   THE    HON.    WILLIAM   ELLERT. 

"  Boston,  March,  1806. 

"  Dear  and  honored  Sir,  —  ....  You  will  see  from  this  that 
our  standard  of  divinity  does  not  entu-ely  correspond  with  yours. 
It  is  clear  that  we  cannot  all  be  right.  The  great  question,  then, 
offers  itself,  '  Whether  any  deviate  so  far  from  truth  as  to  be  dis- 
qualified for  receiving  the  blessings  of  the  gospel,  or  whether  any  of 
the  errors  of  the  day  necessarily  imply  a  temper  opposed  to  the 
spirit  of  the  gospel.' 

"  It  seems  to  be  universally  granted,  that  the  state  of  the  heart 
and  aff'ections  is  the  great  point  by  which  a  Christian  is  to  be  judged  ; 
and  that  sentiments  are  no  farther  important,  than  as  they  involve, 
imply,  and  cherish  a  state  of  heart.  Now,  can  we  say  of.  the  com- 
mon errors  which  prevail  in  the  Christian  world,  that  they  cannot 
coexist  with  a  penitent,  a  pious,  a  benevolent  spirit?  Unless  we 
can  prove  a  clear  repugnance  between  certain  sentiments  and  the 
spirit  of  the  gospel,  —  such  a  repugnance  as  forces  us  to  conclude 


184  THE  UNITAEIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [Mt.  23-34. 

that  he  who  holds  these  sentiments  cannot  possess  this  spirit,  —  are 
we  authorized  to  declare  the  sentiments  damnable?  An  essential 
doctrine  seems  to  be  one  which  is  necessary  to  the  existence  of 
Christian  love,  and  is  necessarily  implied  in  this  temper.  I  cannot, 
therefore,  charge  a  man  with  damnable  heresy,  unless  I  see  that  his 
sentiments  prove  an  opposite  temper,  or,  at  least,  exclude  the  ex- 
ercises of  Christian  love.  If  this  be  just,  are  we  not  called  to  be 
cautious  in  judging  of  the  character,  while  we  freel}^  criticise  the 
opinions,  of  others?  May  we  not  love  the  heart,  when  we  think 
poorly  of  the  head,  of  our  neighbor?  " 

TO    THE    HON.    WILLIAM    ELLERY. 

"  Boston,  May,  1806. 

"Dear  and  honored  Sir, — I  thank  3'ou  for  your  letter,  and 
for  the  comment  which  it  contains  upon  our  divinity.  You  com- 
/  plain  that  our  standard  is  not  particular  enough.  But  this  is  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  our  system  of  liberality.  The  greater 
the  variety  of  sentiments  with  which  a  system  will  harmonize, 
or  the  fewer  its  fundamentals,  the  more  worthy  it  is  of  liberal 
minds. 

"  I  conceive  these  to  be  the  leading  principles  of  modern  divinity : 
'Practical  righteousness  is  all  in  all,  and  eveiy  system  which 
embraces  motives  enougli  to  a  good  practice  is  sufficiently  correct. 
Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law  and  of  the  gospel.  All  truth  is 
designed  to  excite  this  temper,  and  to  form  the  habits  which  flow 
from  it,  and  this  is  the  only  test  which  we  fallible  mortals  can  appl}' 
to  doctrines.  We  have  reason  to  think  there  are  good  men  in  every 
denomination.  Ever}'  sect,  therefore,  embraces  sufficient  truth  for 
the  great  end  of  Christ,  the  attainment  of  everlasting  life.  It  does 
not  follow  from  this,  that  all  systems  are  equally  valuable  ;  for  some 
may  tend  more  to  purify  the  heart  than  others.  But  we  cannot  be 
certain  that  any  system  is  wholly  inadequate  to  this  all-important 
end,  and  we  must,  therefore,  condemn  no  man,  unless  his  practice 
^      be  corrupt.' 

"The  general  sentiment  which  runs  through  this  system,  'that 
the  temper  of  the  heart  is  the  one  thing  needful  in  order  to  acceptance 
with  God,'  appears  to  me  scriptural.  All  sects  acknowledge  that 
mere  speculative  assent  is  of  no  avail,  that  it  is  the  cordial  accept- 
ance of  the  truth  which  makes  the  Christian.  If,  then,  the  same 
state  of  heart  can  exist  in  those  who  embrace  different  systems,  I 
should  pronounce  them  equally  acceptable  to  God.  This  appears 
to  me  to  be  the  great  question,  —  '  Whether  the  different  sys- 
tems embraced  by  professing  Christians  imply  diflerent  tempers, 


1803-1814.]  CALVINISM.  185 

principles  of  action,  ends,  and  affections  in  those  who  embrace 
them  ;  or,  in  other  words,  whether  any  of  these  systems,  from 
their  very  nature,  prove  the  absence  of  the  Christian  spirit  in  those 
by  whom  the}'  are  supported.' 

"  We  find  in  the  Scriptures  denunciations  against  those  who  do 
not  believe  in  Christ ;  but  the  reason  seems  to  be,  that  they  who 
reject  Christ  prove  and  express  by  this  rejection  a  corruption  of 
heart.  '  Ye  are  not  of  God,  therefore  ye  hear  me  not.'  In  the 
same  way  we  must  make  it  to  appear  that  the  reception  of  a  system 
can  flow  only  from  a  corrupt  heart,  before  we  exclude  those  who 
hold  it  from  Divine  favor.  It  is  not  so  much  the  reception  of  one 
system,  or  the  rejection  of  another,  as  the  temper  of  heart  implied 
in  this  reception  or  rejection,  which  affects  a  man's  acceptance  with 
God.  If  this  be  true,  it  seems,  that,  to  judge  of  the  importance  of 
doctrines,  we  must  first  form  clear  conceptions  of  the  peculiar, 
characteristic,  distinguishing  spirit  and  temper  which  the  gospel  re- 
quires ;  and  doctrines  are  to  be  estimated  in  proportion  as  they  are 
necessary  to  this  temper,  are  implied  in  it,  or  flow  from  it." 

"  Boston,  December  29,  1812. 

"  I  have  spent  this  evening  with  our  dear ,  and  she  put  into 

my  hands  your  letter  on  the  subject  of  religion,  to  which  you  re- 
ferred in  the  last  which  I  received  from  you.  I  read  it  with  sorrow. 
I  saw  that  your  mind  was  yielding  to  impressions  which  I  trusted 
you  would  repel  with  instinctive  horror.  I  know  that  Calvinism  is 
embraced  by  many  excellent  people,  but  I  know  that  on  some  minds 
it  has  the  most  mournful  effects,  that  it  spreads  over  them  an  im- 
penetrable gloom,  that  it  generates  a  spirit  of  bondage  and  fear, 
that  it  chills  the  best  affections,  that  it  represses  virtuous  eftbrt, 
that  it  sometimes  shakes  the  throne  of  reason.  On  susceptible 
minds  the  influence  of  the  system  is  always  to  be  dreaded.  If  it  be 
believed,  I  think  there  is  ground  for  a  despondence  bordering  on 
insanity.  If  I,  and  my  beloved  friends,  and  my  whole  race,  have 
come  from  the  hands  of  our  Creator  wholly  depraved,  irresistibl}' 
propense  to  all  evil  and  averse  to  all  good,  —  if  only  a  portion  are 
chosen  to  escape  from  this  miserable  state,  and  if  the  rest  are  to  be 
consigned  by  the  Being  who  gave  us  our  depraved  and  wretched 
nature  to  endless  torments  in  inextinguishable  flames,  —  then  I  do 
think  that  nothing  remains  but  to  mourn  in  anguish  of  heart ;  then 
existence  is  a  curse,  and  the  Creator  is 

''  O  my  merciful  Father !  I  cannot  speak  of  thee  in  the  language 
which  this  system  would  suggest.  No  !  thou  hast  been  too  kind  to 
me  to  deserve  this  reproach  from  my  Hps.     Thou  hast  created  me 


186  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^x.  23-34. 

to  be  happy ;  thou  callest  me  to  virtue  and  piety,  because  in  these 
consists  my  felicity ;  and  thou  wilt  demand  nothing  from  me  but 
what  thou  givest  me  abilit}'  to  perform. 

' '  I  see  with  sorrow  that  3'ou  are  beginning  to  depart  from  the 
simple  and  affecting  truths  which  you  once  cherished.  You  have 
become  the  advocate  of  an  '  inborn  corruption '  which  incapacitates 
for  duty,  and  yet  you  thhik  man  to  be  responsible.  You  even  seem 
to  be  leaning  to  the  melancholy  doctrine,  that  he  may  be  abandoned 
to  endless  misery  for  not  experiencing  a  change  of  heart,  over  which 
he  has  little  or  no  control,  and  which  depends  entirel}'  on  the  will 
of  another  being.  Perhaps  I  have  mistaken  your  sentiments. 
Your  letter  is  written  in  an  obscure,  mystical  style,  ver}^  different 
from  what  distinguishes  your  ordinary  compositions.  Your  concep- 
tions seem  to  me  loose,  unsettled,  undefined ;  but,  as  far  as  they 
have  form  or  substance,  the}-  are  melancholy  and  forbidding.  I  am 
also  deeply  grieved  to  find  you  talking  about  persons,  who  call 
themselves  Christians,  and  who  believe  this  or  that  doctrine.  M3' 
dear  friend,  let  me  beseech  3'ou  to  resist  the  bitter,  censorious  spirit 
which  like  a  wasting  pestilence  has  infected  the  air  you  breathe. 
Let  us  never  forget  how  man}'  purer  and  wiser  minds  than  ours  have 
viewed  Christianity  under  forms  and  aspects  very  different  from 
those  which  this  religion  has  presented  to  us. 

"You  talk  of  some  persons  who  hope  to  be  saved,  'partly  ])y 
their  own  merits  and  parti}-  b}'  Christ's.'  I  confess  I  have  not  met 
with  this  description  of  Christians  ;  but  I  can  easil}'  conceive  that 
men  whose  heads  are  thus  confused  may  still  have  ver}'  good  affec- 
tions. I  do  know  Christians  whose  hope  rests  on  the  infinite,  essen- 
tial, unmerited,  and  unpurchased  mercy  of  God,  who  think  that  the 
freedom  and  glor}^  of  this  mercy  are  diminished  by  that  system 
which  represents  it  as  excited  or  produced  by  the  merits  or  vicarious 
sufferings  of  another  being,  and  who  therefore  dislike  that  unscrip- 
tural  phrase  '  the  merits  of  Christ,'  and  the  common,  and  as  the}' 
think  unsupported,  explications  of  the  atonement.  Such  Christians, 
who  say  nothing  about  their  own  worth,  and  whose  fear  is  that  they 
may  throw  a  stain  on  the  essential  mercy  and  placability  of  the 
Father,  do  not  seem  to  me  to  err  in  affections,  even  though  they 
may  in  sentiment ;  and  I  have  found  among  them  some  of  the  most 
pious  and  disinterested  of  human  beings. 

"Your  sweeping  conclusion  about  those  '  who  do  not  think  the 
Son  equal  to  the  Father  '  astonished  me  still  more.  Can  you  be 
ignorant  of  the  scruples  of  the  best  minds  on  this  darkest  of  all 
doctrines,  of  the  great  number  of  learned  and  excellent  men  who 
have   rejected  it,   and  of  the  many  passages  of  Scripture  which 


1803-1814.] 


REV.  NOAH  WORCESTER.  187 


seem  to  contradict  it,  and  wliicli  may  decide  a  man's  opinions  whose 
heart  is  devoted  to  God  and  truth?  Let  me  ask  you  to  read  a 
popular  work  on  this  subject,  Worcester's  Bible  News,  not  so  much 
with  the  hope  that  it  may  influence  your  judgment,  as  that  it  may 
teach  you  respect  for  those  who  differ  from  you.  Locke's  Reason- 
ableness of  Christianity,  also,  will  give  you  some  valuable  ideas  on 
the  nature  of  faith,  a  subject  which  seems  to  you  very  obscure,  and 
which  Calvinism  wraps  in  tenfold  darkness. 

"My  good  friend,  if  I  know  myself,  I  have  no  proselyting  zeal 
about  met  I  wish  only  to  aid  you  in  recovering  the /ree^om  and 
independence  of  your  mind,  in  order  that  you  may  think  with  calm- 
ness and  deliberation 

"Your  sincere  friend. 

TO   THE   REV.    NOAH   WORCESTER. 

"  Boston,  January  11,  1813. 
"Dear  Sir, —  I  have  long  known  you  by  your  writings,  and 
have  long  wished  to  express  my  gratitude  to  you  for  the  service 
you  have  rendered  to  the  cause  of  truth  and  free  inquiry.     But  a 
variety  of  occupations  have  prevented. 

"  I  am  now  led  to  write  3'ou  in  consequence  of  the  wishes  of 
many  in  this  quai-ter  to  establish  a  work,i  in  which  your  aid  will 
be  very  important.  It  has  long  been  the  opinion  of  many  friends  of 
Scriptural  truth,  that  we  need  a  periodical  publication  which  shall 
be  adapted  to  the  great  mass  of  Christians,  and  the  object  of 
which  shall  be  to  increase  their  zeal  and  seriousness,  to  direct  their 
attention  to  the  Scriptures,  to  furnish  them  with  that  degree  of 
Biblical  criticism  which  they  are  capable  of  receiving  and  applying, 
to  illustrate  obscure  and  perverted  passages,  and,  though  last  not 
least,  to  teach  them  their  Christian  rights,  to  awaken  a  zealous 
attachment  to  Christian  Uberty,  to  show  them  the  ground  of  Con- 
gregationalism, and  to  guard  them  against  every  enemy  who  would 
bring  them  into  bondage. 

"Our  conviction  of  the  importance  of  this  work  has  been 
strengthened  by  the  appearance  of  a  publication  in  The  Panoplist, 
recornmending  the  immediate  erection  of  ecclesiastical  tribunals. 
After  conversing  about  the  best  means  of  attaining  the  end  above 
described,  the  general  question  was,  '  To  whom  shall  we  commit 
the  superintendence  of  such  a  periodical?'  and  we  unanimously 
concurred  in  the  opinion  that  you  are  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  office 

of  editing  it ... 

"  You  may  expect  aid  from  gentlemen  in  this  town  and  vicuuty. 

1  The  Clirislian  Disciple. 


188  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

With  the  sentiments  of  these  gentlemen  j'ou  are  generally  ac- 
quainted. They  are  not  precisely  agreed  as  to  the  person  or  dignity 
of  Christ,  nor  do  they  wish  that  the  work  should  be  devoted  to  any 
particular  view  of  that  subject.  Whilst  they  are  willing  to  admit 
the  arguments  of  all  sects,  they  wish  chiefly  to  exhibit  those 
relations  and  offices  of  Christ  which  Christians  generalh'  acknowl- 
edge, and  to  promote  a  spirit  of  forbearance  and  charit}'  among 
those  who  differ  in  relation  to  this  and  other  difficult  subjects.  As 
to  the  peculiarities  of  Calvinism^  we  are  opposed  to  them,  without 
censuring  those  who  embrace  those  sentiments.  We  are  opposed 
to  that  system  particularly,  inasmuch  as  it  prostrates  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  mind,  teaches  men  that  the}-  are  naturally  incapable 
of  discerning  religious  truth,  generates  a  timid,  superstitious  de- 
pendence on  those  who  profess  to  have  been  brought  from  dark- 
ness into  light,  and  so  commonly  infuses  into  its  professors  a 
censorious  and  uncharitable  spirit. 

"  You  will  do  us  the  justice  to  believe,  that  in  this  business  we 
are  not  actuated  b}'  the  spirit  of  partisans.  We  have  long  given 
proof  of  our  aversion  to  contention  by  bearing  patiently  and  silently 
the  most  grave  misrepresentations  of  our  characters  and  sentiments. 
We  have  no  desire  to  diffuse  any  religious  peculiarities.  Our  great 
desire  is  to  preserve  our  fellow-Christians  from  the  systematic  and 
unwearied  efforts  which  are  making  to  impose  on  them  a  human 
creed  and  to  infuse  into  them  angry  and  bitter  feelings  towards 
those  who  differ  from  them.  Our  great  desire  is  to  direct  men  to 
the  word  of  God,  and  to  awaken  in  those  Christians  who  receive 
this  as  their  onl}'  standard  a  more  devout,  serious,  earnest,  and 
affectionate  piety  than  they  often  discover." 

"  Boston,  April  28,  1815. 

"  My  dear ,  I  received  your  letter  of  the  21st,  and  thank 

3'ou  for  the  confidence  in  me  which  it  discovers.  I  am  very  much 
interested  in  the  subject  of  it,  and  wish  to  see  as  far  as  possible 
the  operation  of  religious  sentiments  in  the  hearts  of  others.  Your 
simplicit}'  of  character  is  a  proof  that  I  have  received  a  tolerably 
faithful  picture  of  3'our  feelings.  I  attach  vastly'  less  importance 
to  what  3"ou  have  experienced  than  you  do  3'ourself ;  but  God's 
providence  frequently  makes  our  weaknesses  and  sufferings  the 
means  of  our  improvement ;  and  I  hope  that  your  character  will 
be  purified,  and  your  purposes  of  obedience  confirmed,  by  terrors 
and  emotions  which  seem  to  me  to  imply  no  supernatural  agency. 

"Religion,  in  my  view  of  it,  belongs  to  man  as  a  rational  and 
moral  being.     It  consists  of  affections,  dispositions,  and  habits  vol- 


1803-1814.]  CONVERSION.  189 

untarily  cherished,  and  especially  founded  on  just  and  amiable 
views  of  God.  The  religion  which  you  describe  seems  to  me  a 
tumult  of  the  soul,  an  involuntary  impulse,  a  triumph  of  the  pas- 
sions over  reason.  I  think  that  I  respect  religion  too  much  to 
believe  that  it  commonly-  springs  up  amidst  such  disorders,  and,  I 
may  almost  say,  ruins,  of  the  rational  nature.  You  seem  to  me  to 
have  yielded  yourself  up  to  terror^  not  remembering  that  this  pas- 
sion, like  every  other,  needs  restraint,  and  that  no  passion  is  so  apt 
to  pass  its  bounds  and  to  disorder  the  mind.  The  worst  supersti- 
tions of  the  heathens  originated  in  terror,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
to  this  the  worst  corruptions  of  Christianity  are  to  be  traced.  You 
will  grant,  my  young  friend,  that,  whilst  your  mind  was  so  power- 
fully excited  b}'  fear,  you  were  not  in  the  best  frame  for  judging 
correctly  of  any  religious  truths.  If  you  have  ever  seen  a  man 
under  the  influence  of  a  panic,  you  will  recollect  that  he  was  in  a 
measure  insane,  and  capable  of  being  led  an3'where  by  a  firmer 
mind.  All  strong  passion  has  the  effect  of  insanity  on  the  judg- 
ment, and  makes  a  man  a  very  different  being  from  what  he  is  in 
his  cooler  hours. 

"You  will  permit  me  in  all  frankness  to  say  to  3'ou,  that  I  see 
much  of  human  weakness  and  timidity  in  ^-our  description  of  your 
state  before  you  received  comfort,  a  weakness  not  peculiar  to  your- 
self, but  at  some  periods  of  life  experienced  by  almost  every  human 
being.  In  fact,  we  are  all  in  some  measure  children  to  the  end  of 
life,  without  firmness  where  we  ought  to  be  most  deliberate,  and 
governed  b}'  passion  where  we  ought  to  follow  most  resolutely  the 
dictates  of  reflection.  As  to  the  joy  which  followed  j^our  depres- 
sion, it  was,  I  apprehend,  a  very  natural  effect.  The  mind,  espe- 
cially in  youth,  is  soon  exhausted  by  a  strong  emotion,  and  is 
prepared  to  receive  an  opposite  feeling  with  peculiar  force.  Great 
depression  and  great  J03'  are  often  seen  to  succeed  each  otlier.  The 
mind  overwhelmed  with  the  thought  of  danger  is  equally  over- 
whelmed with  transport  by  the  thought  of  escape.  My  own 
temperament  is  rather  equable,  but  my  life  is  too  much  made  up  of 
successions  of  feeling.  I  am  sometimes  dull  and  dispirited,  and 
feel  as  if  all  my  powers  and  affections  were  dead.  An  interesting 
book,  or  a  religious  friend,  or  other  circumstances,  will  at  once 
awaken  me  from  this  low  and  desponding  state,  and  then  a  new 
soul  seems  kindled  within  my  breast.  I  have  feelings  and  views  so 
fresh,  and  tender,  and  animated,  that  I  hardly  appear  to  myself 
like  the  same  man.  This  is  the  condition  of  our  poor  nature  ;  and 
I  have  learned  to  ascribe  these  changes  much  more  to  my  physical 
organization  than  to  any  peculiar  influences  from  above.     I  see  and 


190  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

hear  of  such  vicissitudes  of  feeling  as  you  describe  ver}'  frequently, 
especially  among  the  INIethodists  and  Baptists,  and  I  am  nowise 
disposed  to  ascribe  to  hypocris}-  the  narratives  given  by  these  per- 
sons of  sudden  transitions  from  horrid  thoughts  and  deep  distress 
to  a  state  of  peace  and  assurance  of  God's  favor.  I  learn,  how- 
ever, from  the  unhapp}'  issue  of  many  of  these  conversions,  that 
they  deserve  little  confidence,  and  that  there  is  but  one  sure  test  of 
piety  which  is  an  habitual  regard  to  the  will  of  God^  leading  us  to 
correct  every  unchristian  disposition,  and  to  cherish  all  the  virtues 
of  the  gospel. 

"  I  think  your  errors  mn.j  be  traced  very  much  to  one  source,  — 
unjust  and  unworthy  views  of  God.  This  is  the  great  spring  of  cor- 
ruption in  religion.  The  great  controversies  in  the  church  may  be 
resolved  into  one  question,  —  '  Is  God  indeed  perfectly  good  ? ' 
To  my  mind,  most  of  the  prevalent  theories  of  religion  rest  on  the 
supposition  that  he  is  not  good,  that  his  government  is  dreadfully- 
severe,  and  that  it  is  the  greatest  of  evils  to  receive  existence  from 
his  hand.  I  do  not  mean  that  these  sentiments  are  professed,  but 
they  are  really  involved  in  the  common  theories  of  Christianity-, 
and  by  being  early  fixed  in  our  minds  the}^  throw  a  sad  darkness 
over  God,  over  the  present  and  future  life,  and  prepare  men  for 
doctrines  wdiich  hardly  ^ield  in  gloominess  to  some  of  the  super- 
stitions of  heathenism.  Perhaps  it  is  one  of  the  last  lessons  which 
many  of  us  learn,  that  God  is  truly  good  ;  and  perhaps  the  hardest 
of  all  religious  duties  is  to  confide  in  his  equity  and  benevolence. 
The  severe  views  of  religion  which  prevail  are  thought  favorable  to 
piet}-,  very  much  on  the  ground  that  the  most  rigid  monastic  insti- 
tutions were  regarded  with  so  much  veneration.  That  these  in- 
stitutions often  produced  uncommon  strictness  and  uncommon  y^-z-ror 
I  do  not  doubt ;  but  their  general  influence  on  the  character  was 
not  favorable,  nor  did  the}-  promote  the  great  cause  of  piet}-. 

"  You  speak  of  the  creed  3'ou  have  signed,  and  justify-  it  on  the 
ground  that  you  ought  to  show  what  sense  or  meaning  ^-ou  give  to 
the  Scriptures.  When,  therefore,  \o\\  said,  '  that  there  were  three 
persons  in  one  God,'  you  intended  b}-  this  to  give  the  meanijig  of 
certain  passages  of  Scripture  which  have  been  variouslj-  interpreted, 
or  to  show  in  what  manner  you  iinderdand  them .  Now  I  object  to  this 
article,  that  it  wholly  fails  of  its  end,  that  I  cannot  conceive  what^^'ow 
mean  b}'  it ;  it  brings  to  my  mind  but  one  idea,  which  I  know  you  can- 
not intend,  that  one  God  is  three  Gods.  In  using  language  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  showing  what  we  mean,  we  cannot  be  too  careful 
to  avoid  equivocal  w-ords,  or  unusual  meanings  of  common  words. 
The  word  person  you  use  in  a  sense  which  I  do  not  comprehend, 


1803-1814.]         FREEDOM   OF  INQUIRY  IN  RELIGION.  191 

and  which  is  whollj'  unauthorized  by  common  usage.     What,  then, 
is  gained  b}-  forsaking  the  language  of  Scripture  ? 

"On  reviewing  this  letter,  I  find  it  written  in  a  manner  which 
j'ou  may  possibh'  misapprehend.  There  may  seem  to  you  a  want 
of  tenderness,  and  a  positiveness,  which  I  assure  you  are  far  from 
my  heart.  I  am  obliged  to  write  as  fast  as  m^-pen  will  run,  and  in 
aiming  at  brevit}- 1  have  omitted  expressions  of  kindness  which  m}- 
heart  would  prompt.  I  have  simply-  wished  to  guard  you  against 
what  I  deem  great  errors,  and  to  give  you  my  views  of  the  true 
spirit  of  Christianit}-.  I  onl^'  ask  from  3-0U  calm  reflection.  I  beg 
that  no  authority'  maj-  be  given  to  my  sentiments  because  they  are 
asserted  with  strength.  Confidence  is  no  mark  of  truth.  I  wish 
you  to  write  me  with  perfect  frankness,  and  to  point  out  what  you 
think  m^'  errors.  That  your  character  will  be  improved  by  the 
scenes  through  which  you  have  latel}-  passed  is  mj- sincere  hope.  I 
shall  never  love  3-ou  less  for  any  opposition  of  sentiment,  whilst 
I  discern  in  j-our  character  the  badge  of  a  true  disciple,  which  is  love. 
As  to  your  entering  the  ministry,  you  do  well  to  deliberate.  It  is 
a  profession  to  which  we  should  be  led  by  a  desire  of  doing  good, 
and  a  hope  that  we  shall  be  more  useful  in  it  than  in  other  pursuits. 
You  will  excuse  any  inaccuracies  in  so  hasty  and  long  a  letter. 
"  Yours,  affectionately, 

"W.    E.    CHANNING." 

1811.  Freedom  of  inquiry  in  religion.  "  From  the  manner 
in  which  Christ  and  his  apostles  introduced  and  established  the 
gospel,  we  learn  that  the}'  considered  religion  as  a  subject  on  which 
all  men  ought  to  think  for  themselves,  to  employ  their  own  minds, 
to  inquire,  to  deliberate,  to  fix  a  serious,  impartial  attention.  It 
was  the  wish  and  intention  of  the  great  Founder  of  our  religion, 
that  his  religion  should  be  examined,  should  be  received  on  very 
different  grounds  from  false  religions,  should  have  no  support  but 
what  it  derived  from  its  own  excellence,  and  from  the  evidences  of 
a  Divine  interposition  b}'  which  it  was  accompanied 

"  Christianity  everywhere  considers  it  as  a  settled,  conceded  point, 
that  men,  on  the  subject  of  religion,  are  to  exercise  their  own  judg- 
ment, and  to  follow  their  own  conviction.  I  know  it  is  thought  by 
some  that  this  freedom  of  inquiry  in  religion  is  dangerous,  espe- 
cially to  the  great  mass  of  mankind.  It  is  thought  more  safe  that  a 
few  should  lead,  and  that  the  multitude  should  follow.  It  is  said, 
what  is  common  should  be  admitted  as  true,  that  the  hereditary 
faith  of  men  should  never  be  disturbed  by  suggesting  the  impor- 
tance of  examination 


192  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [iEx.  23-34. 

"  It  is  true  that  the  right  of  private  judgment  may  be  abused. 
Men,  under  pretence  of  thinking  for  themselves,  ma}'  renounce  the 
plainest  and  most  important  truths,  ma}-  choose  to  depart  from  the 
multitude,  and,  to  show  their  boldness  and  independence,  may 
advance  sentiments  at  which  a  common  mind  shrinks  with  horror. 
But  liberty  in  ever}-  form  ma}-  be  abused.  There  is  but  one  infal- 
lible method  we  can  employ  of  preventing  men  from  doing  evil, — 
they  must  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  not  be  suffered  to  exert 
one  power  of  body  or  of  mind.  Give  them  a  power,  and  they 
will  sometimes  misapply  it.  Furnish  a  field  of  action,  and  they 
will  sometimes  go  astray.  Invigorate  the  mind,  and  they  will  some- 
times employ  this  vigor  in  accomplishing  unworthy  ends.  Encour- 
age them  to  examine  before  they  believe,  and  they  will  sometimes 
practise  unfairness,  dishonesty  of  mind,  and  ari'ay  error  in  the 
garb  of  truth.  But  these  evils  form  no  balance  against  the  innu- 
merable advantages  of  a  vigorous  exertion  of  the  powers  we  pos- 
sess ;  and  he  who,  in  order  to  remove  these  evils,  would  restrain 
men's  liberty  of  thought  and  action,  would  rob  our  nature  of  every- 
thing which  ennobles  it,  and  reduce  the  race  almost  to  the  level  of 
brutes 

"The  opinion  is  not  entirely  correct,  that  inquiry  into  religion 
has  produced  the  multiplicity  of  sects  in  the  Christian  w-orld.  I 
would  rather  say,  that  the  want  of  examination  has  often  originated 
and  extended  them.  The  readiness  of  numbers  to  embrace  what 
is  dogmatically  and  loudly  asserted,  what  addresses  the  passions 
instead  of  the  understanding,  has  been  the  greatest  temptation  to 
the  heads  of  sects  to  propagate  their  peculiarities,  and  furnishes 
them  with  followers.  The  heads  of  sects  have  generally  their  full 
share  of  ambition,  and  their  ambition  is  fostered  and  made  more 
active  by  the  common  disposition  which  they  see  to  receive  their 
doctrines  without  examination.  We  must  not  imagine  that  the  wa}- 
to  stifle  sects  is  to  encourage  men  to  receive  religious  opinions 
without  thought  or  inquiry.  In  a  land  of  universal  toleration,  this 
is  the  most  direct  way  of  laying  them  open  to  imposition  and  en- 
thusiasm. The  only  way  of  producing  uniformity  is  to  encourage 
serious  and  honest  inquiry. 

"  This  uniformity  has  sometimes  been  sought  by  constraint ;  but 
in  vain.  If,  indeed,  the  power  of  a  state  should  command  one  form 
of  religion  to  be  preached,  and  should  prohibit  the  expression  of 
all  others,  I  grant  that  something  like  uniformity  would  appear. 
There  would  be  no  clamors  of  contending  sects.  We  should  have 
in  their  place  the  silence  of  the  grave.  But  even  in  this  case  there 
would  be  no  real  uniformity  of  sentiment ;  for  where  the  activity  of 


1803-1814.]  IMPORTANCE   OF  FREE  INQUIRY.  193 

the  mind  is  checked  on  the  subject  of  religion,  men  can  hard!}-  be 
said  to  have  any  sentiments.  The}'  maj'  hear,  the}'  may  receive 
words,  but  all  their  conceptions  are  vague.  They  may  utter  the 
same  sounds,  but  as  far  as  they  attach  any  distinct  meaning  to 
what  they  say,  the  probability  is  that  they  resemble  each  other  in 
opinion  as  little  as  do  now  the  different  sects.  Besides,  this  vas- 
salage of  mind  cannot  forever  be  maintained.  There  is  an  elastic 
force  in  the  human  understanding  which  resists  this  weight  of  op- 
pression ;  and  when  the  enslaved  world  once  obtains  freedom,  and 
begins  to  think  for  itself,  it  will  by  reaction  become  more  devious 
and  extravagant  in  its  operation  than  if  no  burden  had  been  im- 
posed. Again  I  say,  the  only  way  to  produce  lasting  uniformity 
of  sentiment  is  to  encourage  men  to  think  seriously  and  honestly 
on  religion,  to  inquire  into  the  grounds  of  what  they  believe,  to 
separate  the  true  from  the  false,  and  the  clear  from  the  obscure. 

"  It  is  the  influence  of  such  examination  to  bring  truth  to  light. 
Truth  IS  not  hidden  beneath  an  inii^enetrable  veil,  but  reveals  her- 
self to  the  sincere  inquirer.  Men  of  this  character  are  not  easily 
led  away  by  noisy  declamations,  by  bold  assertions,  by  high  pre- 
tensions. They  soon  learn  that  true  wisdom  is  not  characterized 
by  positiveness,  and  that  those  who  claim  most  unreserved  assent 
from  others  deserve  it  the  least.  They  demand  proof,  and  this  is 
the  last  demand  which  enthusiasm  is  prepared  and  inclined  to  an- 
swer. They  are  not  carried  away  by  sounds  and  names.  They  do 
not  range  themselves  under  a  particular  banner  and  denounce  war 
and  destruction  on  all  who  take  a  different  standard  of  belief. 
Claiming  for  themselves  the  right  of  inquiry,  and  taught  by  inquiry 
that  they  ai'c  prone  to  eiT,  they  become  more  diffident  of  their  own 
judgment,  and  lay  aside  their  censoriousness  towards  others.  And 
if  they  do  not  agree  entirely  in  sentiment  with  those  around  them, 
they  still  live  in  peace,  and  give  and  receive  light ;  and  thus  a  foun- 
dation is  laid  for  real  and  increasing  uniformity  of  opinion 

"  This  subject  is  never  uninteresting.  It  is  peculiarly  important 
at  the  time  in  which  we  live,  when  so  many  opinions  divide  the 
religious  world,  and  so  many  are  summoning  us  with  confidence  to 
come  over  to  them,  if  we  would  find  truth  and  salvation.  In  this 
state  of  things  we  are  peculiarly  called  to  examine  before  we  ap- 
prove. Among  the  various  sects  into  which  our  community  is 
broken,  none  can  produce  any  warrant  of  infallil)ility,  any  appoint- 
ment to  the  high  office  of  interpreting  the  word  of  God  for  their 
brethren.  Let  us  not  be  swayed  by  names  or  numbers  ;  let  us  not 
give  up  our  understandings  to  the  sway  of  the  positive  and  dicta- 
torial.    Let  us  seriously  inquire  into  the  grounds  of  our  Christian 

13 


194  THE  UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [Mr.  23-34. 

faith,  and,  having  estabhshed  the  great  principle  that  Jesus  Christ 
is  the  authorized  teaclier  and  light  of  mankind,  let  us  repair  to  his 
word,  where  he  speaks  to  us  and  to  all  mankind,  and  with  sincere, 
honest,  humble,  impartial  minds,  desirous  to  receive  and  resolved 
to  obe^'  his  truth,  let  us  earnestly  meditate  on  his  instruction. 

"  If  once  we  forsake  this  guide,  to  whom  shall  we  attach  our- 
selves? If  once  we  choose  to  rest  on  human  authority,  whom  shall 
we  select  as  our  teacher  out  of  the  multitude  who  wish  to  number 
us  among  their  proselytes?  What  pledge  have  we,  that  we  shall 
not  throw  ourselves  into  the  arms  of  the  most  deluded?  Let  us, 
then,  stand  fast  in  the  liberty  with  which  Christ  has  made  us  free. 
Let  us  receive  nothing  because  positively'  asserted  by  others.  And 
neither  let  us  settle  down  in  our  own  present  conceptions,  as  if  the}" 
were  infallibly  right  and  could  not  be  corrected.  Let  us  avoid 
equally  the  desire  of  singularit}-  and  the  desire  of  conformity,  and 
with  dispassionate,  unprejudiced  minds  follow  our  Master  wher- 
ever he  shall  lead." 


EXTRACTS   FROM   A   LETTER,  ETC.,  TO   THE   REV.    SAMUEL    C.    THACIIER. 

"  June  20,  1815. 

"  My  Friend  and  Brother,  —  I  have  recollected  with  much 
satisfaction  the  conversation  which  we  held  the  other  morning,  on 
the  subject  of  the  late  Review,  in  the  Panoplist  for  June,  of  a 
pamphlet  called  '  American  Unitarianism.'  ....  After  leaving 
you,  ni}'  thoughts  still  dwelt  on  the  subject ;  and,  painful  as  is  the 
task,  I  have  thought  it  m}'  duty  to  exhibit  to  the  public  the  topics 
which  we  discussed,  as  well  as  to  add  some  reflections  suggested 
by  private  meditation. 

"  I  bring  to  the  subject  a  feeling  which  I  cannot  well  express  in 
words,  Init  which  you  can  easily  understand.  It  is  a  feeling  as  if 
I  were  degrading  myself  by  noticing  the  false  and  injurious  charges 
contained  in  this  Review.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  admitting  that  we 
need  vindication,  that  our  re[)utations  want  support,  that  our  char- 
acters and  lives  do  not  speak  for  themselves.  My  self-resi)cct, 
too,  is  wounded,  by  coming  into  contact  with  assailants  who  not 
only  deny  us  the  name  of  Christians,  but  withhold  I'rom  us  the 
treatment  of  gentlemen.  These  feelings,  united  with  my  love  of 
peace,  would  induce  me  to  pass  over  the  Review  in  silence,  if  it 
were  limited  to  the  sphere  within  which  we  are  [)ersonally  known. 
In  this  sphere,  I  trust,  its  bitterness,  coarseness,  and  misrepre- 
sentations will  work  their  own  cure  ;  and  that  no  other  defence  is 
required,  but  the  tenor  of  our  ministry  and  lives.     But  the  work  in 


1803-1814.]  LIBERAL   CHRISTIANS.  195 

which  this  article  is  published  is  industriouslj'  spread  through  the 
country,  and  tlirough  all  classes  of  societ}'.  The  aspersions  which 
it  contains  are  also  diffused,  as  widely  as  possible,  by  conversation, 
and  even  by  newspapers.  We  owe,  then,  to  ourselves,  and,  what 
is  more  important,  to  the  cause  of  Christian  truth  and  charity, 
some  remarks  on  the  representations  and  spirit  of  the  Review 

"The  Panoplist  Review,  though  extended  over  so  many  pages, 
may  be  compressed  into  a  very  narrow  space.     It  asserts,  — 

"1.  That  the  great  body  of  Liberal  ministers  in  this  town  and 
its  vicinity,  and  of  Liberal  Christians,  are  Unitarians  in  Mr.  Bel- 
sham's  sense  of  the  word  ;  that  is,  they  believe  that  Jesus  Christ 
is  a  mere  man,  who  when  on  earth  was  liable  to  error  and  sin  ;  to  y' 
whom  we  owe  no  gratitude  for  benefits  which  we  are  now  receiving  ; 
and  for  whose  future  interposition  we  have  no  reason  to  hope. 

"2.  The  Review  asserts  that  these  ministers  and  Liberal  Chris- 
tians are  guilt}-  of  hypocritical  concealment  of  their  sentiments,  and 
behave  in  a  base,  cowardly,  and  hypocritical  manner. 

"3.  Christians  are  called  to  come  out  and  separate  themselves 
from  these  ministers  and  the  Liberal  body  of  Christians,  and  to 
withhold  from  them  Christian  communion. 

"  I  will  consider  these  three  heads  in  their  order. 

"  The  first  assertion  to  be  considered  is,  that  the  great  body  of 
Liberal  ministers  in  this  town  and  vicinit}',  and  of  Liberal  Chris- 
tians,^ are  Unitarians,  in  Mr.  Belsham's  sense  of  that  word 

It  is  unnecessary  to  multiply  extracts  to  show,  that  not  only  Boston, 

^  "  I  have  used  the  phrase  or  denomination  Liberal  Christians  because  it  is 
employed  by' the  Reviewer  to  distinguisli  tliose  whom  he  assails.  I  have  nevef 
been  inclined  to  claim  this  appellation  for  myself  or  my  friends,  because,  as  the 
word  /(7*era/(7y  expresses  the  noblest  qualities  of  the  human  mind,  —  freedom 
from  local  prejudices  and  narrow  feelings,  the  enlargement  of  the  views  and 
affections,  —  I  have  thought  that  the  assumption  of  it  would  savor  of  that  spirit 
which  has  attempted  to  limit  the  words  orthodox  and  evancjeJicnl  to  a  particular 
body  of  Christians.  As  the  appellation,  however,  cannot  well  be  avoided,  I  will 
state  the  meaning  which  I  attach  to  it. 

"  By  a  Liberal  Christian,  I  understand  one  who  is  disposed  to  receive  as  his 
brethren  in  Christ  all  who,  in  tlie  judgment  of  charity,  sincerelj'  profess  to  re- 
ceive Jesus  Christ  as  their  Lord  and  Master.  He  rejects  all  tests  or  standards 
of  Christian  faith  and  of  Christian  character,  but  the  word  of  Jesus  Christ  and 
of  his  inspired  apostles.  He  thinks  it  an  act  of  disloyalty  to  his  Master  to  in- 
troduce into  the  church  creeds  of  fallible  men  as  bonds  of  union,  or  terms  of 
Christian  fellowship.  He  calls  himself  by  no  name  derived  from  human  leaders, 
disclaims  all  exclusive  connection  with  any  sect  or  party,  pi-ofesses  himself  a 
member  of  the  Church  Universal  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  and  cheerfully  extends 
tlie  hand  of  brotherhood  to  every  man  of  every  name  who  discovers  the  spirit 
of  Jesus  Christ. 

"  According  to  this  view  of  Liberal  Christians,  they  cannot  be  called  a  party. 


198  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

but  its  vicinit}',  is  involved  in  the  charge.  In  fact,  the  Liberal 
part}',  in  general,  is  ranged  under  the  standard  of  Mr.  Belsham. 

Now  we  both  of  us  know  this  statement  to  be  false 

"The  word  Unitarianism,  as  denoting  opposition  to  Trinitari- 
anisni,  undoubtedly  expresses  the  character  of  a  considerable  part 
of  the  ministers  of  this  town  and  its  vicinity,  and  the  Common- 
wealth. But  we  both  of  us  know  that  their  Unitarianism  is  of  a 
very  different  kind  from  that  of  Mr.  Belsham.  We  agreed  in  our 
late  conference,  that  a  majority  of  our  brethren  believe  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  more  than  man,  that  he  existed  before  the  world,  that  he 
literally  came  from  heaven  to  save  our  race,  that  he  sustains  other 
offices  than  those  of  a  teacher  and  witness  to  the  truth,  and  that  lie 
still  acts  for  our  benefit,  and  is  our  intercessor  with  the  F'ather. 
This  we  agreed  to  be  the  prevalent  sentiment  of  our  brethren. 
There  is  another  class  of  Liberal  Christians,  who,  whilst  the^'  reject 
the  distinction  of  three  persons  in  God,  are  yet  unable  to  pass  a 
definite  judgment  on  the  various  systems  which  prevail,  as  to  the 
nature  and  rank  of  Jesus  Christ.  The}'  are  met  by  difficulties  on 
ever}^  side,  and  generally  rest  in  the  conclusion,  that  He  whom 
God  has  appointed  to  be  our  Saviour  must  be  precisely  adapted  to 
his  work,  and  that  acceptable  faith  consists  in  regarding  and  fol- 
lowing him  as  our  Lord,  Teacher,  and  Saviour;  without  deciding 
on  his  nature  or  rank  in  the  universe.  There  is  another  class,  who 
believe  the  simple  humanity  of  Jesus  Christ;  but  these  form  a 
small  proportion  of  the  great  body  of  Unitarians  in  this  part  of  our 
country ;  and  I  very  much  doubt  whether  of  these  one  individual 
can  be  found,  who  could  conscientiously  subscribe  to  Mr.  Belsham's 
creed  as  given  in  the  Review.  The  conduct  of  the  Reviewer,  in 
collecting  all  the  opinions  of  that  gentleman,  not  only  on  the  Trinity, 
but  on  every  other  theological  subject,  in  giving  to  the  whole  col- 
lection the  name  of  Unitarianism^  and  in  exhibiting  this  to  the 
world  as  the  creed  of  Liberal  Christians  in  this  region,  is  perhaps 
as  criminal  an  instance  of  unfairness  as  is  to  be  found  in  the  records 

Tliey  are  distinpuishecl  only  by  refusing  to  separate  themselves  in  any  form  or 
degree  from  the  great  body  of  Clirist.  The}'  are  scattered,  too,  tlirough  all 
classes  of  Christians.  I  have  known  Trinitarians  and  Calvinists  who  justly 
deserve  the  name  of  Liberal,  who  regard  with  affection  all  who  appear  to  follow 
Jesus  Christ  in  temper  and  life,  however  they  may  differ  on  the  common  points 
of  theological  controversy.  To  this  class  of  Christians,  which  is  scattered  over 
the  earth,  and  which  I  trust  has  never  been  extinct  in  any  age,  I  profess  and 
desire  to  belong.  God  send  them  prosperity  !  —  In  this  part  of  the  countrj', 
Liberal  Ciiristians,  as  they  have  been  above  described,  are  generally,  though 
by  no  means  universallj'.  Unitarians,  in  the  proper  sense  of  that  word.  It  is  of 
tliis  part  of  them  that  I  chiefly  speak  in  this  letter." 


1803-1814.]  CHARGE  OF  CONCEALMENT.  197 

of  theological  controversy.  The  fact  is,  that  the  great  body  of 
Liberal  Christians  would  shrink  from  some  of  these  opinions 
with  as  much  aversion  as  from  some  of  the  gloomy  doctrines  of 
Calvin 

"  I  trust  that  the  statement  which  has  now  been  made  will  not 
be  considered  as  casting  the  least  reproach  on  those  amongst  us, 
who  believe  in  the  simple  humanit}'  of  Jesus  Christ.  Whilst  I 
differ  from  them  in  opinion,  I  have  certainl}'  no  disposition  to  deny 
them  the  name  and  privileges  of  Christians.  There  are  gentlemen 
of  this  class,  whom  I  have  the  happiness  to  know,  in  whom  I  dis- 
cover the  evidences  of  a  scrupulous  uprightness  and  a  genuine 
piet}' ;  and  there  are  others,  whose  characters,  as  portrayed  by 
their  biographers,  appear  to  me  striking  examples  of  the  best  in- 
fluences of  Christianity- 

"I  now  come  to  the  second  charge  of  the  Review:  That  the 
liberal  ministers  of  Boston  and  the  vicinity,  and  the  most  consid- 
erable members  of  the  Liberal  part}^,  '  operate  in  secret ;  intrust  only 
the  initiated  with  their  measures  ;  are  guilty  of  hypocritical  con- 
cealment of  their  sentiments ;  behave  in  a  base  and  hypocritical 
manner.'  ....  This  charge  is  infinitely  more  serious  than  the 
first.  To  believe  with  Mr.  Belsham  is  no  crime.  But  artifice, 
plotting,  hypocrisy,  ca-e  crimes  ;  and  if  we  practise  them,  we  de- 
serve to  be  driven,  not  only  from  the  ministry,  not  only  from  the 
Church,  but  from  the  society  of  the  decent  and  respectable.  Our 
own  hearts,  I  trust,  tell  us  at  once  how  gross  are  these  aspersions  ; 
and  our  acquaintance  with  our  brethren  authorizes  us  to  speak  in 
their  vindication  with  the  same  confidence  as  in  our  own. 

"It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  those  who  have  charged  us 
with  holding  sentiments  which  we  reject  should  proceed  to  charge 
us  with  hypocriticall}'  concealing  our  sentiments.  Most  of  us  have 
often  contradicted  Mr.  Belsham's  opinions  ;  and  the}'  who  insist 
that  these  opinions  are  ours  will  be  forced  to  maintain  that  we  prac- 
tise deceit.  The}-  start  with  a  falsehood,  and  their  conclusion  can- 
not therefore  be  true.     I  am  not,  however,  disposed  to  dismiss  this 

charge  of  artifice  and  hypocrisy  so  lightly As  to  myself,  I 

have  ever  been  inclined  to  cherish  the  most  exalted  views  of  Jesus 
Christ  which  are  consistent  with  the  supremac}'  of  the  Father ;  and 
I  have  felt  it  ni}-  duty  to  depart  from  Mr,  Belsham  in  perhaps  every 
sentiment  which  is  peculiar  to  him  on  this  subject.  I  have  always 
been  pleased  with  some  of  the  sentiments  of  Dr.  Watts  on  the  inti- 
mate and  peculiar  union  between  the  Father  and  Son.  But  I  have 
always  abstained  most  scrupulously  from  every  expression  which 
could  be  construed  into  an  acknowledgment  of  the  Trinity.     My 


198  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [Mr.  2:3-34. 

worship  and  sentiments  have  been  Unitarian,  in  the  proper  sense  of 
that  word.  In  conversation  with  ni}'  people,  who  have  requested 
my  opinion  upon  the  subject,  especiall}'  with  those  who  consider 
themselves  Trinitarians,  I  have  spoken  with  directness  and  simpli- 
city. Some  of  those  who  differ  from  me  most  widel}'  have  received 
from  me  the  most  explicit  assurances  of  my  disbelief  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinit}',  and  of  my  \iews  in  relation  to  the  Saviour.  As  to 
my  brethren  in  general,  never  have  I  imagined  for  a  moment,  from 
their  preaching  or  conversation,  that  they  had  the  least  desire  to  be 
considered  as  Trinitarians  ;  nor  have  I  ever  heard  from  them  an}' 
views  of  God  or  of  Jesus  Christ  but  Unitarian,  in  the  proper  mean- 
ing of  that  word. 

"  It  is  indeed  true,  that  we  seldom  or  never  introduce  the  Trini- 
tarian controversy  into  our  pulpits.  We  are  accustomed  to  speak 
of  the  Father  as  the  only  living  and  true  God,  and  of  Jesus  Christ 
as  his  Son,  as  a  distinct  being  from  him,  as  dependent  on  him,  sub- 
ordinate to  him,  and  deriving  all  from  him.  This  phraseology  per- 
vades all  our  pra^^ers  and  all  our  preaching.  We  seldom  or  never, 
however,  refer  to  any  different  sentiments,  embraced  b}-  other 
Christians,  on  the  nature  of  God  or  of  Jesus  Christ.  We  preach 
precisely  as  if  no  such  doctrine  as  the  Trinity  had  ever  been  known. 
We  do  not  attempt  to  refute  it,  an}'  more  than  to  refute  the  systems 
of  the  Sabellians,  the  Eutychians,  or  the  Nestorians,  or  of  the  other 
sects  who  have  debated  these  questions  with  such  hot  and  unprofit- 
able zeal.  But,  in  following  this  course,  yve  are  not  conscious  of 
having  contracted,  in  the  least  degree,  the  guilt  of  insincerity.  We 
have  aimed  at  making  no  false  impression.  AYe  have  only  followed 
a  general  system,  which  we  are  persuaded  to  be  best  for  our  people 
and  for  the  cause  of  Christianity  ;  the  system  of  excluding  contro- 
versy as  much  as  possible  from  our  pulpits.  In  compliance  with 
this  system,  I  have  never  assailed  Trinitarianism  ;  nor  have  I  ever 
said  one  word  against  Methodism,  Quakerism,  Episcopalianism,  or 
the  denomination  of  Baptists  ;  and  I  may  add  Poper}-,  if  I  except  a 
few  occasional  remarks  on  the  intolerance  of  that  system.  The 
name  of  these  sects,  with  that  single  exception,  has  never  passed 
my  lips  in  preaching,  through  my  whole  ministry,  which  has  con- 
tinued above  twelve  years.  We  all  of  us  think  it  best  to  preach  the 
truths  or  what  we  esteem  to  be  the  truth,  and  to  say  very  little  about 
error,  unless  it  be  error  of  a  strictl}-  practical  nature.  A  striking- 
proof  of  our  sentiments  and  habits  on  this  subject  may  be  derived 
from  the  manner  in  which  you  and  myself  have  treated  Calvinism. 
We  consider  the  errors  which  relate  to  Christ's  person  as  of  little  or 
no  importance,  compared  with  the  error  of  those  who  teach  that  God 


1803-1814.] 


AVERSION  TO  CONTROVERSY.  199 


brings  us  into  life  wholly  depraved  and  wholly  helpless,  that  he  ^ 
leaves  multitudes  without  that  aid  which  is  indispensably  necessary  '^ 
to  their  repentance,  and  then  plunges  them  into  everlasting  burn- 
ings and  unspeakable  torture  for  not  repenting.     This  we  consider 
as°one  of  the  most  injurious  errors  which  ever  darkened  the  Chris- 
tian world  ;  and  none  will  pretend  that  we  have  anything  to  fear 
from  exposing  this  error  to  our  people.     On  the  contrary,  we  could 
hardly  select  a  more  popular  topic ;   and  yet  our  hearers  wiU  bear 
witness  how  seldom   we   introduce  this  topic  into  our  preaching. 
The  name  of  Calvinist  has  never,  I  presume,  been  uttered  by  us  in 
the  pulpit.     Our  method  is,  to  state  what  we  conceive  to  be  more 
honorable,  and  ennobling,  and  encouraging  views  of  God's  charac- 
ter and  government,  and  to  leave  these  to  have  their  effect,  without 
holding  °up  other  Christians  to  censure  or  contempt.     We  could,  if 
we  were  to  make  strenuous  efforts,  render  the  name  of  Calvinist  as 
much  a  word  of  reproach  in  our  societies,  as  that  of  Unitarian  is  in 
some  parts  of  our  country.     But  we  esteem  it  a  solemn  duty  to  dis- 
arm, instead  of  exciting,  the  bad  passions  of  our  people.     We  wish 
to  promote  among  them  a  spirit  of  universal  charity.     We  wish  to 
make  them  condemn  their  own  bad  practices,  rather  than  the  erro- 
neous speculations  of  their  neighbor.     We  love  them  too  sincerely 
to  imbue  them  with  the  spirit  of  controversy. 

"In  thus  avoiding  controversy,  we  have  thought  that  we  de- 
served, not  reproach,  but  some  degree  of  praise  for  our  self-denial. 
Every  preacher  knows  how  much  easier  it  is  to  write  a  controver- 
sial than  a  practical  discourse  ;  how  much  easier  it  is  to  interest  an  ^/ 
audience  by  attacking  an  opposite  party,  than  by  stating  to  them 
the  duties  and  motives  of  the  gospel.  We  often  feel  that  our  mode 
of  preaching  exposes  us  to  the  danger  of  being  trite  and  dull ;  and 
I  presume  we  have  often  been  tempted  to  gratify  the  love  of  dispu- 
tation which  lurks  in  every  society.  But  so  deeply  are  we  con- 
vinced that  the  great  end  of  preaching  is  to  promote  a  spirit  of  love, 
a  sober,  righteous,  and  godly  life,  and  that  every  doctrine  is  to  be 
urged  simply  and  exclusively  for  this  end,  that  we  have  sacrificed 
our  ease,  and  have  chosen  to  be  less  striking  preachers,  rather  than 
to  enter  the  lists  of  controversy. 

"We  have  seldom  or  never  assailed  the  scheme  of  the  Trinity, 
not  only  from  our  dislike  to  controversy  in  general,  but  from  a  per- 
suasion that  this  discussion  would,  above  all  others,  perplex,  and . 
needlessly  perplex,  a  common  congregation,  consisting  of  persons 
of  all  ages,  capacities,  degrees  of  improvement,  and  conditions  in 
society.  This  doctrine  we  all  regard  as  the  most  unintelligible 
about  which  Christians  have  ever  disputed.     If  it  do  not  mean  that 


200  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [Mr.  23-34. 

there  are  three  Gods  (a  construction  which  its  advocates  indig- 
nantl}'  repel) ,  we  know  not  what  it  means  ;  and  we  have  not 
thought  that  we  should  edify  common  hearers  by  attacking  a  doc- 
trine altogether  inconceivable,  and  wholly  beyond  the  grasp  of  our 
faculties.  We  have  recollected,  too,  the  mischiefs  of  the  Trinita- 
rian controversy  in  past  ages,  that  it  has  been  a  firebrand  lighting 
the  flames  of  persecution,  and  kindhng  infernal  passions  in  the 
breasts  of  Christians ;  and  we  have  felt  no  disposition  to  interest 
the  feelings  of  our  congregation  in  a  dispute  which  has  so  disgraced 
the  professed  disciples  of  the  meek  and  lowl}-  Jesus.  Man}-  of  us 
have  been  disinclined,  not  only  to  assail  s^'stems  which  we  do  not 
believe,  but  even  to  enforce  the  views  which  we  have  given  of  the 
rank  and  character  of  Jesus  Christ ;  because  we  have  known  how 
divided  the  best  men  have  been  on  these  topics,  and  how  largely  we 
ourselves  partake  of  the  fallibility  of  our  nature  ;  because  we  have 
wished  that  our  hearers  should  derive  their  impressions  on  these 
points  as  much  as  possible  from  the  Scriptures  ;  and  because  we 
have  all  been  persuaded  that  precision  of  views  upon  these  subjects 
is  in  no  degree  essential  to  the  faith  or  practice  of  a  Christian.  We 
have  considered  the  introduction  of  the  Trinitarian  controvers}-  into 
the  pulpit  as  the  less  necessary',  because  we  have  generally  found 
that  common  Christians  admit  that  distinction  between  God  and 
his  Son,  and  that  subordination  of  the  Son,  which  we  believe  to  be 
the  truth  ;  and  as  to  that  very  small  part  of  our  hearers  who  are 
strongly  attached  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  while  we  have  not 
wished  to  conceal  from  them  our  difference  of  opinion,  we  liave 
been  fully  satisfied  that  the  most  efl'ectual  method  of  promoting 
their  holiness  and  salvation  was  to  urge  on  them  perpetually  those 
great  truths  and  precepts  about  which  there  is  little  contention,  and 
which  have  an  immediate  bearing  on  the  temper  and  the  life.  To 
conclude,  we  have  never  entered  into  discussions  of  the  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity,  because  we  are  not  governed  by  a  proselyting  ten)per. 
I  will  venture  to  assert,  that  there  is  not  on  earth  a  body  of  men 
who  possess  less  of  the  spirit  of  proselytism  than  the  ministers  of 
this  town  and  vicinity.  Accustomed  as  we  are  to  see  genuine  piety 
in  all  classes  of  Christians,  in  Trinitarians  and  Unitarians,  in  Cal- 
vinists  and  Arminians,  in  Episcopalians,  Methodists,  Baptists,  and 
Congregationalists,  and  delighting  in  this  character  wherever  it  ap- 
pears, we  are  little  anxious  to  bring  men  over  to  our  peculiar  opin- 
ions. I  could  smile  at  the  idea  of  a  Unitarian  plot,  were  not  this 
fiction  intended  to  answer  so  unworthy  an  end.  There  cannot  be  a 
doubt,  that,  had  we  seriously  united  for  the  purpose  of  spreading 
Unitarianism   by   any   and   every  means,    by  secret   insinuations 


1803-1814.]  HERESY  AND  EXCLUSION.  201 

against  those  who  differ  from  us,  by  uncharitable  denunciations, 
and  by  the  other  usual  arts  of  sects,  we  might  have  produced  in 
this  part  of  the  country  a  Unitarian  heat  and  bitterness  not  inferior 
to  that  with  which  Trinitarianism  is  too  often  advocated.  But  not 
the  slightest  whisper  of  any  concert  for  this  end  has  ever  reached 
me ;  and  as  to  these  arts,  our  people  can  best  say  how  far  we  have 
practised  them.  Our  people  will  testify-  how  little  we  have  sought 
to  influence  them  on  the  topics  of  dispute  among  Christians,  how 
little  we  have  labored  to  make  them  partisans,  how  constantly  we 
have  besought  them  to  look  with  candor  on  other  denominations, 
and  to  dehght  in  all  the  marks  which  others  exhibit  of  piet}^  and 
goodness.  Our  great  and  constant  object  has  been  to  promote 
the  spirit  of  Christ,  and  we  have  been  persuaded  that  in  this  wa}'' 
we  should  most  effectually  promote  the  interests  of  Christian 
truth 

"  I  now  come  to  the  third  head  of  the  Review,  which  I  propose 
to  consider.  The  Reviewer,  having  charged  us  with  holding  the 
opinions  of  Mr.  Belshara,  and  hypocritically  concealing  them, 
solemnly  calls  on  Christians  who  differ  from  us  in  sentiment  '  to 
come  out  and  be  separate  from  us,  and  to  withhold  communion  with 
us.'  ....  This  language  does  not  astonish  me,  when  I  recollect  the 
cry  of  heresy  which  has  been  so  loudl}'  raised  against  this  part 
of  the  country.  But  I  believe  that  this  is  the  first  instance  in 
which  Christians  have  been  deliberately  called  to  deny  us  the  Chris- 
tian name  and  privileges.  As  such,  let  it  be  remembered  ;  and  let 
the  consequences  of  it  lie  on  its  authors. 

"  Why  is  it  that  our  brethren  are  thus  instigated  to  cut  us  off,  as 
far  as  they  have  power,  from  the  body  and  church  of  Christ  ?  Let 
eveiy  Christian  weigh  well  the  answer.  It  is  not  because  we  refuse 
to  acknowledge  Jesus  Christ  as  our  Lord  and  Master ;  it  is  not 
because  we  neglect  to  stud}'  his  word ;  it  is  iiot  because  our  lives 
are  wanting  in  the  spirit  and  virtues  of  his  gospel.  It  is  because, 
after  serious  investigation,  we  cannot  find  in  the  Scriptures,  and 
cannot  adopt  as  instructions  of  our  Master,  certain  doctrines  which 
have  divided  the  Church  for  ages,  which  have  perplexed  the  best 
and  wisest  men,  and  which  are  verj'  differently  conceived  even  by 
those  who  profess  to  receive  them.  It  is,  in  particular,  because  we 
cannot  adopt  the  language  of  our  brethren  in  relation  to  a  doctrine 
which  we  cannot  understand,  and  which  is  expressed  in  words  not 
only  unauthorized  by  the  Scripture,  but,  as  we  believe,  in  words 
employed  without  meaning  (unless  the}'  mean  that  there  are  three 
Gods)  b}'  those  who  insist  upon  them.  This  is  our  crime,  that  we 
cannot  think  and  speak  with  our  brethren  on  subjects  the  most 


202  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^x.  23-34. 

difficult  and  perplexing  on  which  the  human  mind  was  ever  engaged. 
For  this  we  are  pursued  with  the  cr}^  of  heres}',  and  are  to  have  no 
rest  until  virtuall}'  excommunicated  by  our  brethren 

"  Most  earnestly  do  I  wish  that  the  Dissertation  of  Dr.  Campbell 
on  Heresy",  in  his  Translation  of  the  Four  Gospels,  was  more  gen- 
erally read  and  considered.  He  has  proved,  I  think,  very  satisfac- 
torily, that  heresy,  as  the  word  is  used  in  the  Scriptures,  does  not 
consist  in  the  adoption  or  profession  of  wrong  opinions,  but  in  a 
spirit  of  division,  of  dissension,  of  party,  in  a  factious  and  turbulent 
temper ;  and  that  the  heretic  is  not  a  man  who  entertains  erroneous 
or  even  injurious  sentiments,  but  one  who  loves  to  be  called  Rabbi 
and  master ;  who  has  a  disposition  to  separate  Christians,  to  create 

or  to  extend  sects  and  parties Let  Christians  weigh  well  the 

nature  and  guilt  of  schism,  the  consequences  of  separation,  and  the 
spirit  of  their  religion,  before  they  adopt  the  measure  recommended 
in  this  Review.  For  myself,  the  universe  would  not  tempt  me  to 
bear  a  part  in  this  work  of  dividing  Christ's  church,  and  of  denoun- 
cmg  his  followers.     If  there  be  an  act  which,  abo^^e  all  others,  is  a 

transgression  of  the  Christian  law,  it  is  this I  know  it  will 

be  said  that  Christians  are  not  called  upon  to  reject  real  Christians, 
but  heretics  and  false  pretenders  to  the  name.  But  heres}',  we  have 
seen,  is  not  a  false  opinion,  but  a  sectarian  spirit ;  and  as  to  false 
pretences,  we  desire  those  who  know  us  to  put  their  hands  on  their 
hearts,  and  to  say  whether  they  can  for  a  moment  believe  that  we 
hypocritically  profess  to  follow  the  instructions  of  Jesus  Christ. 
Does  charity  discover  nothing  in  our  language  and  lives  to  justify 
the  hope  that  we  are  united  to  Jesus  Christ  by  love  for  his  character, 
and  by  participation  of  his  spirit?  .... 

"  I  wish  that  my  motives  for  these  earnest  remonstrances  against 
division  ma}-  be  understood.  I  feel  as  little  personal  interest  in  the 
subject  as  an3'  individual  in  the  community.  Were  the  proposed 
separation  to  take  place,  I  should  still  enjoj-  the  ordinances  of  the 
gospel  in  the  society  of  those  whom  I  best  love.  The  excommuni- 
cation which  is  threatened  gives  me  no  alann.  I  hear  this  angry 
thunder  murmur  at  a  distance,  with  as  little  concern  as  if  it  were 
the  thunder  of  the  Pope,  from  whom  it  seems,  indeed,  to  be  bor- 
rowed. But  whilst  I  fear  nothing  for  myself,  I  do  fear  and  feel  for 
that  bod}'  of  which  Christ  is  the  head,  which  has  been  bleeding  for 
ages  under  the  contests  of  Christians,  and  which  is  now  threatened 
with  a  new  wound.  I  feel  for  the  cause  of  our  common  Christianit}', 
which  I  am  set  to  defend,  and  which  has  suffered  inconceivably 
more  from  the  bad  passions  and  divisions  of  its  friends  than  from 
all  the  arts  and  violence  of  its  foes.    I  cannot  but  look  forward 


1803-1814.1  GOOD-WILL  TO   OPPONENTS.  203 

with  paiii  to  the  irritations,  hatreds,  bitter  recriminations,  censo- 
riousness,  spiritual  pride,  and  schismatieal  spirit  which  will  grow  up 
under  this  system  of  denunciation  and  exclusion,  and  which  may 
not  only  convulse  many  churches  at  the  present  moment,  but  will 
probably  end  in  most  unhappy  divisions  among  the  very  Christians 
who  denounce  us  ;  who  seem  indeed  to  be  united,  now  that  a  com- 
mon enemy  is  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  but  who  have  sufficient 
diversities  of  opinion  to  awaken  against  each  other  all  the  fury 
of  intolerance,  when  this  shall  have  become  the  temper  and  habit  of 
their  minds.  I  repeat  it,  I  have  no  interest  in  this  point  but  as 
a  Cln-istian;  and  as  such,  I  look  with  a  degree  of  horror  on  this 
attempt  to  inflame  and  distract  our  churches.  Error  of  opinion  is 
an  evil  too  trifling  to  be  named,  in  comparison  with  this  practical 
departure  from  the  gospel,  with  this  proud,  censorious,  overbearing 
temper,  which  says  to  a  large  body  of  Christians,  '  Stand  ofl",  we 
are  holier  than  j'ou.'  .... 

"  Having  thus  considered  the  three  principal  heads  in  the  Review, 
I  now  proceed  to  offer  a  few  words  of  friendly  admonition,  as  to  the 
temper  and  conduct  which  become  our  brethren  and  ourselves,  under 
the  injuries  which  we  receive. 

"  The  first  suggestion  you  have  undoubtedly  anticipated.  It  is, 
that  we  remember  the  great  duty  which  belongs  to  us  as  Christians, 
of  regarding  our  enemies  with  good-will,  if  possible  with  a  degree  of 
approbation,  at  least  with  displeasure  tempered  with  compassion. 
....  As  to  the  great  mass  of  those  Christians  who  view  us  with 
so  much  jealousy,  we  must  remember  that  they  know  us  only  by 
report,  that  they  believe  as  they  are  taught  by  men  to  whom  they 
ascribe  an  eminent  sanctity,  and  that  they  are  liable  to  be  carried 
away  on  this,  as  on  every  other  subject,  by  loud  assertion,  and 
by  addresses  to  their  fears.  Accustomed  as  they  are  to  hear  us 
branded  with  names  and  epithets,  to  which  they  have  attached  no 
definite  ideas,  but  which  seem  to  them  to  express  everything  de- 
praved, can  we  wonder  that  the}*  shrink  from  us  with  a  kind  of 
terror  ?  To  this  great  class  of  our  opposers  we  certainly  owe  noth- 
ing but  kindness  ;  and  we  should  esteem  it  an  unspeakable  hapiji- 
ness,  that  we  can  look  with  so  much  pleasure  and  hope  on  those  by 
whom  we  are  dreaded  and  shunned  ;  that  we  are  not  obliged  by  our 
system  to  regard  our  adversaries  as  the  enemies  of  God,  and  the 
objects  of  his  wrath.  On  this  point,  above  all  others,  I  would  be 
urgent.  Our  danger  is,  that  repi'oach  will  hurry  us  into  language 
or  conduct  unbecoming  the  spirit  of  our  Master.  Let  us  remember 
that  our  opposers  cannot  ultimately  injure  us,  unless  we  permit 
them  to  awaken  bad  passions,  and  to  impair  our  virtues.     Let  us 


204  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [.Ex.  23-34. 

remember  what  is  due  from  us  to  our  religion.  The  more  unchari- 
table our  age  is,  the  more  the  glory  of  the  gospel  is  obscured  b}'  its 
being  exhibited  as  a  source  of  censoriousness  and  contention,  the 
more  we  owe  it  to  our  Lord  to  wipe  off  this  reproach  from  his  truth, 
to  show  the  loveliness  of  his  religion,  to  show  its  power  in  changing 
the  heart  into  the  image  of  divine  forbearance  and  forgiveness 

"  Another  important  suggestion  is  this  :  Let  us  hold  fast  our  up- 
rightness  That  our  churches  are  to  be  general!}' shaken  b}' the 

assault  which  is  made  upon  them,  I  am  far  from  believing.  But 
some  ma}'  suffer.  It  is  not  impossible  that  the  efforts  which  are 
now  emplo^'cd  to  direct  against  us  the  uncharitableness  and  mis- 
taken zeal  of  the  countr}',  and  to  spread  disaffection  through  the 
most'  uninstructed  and  the  most  easily  excited  classes  of  societ}-, 
may  produce  some  effect.  We  know  the  fluctuations  of  the  human 
mind.  We  know  that  the  sincerest  Christians  are  often  unduly  in- 
fluenced by  timidity,  and  may  be  brought  to  suspect  a  minister, 
when  he  is  decried  as  a  heretic  who  is  leading  souls  to  hell.  It  re- 
quires more  strength  of  nerves  and  more  independence  of  mind  than 
all  good  people  possess  to  withstand  this  incessant  clamor.  A  storm, 
then,  ma}'  be  gathering  over  some  of  us,  and  the  sufferers  may  be 
tempted  to  bend  to  it.  But  God  forbid,  my  friend,  that  any  of  us 
should  give  support  to  the  aspersions  cast  on  our  uprightness,  by 
ever  suppressing  our  convictions,  or  speaking  a  language  foreign  to 
our  hearts.  Through  good  report  and  through  evil  report,  let  us 
with  simplicity  and  sincerity  declare  what  we  believe  to  be  the  will 
of  God  and  the  way  to  heaven,  and  thus  secure  to  ourselves  that 
peace  of  conscience  which  is  infinitely  better  than  the  smiles  of  the 
world.  Let  us  never  forget  that  the  most  honored  condition  on 
earth  is  that  of  being  sufferers  for  the  sake  of  righteousness,  for 
adherence  to  what  we  deem  the  cause  of  God  and  holiness  ;  and  let 
us  welcome  suffering,  if  it  shall  be  appointed  us,  as  bringing  us 
nearer  to  our  persecuted  Lord  and  his  injured  apostles.  My  brother, 
we  profess  to  count  man's  judgment  as  a  light  thing,  to  esteem  this 
world  and  all  which  it  offers  to  be  vanity.  We  profess  to  look  up 
to  a  heavenly  inheritance,  and  to  hope  that  we  shall  one  da}-  mingle 
with  angels  and  just  men  made  perfect.  And  with  these  sublime 
hopes,  shall  we  tremble  before  frail  and  fallible  fellow-creatures,  be 
depressed  by  difliculties,  or  shrink  from  the  expression  of  what  we 
deem  important  and  useful  truth?     God  forbid  ! 

"  I  have  time  to  add  but  one  more  suggestion.  Let  us  beware 
lest  opposition  and  reproach  lead  any  of  us  into  a  sectarian  attach- 
ment to  our  peculiar  opinions.  This  is  a  danger  to  whicli  persons 
of  ardent  and  irritable  temper  are  peculiarly  exposed.     Too  many 


1803-1814.1     REMARKS  ON  DR.   WORCESTER'S  LETTER.  205 

Of  us  are  apt  to  cling  to  a  system  in  proportion  as  it  is  assailed, 
to  consider  ourselves  pledged  to  doctrines  which  we  l-e  jenly 
espoused,  to  rally  round  them  as  if  our  own  honor  and  inteiest 
wTe  at  s  ake,  and  to  assert  them  with  more  and  more  positiveness 
Is  i?  we  were  incapable  of  error.     This  is  the  infirmity  of  our  l^^ad 
nature ;  and  whilst  we  condemn  it  in  others,  let  us  not  allow  it  m 
omseU;s.     Let  us  be  what  we  profess  to  be,  patient  mquu-ers  after 
truth,  open  to  conviction,  willing  to  listen  to  objections    wilhng  to 
renounce  error,  wUling  to  believe  that  we,  as  -^U  as  other     ma 
have  been  warped  in  our  opinions  by  education  and  -^uatio^^^,  -^^ 
that  others  may  have   acquired  important  7^^%^^^^^' .f  °"=^^ 
weakness  or  prejudice,   we   may   have   overlooked      Weie   we   a 
pa^-,  anxious'to  make  proselytes,  we  should  do  wel  to  be  positive 
ind  overbearing.     But  we  profess  to  be  anxious  that  our  fel  ow 
Christians  should  inquire  for  themselves  into  the  dithculties  of  le- 
li<.ion,  instead    of    implicitly  receiving   what  we  have  embraced. 
We  profess  to  believe  that  candid  and  impartial  research  will  guide 
maniind  to  a  purer  system  of  Christianity  than  is  "ow  to  be  found 
in  any  church  or  country  under  heaven.     Most  earnestly  do  I  hope 
that  we  shall  not  be  betrayed  by  any  violence  of  assault  into  a 
sectarian  heat  and  obstinacy,  which  will  discredit  our  profession, 
and  obstruct  this  glorious  reformation  of  the  Church  of  God. 

EXTRACTS   FROM   REMARKS   ON   THE   REV.    DR.    WORCESTER'S   LETTER 
TO   MR.    CHANNING. 

Augitst,  1815.  "By  the  advice  of  friends  whose  judgment  I 
respect,  I  have  resolved  to  offer  to  the  public  some  remarks  on  the 
letter  of  Dr.  Worcester  in  reply  to  mine  addressed  to  Mr.  Thacher. 
They  will  be  few  in  number,  and  as  free  as  possible  from  per- 
sonalities  

"  My  letter  to  Mr.  Thacher  is  considered  by  Dr.  Worcester  as 
bitter  and  severe ;  but,  called  as  I  was  to  repel  the  charge  of  im- 
morality brought  against  men  whose  virtue  and  piety  I  know  and 
honor,  and  to  whom  I  am  bound  by  ties  of  friendship  and  Christian 
affection,  I  felt  it  a  solemn  duty  to  express  what  I  deemed  a  virtu- 
ous indignation.  I  labored,  however,  to  temper  displeasure  with 
Christian  moderation  ;  and,  on  finishing  my  letter,  my  fear  was, 
not  that  I  had  expressed  an  improper  warmth,  but  that  I  should  be 
considered  as  wanting  in  sensibility  to  the  injuries  done  to  some 
of  the  best  men  in  this  community.  I  know,  however,  the  many 
weaknesses  and  imperfections  of  my  nature.  I  may  have  erred, 
for  the  provocation  was  great;  and  I  sincerely  repeat  the  declara- 


206  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

tion  with  which  I  closed  rn}-  letter,  that  for  every  departure  from 
the  spirit  of  the  gospel  I  implore  the  Divine  foigiveness 

"  One  great  object  of  Dr.  Worcester's  letter,  if  I  understand 
him,  is  to  conve}'  to  his  readers  the  impression,  tliat  the  mode  of 
preaching  of  Liberal  ministers  is  '  concealed,  indistinct,  and  un- 
faitliful.'  This  he  attempts  to  prove,  first,  from  the  statement 
which  I  made  of  the  views  of  Liberal  Christians  in  relation  to  tlie 
character  of  Jesus  Christ.  This  statement,  he  says,  is  ambiguous. 
That  it  is  general,  that  it  does  not  descend  to  particulars,  I  grant; 
but  I  deny  that  it  is  ambiguous,  if  considered,  as  it  ought  to  be,  in 
relation  to  the  object  for  which  it  was  made.  It  was  simply-  de- 
signed to  repel  the  charge  of  the  Reviewer,  that  we  are  Unitarians 
in  Mr.  Belsham's  sense  of  the  word.  Was  it  necessary'  that  in 
such  a  statement  every  question  should  be  met  and  answered, 
which  miglit  possibly  be  started  in  relation  to  our  sentiments?  .... 

"  The  next  proof  of  our  preaching  in  a  '  concealed,  indistinct, 
and  unfaithful  manner '  is  derived  from  the  account  which  I  liave 

given  of  our  general  style  of  preaching My  statement  was 

plainly  this :  that  we  labor  to  preach  the  truth,  to  preach  what- 
ever we  clearl}'  discover  in  the  word  of  God  ;  but  that,  in  doing 
this,  we  generally  avoid  references  to  opinions  which  we  do  not 
receive,  and  never  hold  up  those  Christians  mIio  differ  from  us  to 
censure  or  contempt.  According  to  this  statement,  we  evidentl}' 
preach  the  whole  counsel  of  God,  as  far  as  we  understand  it.  But 
Dr.  Worcester,  passing  over  this  account,  has  selected  a  passage 
in  which  I  observe  that  '  we  urge  perpetually  those  great  trut/is  and 
precepts  about  which  there  is  little  contention,  and  which  have  an 
immediate  beaiing  on  the  temper  and  life.'  From  this  passage  he 
infers  that  we  can  urge  none  of  the  '  primary  and  peculiar  doctrines 
and  institutions  of  the  gospel,  because  about  all  these  there  has 
been  great  contention.'  To  this  I  answer,  first,  that  I  liave  never 
understood  that  there  has  been  much  contention  al)out  the  '  great 
precepts '  of  tlie  gospel,  not  even  about  those  wliicli  have  been  most 
habitually  disregarded.  Christians,  satisfied  with  dismissing  tliese 
from  their  lives,  have  retained  them  in  their  systems.  Kwnx  tlie 
bitterest  persecutors  in  the  Church  have  never  disputed  the  i)recepls 
of  '  loving  their  neighbor  as  themselves,'  and  of  '  doing  to  others 
as  they  would  have  others  do  to  them.'  ....  It  may  next  be 
observed,  that  the  common  disputes  about  the  '  great  doctrines  '  of 
the  gospel  have  not  related  so  much  to  their  truth  and  importance 
as  to  some  inferior  points  connected  with  them.  For  example, 
there  has  l)een  much  debate  about  the  benevolence  of  God.  wliethcr 
it  forms  his  whole  moral  character  and  his  highest  spring  of  action, 


1803-1814.]  LOVE   OF  TRUTH.  207 

or  whether  it  be  subordinate  to  wisdom  or  rectitude  ;  but  all  parties 
have  agreed  that  God  is  benevolent.  In  the  same  manner,  many 
have  disputed  about  the  omnipresence  of  God,  whether  his  sub- 
stance be  extended  through  infinite  space,  or  whether  he  be  present 
only  by  his  knowledge  and  power  to  ever}^  portion  of  space  ;  but 
all  have  agreed  that  God  is  omnipresent.  In  like  manner,  Chris- 
tians have  disputed  about  the  precise  way  in  which  Christ's  death 
has  an  influence  on  our  forgiveness  ;  but  that  it  has  a  real  and 
important  influence  on  forgiveness  almost  all  unite  in  asserting. 
Once  more.  Christians  have  never  been  weary  with  disputing  on  the 
mode  and  extent  of  spiritual  influences  ;  but,  with  ver^'  few  excep- 
tions, all  maintain  that  these  influences  are  real,  and  are  promised 
to  our  pra3'ers.  Let  no  one,  then,  say,  that  we  preach  no  primar}' 
or  peculiar  doctrines  of  Christianit}',  because  we  insist  perpetuallj^ 
on  principles  in  which  the  different  classes  of  Christians  generall}^ 
concur.  Such  principles,  we  sincerely  believe,  form  the  very  sub- 
stance and  glor}'  of  the  gospel.  They  shine  with  a  clear  and  un- 
sullied splendor.  We  are  deeplj-  impressed  with  their  truth,  their 
supreme  importance,  and  their  sufficiency  to  salvation ;  and  there- 
fore we  urge  them  with  unwearied  importunity,  with  zeal  and 
affection. 

"It  is  possible  that  Dr.  Worcester  will  go  on  to  object,  that, 
according  to  this  very  account,  our  preaching  must  be  extremel}' 
general,  vague,  wanting  in  precision,  and  therefore  unfaithful. 
The  answer  is  short.  If  we  are  indeed  general  and  vague  in  our 
representation  of  the  truths  of  the  gospel,  it  is  because  ive  are  faith- 
ful^ because  we  dare  not  be  precise  above  what  is  written,  because 
we  stop  where  the  Scriptures  seem  to  us  to  stop,  and  because  we 
have  a  ver}'  deep  and  sorrowful  persuasion  that  our  religion  has 
been  exceedingly  defaced  and  corrupted  by  the  bold  attempts  of 
theologians  to  give  minute  explanations  of  its  general  truths,  and 
to  cramp  it  with  the  fetters  of  systematic  precision.  We  tell  our 
hearers,  that  God  sent  his  Son  to  die  for  us,  exalted  him  to  be  our 
Prince  and  Saviour,  and  ordained  him  to  be  Judge  of  the  quick  and 
dead,  and  never  think  it  necessary"  or  faithful  to  fill  up  the  outline 
of  Scripture,  by  adding,  that  the  Son  who  was  sent  was  the  very 
God  who  sent  him,  or  by  speculating  on  the  infinite  evil  of  sin, 
and  on  the  necessity  of  an  infinite  atonement,  in  order  to  illustrate 
the  fitness  of  such  a  mediator.  Thus,  then,  we  preach.  Whether 
our  preaching  be  nothing  more  than  the  inculcation  of  '  natural 
religion,'  let  our  hearers  determine 

"  It  is  urged,  that  our  sentiments  lead  us  into  an  entire  indiffer- 
ence to  Christian  truth ;  that  we  believe  all  error  to  be  innocent ; 


208  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

that  we  consider  belief  in  the  truth  as  no  virtue  ;  and  that  we  thus 
set  aside  those  passages  of  Scripture  in  which  the  highest  impor- 
tance is  attached  to  this  belief.  This  objection  is  founded  on  our 
extending  tlie  name  and  privileges  of  Christians  to  the  lowest  Uni- 
tarians, who  hold  some  sentiments  from  which,  as  I  stated,  we  gen- 
erally shrink  with  aversion.  Now  I  den^-  that  an}-  indifference  to 
truth,  or  any  contempt  of  those  passages  which  enjoin  belief  of  the 

truth,  is  implied  in  this  extension  of  our  charity The  faith 

to  which  salvation  is  promised  in  Scripture  seems  to  us  to  reside  in 
the  heart  much  more  than  in  the  understanding.  The  true  believer 
is  distinguished,  not  by  clearness  and  extent  of  views,  but  by  a 
'  love  of  light,'  a  '  love  of  the  truth,'  originating  in  a  sincere  desire 
to  '  do  the  will  of  God.'  .... 

"This  love  of  di%dne  truth,  this  honest,  unprejudiced,  obedient 
mind,  we  highly  venerate,  and  alwaj^s  enjoin  as  essential  to  salva- 
tion. But  we  know  that  this  love  of  truth  is  consistent  with  the 
reception  of  man}'  errors.  We  know  that  the  apostles,  during  the 
life  of  their  Master,  possessed  this  temper  in  a  sufficient  degree  to 
constitute  them  his  followers,  and  yet  they  grossl}-  misunderstood 
some  of  his  plainest  and  most  important  declarations.  We  believe, 
too,  that,  at  the  present  day,  many  in  ever}-  Christian  countr}-  are 
placed  in  circumstances  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  unfavorable  to  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  gospel,  as  the  apostles  were  under  the 
ministry  of  Jesus.  From  considerations  of  this  nature,  from  a 
knowledge  of  the  amazing  power  of  education  and  other  circum- 
stances over  the  opinions  of  every  mind,  and  from  a  fear  that  we, 
as  well  as  others,  may  have  been  swa3'ed  and  blinded  b}'  unsus- 
pected infelicities  attending  our  condition,  we  are  very  unwilling  to 
decide  on  the  degree  of  truth  which  is  required  for  the  salvation  of 
every  individual,  or  to  say  that  the  errors  of  an  api)arentl3'  sincere 
professor  of  Christianity  are  inconsistent  with  a  pious  character. 
In  our  judgment  of  professed  Christians,  we  are  guided  more  b}' 
their  temper  and  lives  than  by  any  peculiarities  of  opinion.  We  lay 
it  down  as  a  great  and  indisputable  principle,  clear  as  the  sun  at 
noonday,  that  the  great  end  for  which  Christian  truth  is  revealed  is 
the  sanctification  of  the  soul,  the  formation  of  the  Christian  charac- 
ter ;  and  wherever  we  see  the  marks  of  this  character  displayed  in 
a  professed  disciple  of  Jesus,  we  hope,  and  rejoice  to  hope,  that  he 
has  received  all  the  truth  which  is  necessary  to  his  salvation.  Act- 
ing on  this  rule,  we  cannot  exclude  from  the  Church  the  lowest 
Unitarians  who  profess  subjection  to  Jesus  Christ.  Of  this  class 
we  have  known  or  heard  of  individuals  who  have  breathed  the  gen- 
uine spirit  of  their  Master  ;  who  have  discovered  a  singular  consci- 


1803-1814.]  VERBAL   DIFFERENCES.  209 

entiousness  in  all  the  walks  of  life ;  whose  charity  has  overflowed 
in  good  deeds  ;  whose  wills  have  been  resigned  in  affliction  ;  and 
who  lived  as  seeking  a  better  country,  even  a  heavenly.  Such  men 
we  have  not  dared  to  exclude  from  the  Christian  Church,  on  the 
ground  of  what  seem  to  us  great  errors,  any  more  than  to  exclude 
the  disciples  of  Calvin  ;  whose  errors  we  also  deeply  lament,  but 
whose  errors  are  often  concealed  from  us  by  the  brightness  of  their 
Christian  virtues. 

"We  are  not  conscious  that  by  this  liberalit}'  we  at  all  oppose 
those  passages  of  Scripture  in  which  great  stress  is  laid  upon  belief 
of  the  truth  ;  for  we  are  convinced,  from  laborious  research  into  the 
Scriptures,  that  the  great  truth  which  is  the  object  of  Christian  be- 
lief, and  which  in  the  first  age  conferred  the  character  of  disciples 
on  all  who  received  it,  is  simply  this,  that  Jesus  is  the  Christy  or 
anointed  by  God  to  be  the  light  and  Saviour  of  the  world.  When- 
ever this  great  truth  appears  to  us  to  be  sincerel}'  acknowledged, 
whenever  a  man  of  apparent  uprightness  declares  to  us  his  recep- 
tion of  Jesus  in  this  character,  and  his  corresponding  purpose  to 
study  and  obe^'  his  religion,  we  feel  ourselves  bound  to  give  him  the 
hand  of  Christian  fellowship,  and  to  leave  it  to  the  final  Judge  to 
determine  how  far  he  is  faithful  in  searching  after  the  will  of  his 
Lord.  This  duty  of  searching,  and  of  searching  witli  humility  and 
with  a  single  and  fearless  regard  to  truth,  we  constantly'  inculcate  ; 
and  we  sincerely  believe  that  in  this  wa}'  we  approve  ourselves 
friends  of  truth  much  more  decidedly  than  if  we  should  aim  to  ter- 
rify and  prostrate  the  minds  of  our  hearers  by  threatening  them 
with  everlasting  misery,  unless  they  receive  the  peculiar  views  of 
the  gospel  vVhich  we  have  seen  fit  to  espouse 

"  The  principal  argument  which  Dr.  Worcester  offers  in  favor  of 
the  proposed  separation  of  Trinitarians  and  Unitarians  is  the  great 
differences  between  them.  I  sincerely  regret  that  these  differences 
are  so  studiously  magnified,  whilst  the  points  of  agreement  between 
these  classes  of  Christians  are  as  studiously  overlooked.  Dr.  Watts 
and  Dr.  Doddridge  have  left  us  a  better  example.  Trinitarians 
and  Unitarians  both  believe  in  one  God,  one  infinite  and  self- 
existent  mind.  According  to  the  first,  this  God  is  three  persons  ; 
according  to  the  last,  he  is  one  person.  Ought  this  difference, 
which  relates  to  the  obscurest  of  all  subjects,  to  the  essence  and 
metaphysical  nature  of  God,  and  which  common  Christians  cannot 
understand,  to  divide  and  alienate  those  who  ascribe  to  this  one 
God  the  same  perfections,  who  praise  him  for  the  same  blessings, 
who  hope  from  his  mere}'  the  same  forgiveness,  who  receive  on  his 
authority  the  same  commands,  and  who  labor  to  maintain  the  same 

14 


210  THE   UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [^t-.  23-34. 

spirit  of  devotion  to  his  will  and  glor}-?  According  to  Trinitarians, 
Jesus,  who  suffered  and  died  on  the  cross,  is  a  derived  being,  per- 
sonally united  with  the  self-existent  God.  According  to  the  Unita- 
rians, he  is  a  derived  being,  intimately  united  with  the  self-existent 
God.  Ought  this  difference,  which  transcends  the  conception  of 
common  Christians,  to  divide  and  alienate  those  who  love  the  same 
excellent  character  in  Jesus  Christ,  who  desire  to  lireathe  his  spirit 
and  follow  his  steps,  who  confide  in  him  as  perfectly  adapted  to  the 
work  which  he  was  sent  to  accomplish,  and  who  labor  to  derive 
just  conceptions  of  his  nature  from  his  own  instructions  ?  The  dif- 
ferences between  Trinitarians  and  Unitarians  are  very  often  verlial. 
As  soon  as  Trinitarians  attempt  to  show  the  consistenc}'  of  their 
doctrine  of  three  persons  with  the  Divine  unity,  their  peculiarities 
begin  to  vanish,  and  in  many  of  their  writings  little  or  nothing  is 
left  but  one  God  acting  in  three  characters,  or  sustaining  three  rela- 
tions, and  intimately  united  with  his  son  Jesus  Christ.  Ought  dis- 
tinctions so  subtile  and  perplexing  to  separate  those  who  love  the 
same  Divine  character,  and  respect  the  same  Divine  will? 

"Dr.  Worcester,  however,  seems  disposed  to  widen  the  breach 
between  these  classes  of  believers.  He  says,  the  Saviour  '  whom 
you  acknowledge  is  infinitel}'  inferior  to  ours.'  I  answer,  we  be- 
lieve that  God  saves  us  by  his  son  Jesus  Christ,  in  whom  he  dwells, 
and  through  whom  he  bestows  pardon  and  eternal  life.  A  higher 
Saviour  we  do  not  know,  and  cannot  conceive.  But  Dr.  Worcester 
does  not  stop  here.  He  says,  '  The  God  whom  you  worship  is  dif- 
ferent from  ours.'  To  this  I  answer,  as  others  have  answered 
before,  that  I  with  my  brethren  worship  '  the  God  of  Abraham,  of 
Isaac,  and  of  Jacob,  who  hath  glorified  his  son  Jesus,'  whom  Peter 
preached.  (Acts  iii.)  We  worship  'the  God  and  Father  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,'  to  whom  Paul  '  bowed  the  knee.'  We  Avorship 
that  God  whom  Jesus  in  his  last  moments  worshipped,  when  he 
said,  '  Father,  into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit.'  We  worship 
that  God  to  whom  our  Lord  directed  us,  when  he  put  into  our  lips 
these  affecting  words,  '  Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven.'  We  wor- 
ship that  God  of  whom  our  Master  spoke  in  these  memorable 
words  :  '  The  hour  cometh,  and  now  is,  when  the  true  worshippers 
shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth.'  Dr.  Worcester 
speaks  of  a  different  God  ;  but  we  can  renounce  ours  for  no  other. 
This  worship  we  are  persuaded  is  a  spriug  of  purity,  joy,  and  hojjc  ; 
and  we  trust  that  it  will  prove  to  us  a  source  of  unfailing  consola- 
tion amidst  the  trials,  reproaches,  and  rude  assaults  of  the  world.  — 
But  I  must  stop.  The  points  of  dispute  between  Unitarians  and 
Trinitarians  cannot  be  treated  with  any  fairness  within  the  narrow 


180:3-181  l.J  INTOLERANCE.  211 

compass  of  a  pamphlet,  and  I  wish  not  to  discuss  them  in  connec- 
tion with  the  present  controversy,  which  primarily  relates  to  the 
moral  character  of  the  great  body  of  Liberal  Christians. 

"  Dr.  Worcester  has  labored  to  show,  that  charity,'  instead  of 
forbidding,  encoui'ages  and  requires  Trinitarians  to  exclude  Unita- 
'rians  from  Christian  fellowship,  because  charity  commands  us  to 
promote  truth,  and  truth  is  promoted  l\y  this  system  of  exclusion. 
But  let  me  ask,  Why  is  truth  to  be  promoted?  Not  for  its  own 
sake,  but  for  its  influence  on  the  heart,  its  influence  in  forming  a 
Christian  temper.  In  what,  then,  does  this  temper  consist?  very 
much  m  candor,  forbearance,  and  kind  affection.  It  follows,  that 
any  method  of  promoting  truth  which  is  unfriendly  to  these  virtues 
is  unchristian  ;  it  sacrifices  the  end  to  the  means  of  religion.  Now 
let  me  ask,  whether  the  practice  of  rejecting  as  ungodly  men  those 
who  diff"er  from  us  on  subtile,  perplexing,  and  almost  (if  not  alto- 
gether) unintelligible  doctrines,  be  not  obviously  and  directly  op- 
posed to  the  exercise  and  diffusion  of  candor,  forbearance,  kind 
affection,  and  peace.  Has  it  not  actually  convulsed  the  church  for 
ages  with  discord  and  war?  The  right  of  denouncing  those  who 
differ  on  such  doctrines,  if  granted  to  one  Christian,  must  be 
granted  to  all ;  and  do  we  need  the  spirit  of  prophecy  to  foretell  the 
consequences,  if  the  ignorant,  passionate,  and  enthusiastic,  who 
form  the  majority  of  every  community,  shall  undertake  to  carry  this 
riglit  into  practice?  The  idea,  that  a  religion  which  is  designed  for 
weak  and  fallible  mortals  of  all  classes  and  capacities,  and  which  is 
designed  to  promote  unity,  peace,  candor,  and  love,  should  xeX. 
•make  it  oi\r  duty  to  reject,  as  wholly  destitute  of  goodness.  c\'ery 
man,  however  uniform  in  conduct,  who  cannot  see  as  we  do  on 
points  where  we  ourselves  see  little  or  nothing,  appears  to  me  the 
grossest  contradiction  and  absurdity.  If  this  be  Christianity,  we 
may  say  anything  of  our  religion  more  truly,  than  that  it  is  a  relig- 
ion of  peace.  A  more  effectual  instrument  of  discord  was  never 
devised.  Charity,  then,  does  not  command  the  Trinitarian  to  ex- 
clude his  Unitarian  brother.  Charity  commands  us  to  use  mildness 
and  persuasion  ;  to  open  our  eyes  to  the  marks  of  virtue  in  those 
from  whom  we  difl'er ;  to  beware  of  ascribing  error  to  a  corrupt 
heart,  unless  the  proof  be  striking  ;  to  think  modestly  of  ourselves, 
and  to  drive  from  our  minds  the  conceit  of  infallibility,  that  most 
dangerous  error  which  ever  crept  into  the  Church  of  Christ."  ^ 

1  "  I  cannot  forbear  earnestly  desiring  Christians  to  obtain,  if  possible,  some 
accurate  iil^as  of  the  most  important  point  in  the  present  controversy.  Let  them 
learn  the  distinction  Itetween  Trinitarianism  and  Unitarianism.  Many  use  tliese 
words  without  nicaninar,  and  are  very  zealous  about  sounds.  Some  suppose 
that  Trinitarianism  consists  in  believing  in  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 


212  THE  UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^Et.  23-34. 

EXTRACTS    FROM    REMARKS    ON    THE    REV.    DR.    WORCESTER'S    SECOND 
LErrER   TO    MR.    CHANNING. 

Noi'emher^  1815.  "As  fai'  as  I  understand  the  i)revalent  senti- 
ments among  Liberal  Christians  in  this  quarter  of  our  countrv,  they 
appear  to  me  substantially  to  agree  with  the  views  of  Dr.  .Samuel 
Clarke  and  the  author  of  Bible  News  ;  and  were  we  required  to 
select  human  leaders  in  religion,  I  believe  that  we  should  range 
ourseh'es  under  their  standard  in  i)reference  to  any  other. 

"  Dr.  Clarke  believed  that  the  Father  alone  is  the  Supreme 
God,  and  that  Jesus  Christ  is  not  the  Supreme  (lod.  but  de- 
rived his  being  and  all  his  power  and  honors  from  tlic  I'nthcr, 
even  from  an  act  of  the  Father's  power  and  will,  lie  main- 
tains, that,  as  the  Scrii)tures  have  not  taught  us  the  manner  in 
which  the  Son  derived  his  existence  from  his  Father,  it  is  presump- 
tuous to  affirm  that  the  Son  was  created,  or  that  there  was  a  time 
when  he  did  not  exist.  On  these  subjects  the  word  of  God  has  not 
given  us  light,  and  therefore  we  ought  to  be  silent.  The  author  of 
Bible  News  in  like  manner  affirms  that  the  Father  only  is  the  Su- 
preme God,  that  Jesus  is  a  distinct  being  from  God,  and  that  he 
derives  everything  from  his  Father.     He  has  some  views  relating 

Spirit.  But  we  all  believe  in  tliesc  ;  we  all  believe  that  tlie  Fnlher  sent  tlie  Son, 
and  gives,  to  those  that  ask,  tlie  Holi]  Spirit.  We  are  all  Trinitarians,  if  this 
belief  is  Trinitarianism.  But  it  is  not.  Tlie  Trinitarian  believes  that  the  one 
God  is  t/irre  dislinct  pcrsom,  called  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ;  and  be  believes 
that  each  of  these  persons  is  equal  to  the  other  two  in  every  perfection,  that 
each  is  the  only  true  God,  and  yet  that  the  thwse  are  only  one  God.  This  is 
Trinitarianism.  The  Unitarian  believes  that  there  is  but  one  person  possessing 
supreme  Divinity,  even  the  Father.  This  is  the  great  distinction  ;  let  it  be  kept 
steadily  in  view.  Some  Christians  have  still  more  vague  ideas  on  this  subject. 
They  suppose  that  Trinitarians  think  highly  of  Jesus  Christ,  whilst  Unitarians 
form  low  ideas  of  liim,  hardly  ranking  him  above  common  men,  and  therefore 
V  they  choose  to  be  Trinitarians.  This  is  a  great  error.  Some  Unitarians  believe 
that  tlie  Father  is  so  intimately  united  with  Jesus  Christ,  that  it  is  proper,  on 
account  of  this  union,  to  ascribe  Divine  honor  and  titles  to  Jesus  Ciirist.  Some 
Unitarians  deny  that  Jesus  is  a  creature,  and  affirm  tliat  lie  is  properly  the  Son 
of  God,  possessing  a  Divine  nature  derived  from  the  Father.  Some  Unitarians, 
who  assert  that  Jesus  is  a  creature,  maintain  tliat  he  is  literally  the  first-born  of 
the  creation,  the  first  production  of  God,  tlie  instrumental  cause  by  whom  God 
created  all  other  beings,  and  the  most  exalted  being  in  the  universe,  with  the 
single  exception  of  the  Infinite  Father.  I  am  persuaded  tliat  under  these 
classes  of  higii  Unitarians  many  Christians  ought  to  be  ranked  who  call  them- 
selves Orthodox  and  Trinitarians.  In  fact,  as  the  word  Trinili/  is  sometimes 
used,  we  all  believe  it.  It  is  time  that  this  word  was  better  defined.  Christians 
ought  not  to  be  separated  by  a  sound.  A  doctrine  which  we  are  called  to  be- 
lieve, as  we  value  our  souls  and  our  standing  in  the  church,  ought  to  be  stated 
with  a  precision  which  cannot  be  misunderstood.  By  the  Trinity,  I  liave  all 
along  understood  the  doctrine,  that  God  is  three  persons." 


1803-1814.] 


THE  ATONEMENT.  213 


to  the  '  proper  Sonship'  of  God,  which  neither  Liberal  nor  '  Ortho- 
dox '  Christians  generally  embrace.  But  the  prevalent  senthnents 
of  Liberal  Christians  seem  to  me  to  accord  substantially  with  the 
systems  I  have  above  described.  Like  Dr.  Clarke,  the  majority  of 
this  class  feel  that  the  Scriptures  have  not  taught  the  mode  of 
Christ's  derivation.  They,  therefore,  do  not  call  Christ  a  creature, 
but  leave  the  subject  in  the  obscurity  in  which  they  find  it,  carrying 
with  them,  however,  an  impression  that  the  Scriptures  ascribe  to 
Jesus  the  character  of  Son  of  God  in  a  peculiarly  high  sense,  and  in 
a  sense  in  which  it  is  ascribed  to  no  other  being. 

"With  respect  to  the  Atonement,  the  great  body  of  Liberal 
Christians  seem  to  me  to  accord  precisely  with  the  author  of  Bible 
News,  or  rather  both  agree  very  much  with  the  profound  Butler. 
Both  agree  that  Jesus  Christ,  by  his  sufferings  and  intercession, 
obtains  forgiveness  for  sinful  men  ;  or  that,  on  account,  or  in  con- 
sequence, of  what  Christ  has  done  and  suflTered,  the  punishment  of 
sin  is  averted  from  the  penitent,  and  blessings  forfeited  by  sin  are 
bestowed.  It  is,  indeed,  very  true,  that  Unitarians  say  nothing 
about  infinite  atonement,  and  they  shudder  when  they  hear  that  the 
ever-blessed  God  suffered  and  died  on  the  cross.  They  reject  these 
representations,  because  they  find  not  one  passage  in  Scripture 
which  directly  asserts  them  or  gives  them  support.  Not  one  word 
do  we  hear  from  Christ  or  his  apostles  of  an  infinite  atonement.  In 
not  one  solitary  text  is  the  eflflcacy  of  Christ's  death  in  obtaining 
forgiveness  ascribed  to  his  being  the  Supreme  God.  All  this  is 
theology  of  man's  making,  and  strongly  marked  with  the  hand  of  its 
authoi\  But  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement,  taken  in  the  broad 
sens'e  which  I  have  before  stated,  is  not  rejected  by  Unitarians. 
On  the  question,  which  is  often  asked,  how  the  death  of  Clu-ist  has 
this  blessed  influence,  they  generally  think  that  the  Scriptures  have 
given  us  little  light,  and  that  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  accept  the 
kind  appointment  of  God,  without  constructing  theories  for  which 
the  materials  must  be  chiefly  borrowed  from  our  own  imagination. 

"  My  motive  for  making  the  preceding  statement  is  no  otlier  than 
a  desire  to  contribute  whatever  may  be  in  my  power  to  the  peace  of 
our  churches.  I  have  hoped,  that,  by  this  representation^  some 
portion  of  the  charity  which  has  been  expressed  towards  Dr.  Clarke 
and  the  author  of  Bible  News  may  be  extended  towards  other  Uni- 
tarians ;  and  that  thus  the  ecclesiastical  division  whtch  is  threatened 
may  be  averted.  Let  it  not,  however,  be  imagined,  that  I  or  my 
friends  are  anxious  on  our  own  account  to  extort  from  the  '  Orthodox 
an  acknowledgment,  that  possibly  we  hold  the  true  gospel,  and  are 
not  '  devoid  of  Christian  faith  and  virtue.'    We  regard  other  Chris- 


214  THE  UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

tians  as  brethren,  but  can  in  no  degree  recognize  them  as  superiors 
in  the  Cluircli  of  our  common  Master.  We  do  not  dread  the  cen- 
sures which  the}'  may  pass  on  our  honest  opinions.  We  rejoice  that 
we  have  a  higher  judge,  whose  truth  it  is  our  labor  to  learn,  obey, 
and  maintain,  and  whose  favor  will  be  distributed  by  other  priucii)les 
than  those  which  prevail  in  a  prejudiced  and  short-sighted  world. 
But,  whilst  we  mean  not  to  be  suitors  to  our  brethren,  we  are  will- 
ing and  desirous,  by  any  fair  representations,  to  save  them  from  a 
course  which,  as  we  firmly  believe,  will  be  injurious  to  their  own 
characters,  unjust  to  their  fellow-Christians,  unfriendly  to  the  diffu- 
sion of  the  gospel,  and  highl}-  offensive  to  our  benevolent  Master. 
Most  happy  should  1  be,  if,  by  any  honorable  concessions  on  our 
part,  our  churches  could  be  preserved  from  the  shock  which  threatens 

them 

'"It  is  intimated  that  we  'dread  a  development.'  We  respect 
many  of  our  opponents,  but  we  dread  none.  Our  love  of  peace, 
they  ma}-  be  assured,  has  another  origin  than  fear  or  selfish  views. 
It  is  from  deep  conviction  that  I  have  stated  once  and  again,  that 
the  differences  between  Unitarians  and  Trinitarians  lie  more  in 
sounds  than  in  ideas  ;  that  a  barbarous  phraseology  is  the  chief  wall 
of  partition  between  these  classes  of  Christians  ;  and  that,  would 
Trinitarians  tell  us  what  they  mean,  their  system  would  generally  be 
found  little  else  than  a  mystical  form  of  the  Unitarian  doctrine. 
These  two  classes  of  Christians  appear  to  me  to  concur  in  receiving 
the  most  interesting  and  practical  truths  of  the  gospel.  Both  be- 
lieve in  one  God  of  infinite  perfection  ;  and  we  must  remember  that 
it  is  this  perfection  of  God,  and  not  his  unknown  substance,  which 
is  the  proper  object  of  the  Christian's  love.  Both  believe  in  the 
great  doctrine,  that  eternal  life  is  the  free  gift  of  God  through  Jesus 
Christ.  Both  learn  from  the  lips  and  life  of  Jesus  the  same  great 
principles  of  duty,  the  same  exalted  views  of  human  perfection,  and 
the  same  path  to  inunortality.  I  could  easily  extend  these  points  of 
agreement.  And  what  are  the  questions  which  divide  them?  Why, 
these  :  First,  AVliether  the  One  God  be  three  distinct  subsistences,' 
or  tlu'ee  persons,  or  tlu'ce  '■  somewliats''  '^  called  persons,  as  Dr.  Wor- 
cester says,  for  want  of  a  '  better  word ' ;  and,  secondly,  Whether 
one  of  these  three  subsistences,  or  im[)ropcrly  called  persons,  formed 
a  personal  union  with  a  human  soul,  so  that  the  Infinite  Mind,  and 
a  lunnan  mind,  each  possessing  its  own  distinct  consciousness,  be- 
came a  complex,  person.  Such  are  the  points,  or  rather  i)hr:ises,  of 
difference  between  these  Christians.     And  ought  i)hrases  like  these 

1  "Wjirillaw." 

-  "  Tliis  worJ  liiis  been  used  by  Triiiitarians  in  writing  and  conversation." 


1803-1814.J  Christian  union.  215 

—  of  which  we  find  not  a  trace  in  the  Bible,  which  cannot  be  defined 
by  those  who  employ  them,  which  conve}'  to  common  minds  no 
more  meaning  than  words  of  an  unknown  tongue,  and  which  present 
to  the  learned  only  flitting  shadows  of  thouglit,  instead  of  clear  and 
stead}'  conceptions  —  to  separate  those  wlio  are  united  in  the  great 
principles  which  I  have  stated?  Trinitarians,  indeed,  are  apt  to 
suppose  themselves  at  an  immeasurable  distance  from  Unitarians. 
Tlie  reason,  I  think,  is,  that  they  are  surrounded  with  a  mist  of  ob- 
scure pliraseology.  Were  this  mist  dispersed,  I  believe  that  they 
would  be  surprised  at  discovering  their  proximity  to  the  Unitarians, 
and  would  learn  that  the}-  had  been  wasting  their  hostility  on  a  band 
of  friends  and  brothers."  ^ 

September,  1816.  Christian  union.  "The  guilt  of  a  sectarian 
spirit  is  but  little  understood,  or  it  would  not  be  so  often  and  incon- 
siderately incurred.  To  bestow  our  affetjtions  on  those  who  are 
ranged  under  the  same  human  leader,  or  who  belong  to  the  same 
church  with  ourselves,  and  to  withhold  it  from  others  who  possess 
equal  if  not  superior  virtue,  because  they  bear  a  diflferent  name,  is 
to  prefer  a  party  to  the  Church  of  Christ.  Still  more,  to  look  with 
an  unfriendly,  jealous  e3'e  on  the  improvements  and  graces  of  other 
denominations,  is  one  of  the  most  decided  acts  of  hostilit}'  to  Jesus 
Christ  whicli  his  disciples  have  power  to  commit ;  for  the  virtue 
towards  which  the}'^  thus  cherish  and  express  dislike  is  the  image  of 
Christ,  the  promotion  of  which  is  the  highest  end  of  his  life,  of  his 
death,  and  of  his  mediation  at  tlie  right  hand  of  God. 

"I  speak  not  this  to  the  reproach  of  one  class  of  Christians 
rather  than  of  another.  All  have  reason  for  deep  humiliation.  All 
have  been  infected  with  this  accursed  leaven  of  party  spirit.  Few 
Christians,  it  is  to  be  feared,  look  on  the  virtues  and  attainments 
of  otlier  denominations  with  equal  pleasure  as  on  those  of  their  own. 
Few  do  entire  justice  to  those  who  differ  from  them.  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  however,  that  in  this  respect  a  real  improvement  is  spread- 
ing througli  Christendom.  The  partition  walls  are  beginning  to  fall. 
The  fires  of  persecution  are  going  out. 

"This  union  of  Christians  is  the  brightest  feature,  the  distin- 
guishing glory  of  our  age.  Let  it  be  extended,  and  our  religion 
will  have  free  course  through  the  earth.  A  new  face  will  tlien  be 
given  to  the  world.  Hitherto  the  strength  of  Christians  has  been 
spent  in  mutual  conflict.     The  force  of  the  kingdom  of  Clirist  has 

1  For  a  j'et  fuller  statement  of  Mr.  Clianninfj's  views  at  this  period,  tlie  reader 
is  referred  to  tlie  remarks  on  ''  The  System  of  Exclusion  and  Denunciation  in 
Keligion,"  Works,  Vol.  V.  pp.  373-391.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  478-489. 


216  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [^t.  23-34. 

been  wasted  in  civil  war.  Let  Christians  of  eveiy  name  and  every 
region  feel  and  respect  the  hoi}'  bond  of  brotherhood  ;  let  their 
prayers  and  labors  be  united  for  the  diffusion,  not  of  sectarian 
peculiarities,  but  of  that  genuine  Christianity  which  all  hold  in 
common  ;  let  a  co-operation  as  extensive  as  the  Christian  world  be 
formed  to  ditfuse  it  and  make  it  practically  efficient. 

"  Let  churches  lay  down  their  arms  and  love  one  another,  and 
nations  will  begin  to  learn  war  no  more.  Let  Christians  of  differ- 
ent countries  embrace  one  another  as  brethren,  let  them  co-operate 
in  schemes  of  general  utility  to  the  Church  and  to  mankind,  and 
the}'  will  shudder  at  the  thought  of  breaking  tliis  sacred  union. 
Peace,  universal  peace,  will  be  then  their  constant  prayer." 

1817.  Christian  liberty.  "  It  was  by  asserting  their  right  to 
the  free  use  of  the  Scriptures,  and  to  private  judgment,  that  the 
Reformers  laid  the  foundation  of  that  purer  state  of  religion  in 
which  we  now  rejoice.  Let  these  rights  never  be  wrested  from  us. 
Let  us  hold  them  dearer  than  all  civil  immunities.  Better  have  our 
persons  and  property  than  our  minds  subjected  to  a  desi)ot. 

"  Is  it  said,  that  this  jealousy  is  no  longer  needed  in  Protestant 
countries,  that  faith  and  conscience  are  here  left  free?  We  cer- 
tainl}'  have  reason  to  thank  God  for  the  enjoyment  of  greater 
religious  libert}-  than  was  ever  possessed  before.  The  fire  of  per- 
secution is  quenched  ;  the  Scriptures  are  in  ever}'  man's  hand. 
But  still,  to  read  the  Scriptures  with  independent  minds  lequires 
no  little  effort.  There  are  still  obstructions  to  the  privilege  of 
judging  for  ourselves.  The  spirit  of  popery  did  not  expire  among 
our  ancestors  with  its  forms.  Human  nature  and  its  ruling  pas- 
sions are  always  the  same.  The  same  love  of  power,  the  same 
desire  to  lead,  the  same  wish  to  dictate  to  the  consciences  of  oth- 
ers, which  burned  in  the  breasts  of  the  Romish  clergy,  and  built  up 
the  Romish  hierarchy,  still  subsist  and  operate  among  us.  There 
is  still,  and  always  will  be,  until  man  is  more  exalted  by  Christianity, 
a  conspiracy  against  the  religious  as  well  as  the  civil  rights  of  men. 
In  Protestant  countries  there  are  those  who  are  impatient  of  contra- 
diction, who  wish  to  impose  their  views  on  others,  who  surround  their 
creeds  with  similar  terrors  to  those  made  use  of  by  the  Papal  church, 
and  doom  to  destruction  all  who  have  the  temerity  to  differ  from 
their  opinions.  And  what  is  yet  more  melancholy,  in  Protestant 
countries  are  multitudes  who,  awed  by  great  names  and  loud  denun- 
ciations, want  courage  to  inquire  for  themselves,  fear  to  doubt  what 
positive  men  and  popular  opinion  pronounce  sacred,  take  the  name 
.of  a  human  leader  whom  they  dread  to  desert,  and  adopt  as  their 


IX 


1803-1814.]  LIBERTY  OF  CONSCIENCE.  217 

standard  not  so  much  the  Scriptures  as  the  interpretation  of  con- 
fident fellow-beings,  who  condemn  all  but  themselves  and  their  ser- 
vile adherents.  To  this  timid  spirit  we  owe  the  worst  corruptions 
of  Christianity'  in  earlier  times,  and  it  is  this  which  still  obscures 
the  glory  of  our  religion. 

"Remember,  my  friends,  that  the  great  doctrine  of  the  Reforma- 
tion was  this,  —  that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  only  infallible  teacher  of  his 
church,  and  that  to  him,  as  he  speaks  in  his  word,  and  not  to  hu- 
man guides,  we  are  all  bound  to  listen.  It  is  the  character  of  the 
consistent  Protestant,  and  of  the  enlightened  Christian,  that  he 
calls  no  man  master,  and  bows  his  faith  and  conscience  to  no  hu- 
man tribunal.  He  is  not  intimidated  by  positive  assertion,  anath- 
emas, and  cries  of  heres}'.  He  goes  to  no  infallible  head,  whether 
at  Rome,  Geneva,  or  Wittenberg ;  borrows  no  creed  from  Trent 
or  Westminster  ;  takes  no  name  from  Luther,  Calvin,  or  Arminius  ; 
intrenches  himself  behind  no  traditions  of  forefathers  and  ancient 
saints.  He,  indeed,  avails  himself  of  the  lights  and  arguments  of 
good  and  great  men  of  present  and  former  times.  But  Jesus  is 
the  onl}'  authority  to  whom  he  submits. 

"  Ever}'  church  in  Christendom  has  its  errors  ;  and  perhaps  errors 
which  to  future  ages  ma}'  seem  as  gross  as  many  earlier  supersti- 
tions appear  to  the  present  generation.  In  readiug  Scripture  im- 
partially, we  may  be  compelled  to  dissent  from  opinions  which  are 
embraced  b\'  multitudes  with  an  excess  of  zeal.  In  this  case  our 
path  is  plain.  Let  us  be  meek,  but  bold  professors  of  truth.  Let 
us  all  adhere  with  firmness  to  what  we  deliberately  and  solemnly 
believe  to  be  the  truth  of  God.  Let  us  not  shrink  from  its  defence 
because  it  is  persecuted,  because  it  is  unpopular,  because  it  may 
expose  us  to  an  evil  name.  Truth  should  be  dearer  to  us  than 
reputation.  We  must  remember  that  it  has  seldom  made  its  way 
without  exposing  its  professors  to  suffering  and  rei)roach  ;  and  in 
the  reproach  of  our  Master  we  should  be  willing  to  share. 

"  This  right  to  consult  and  judge  for  himself  of  God's  word  is  our 
neighbor's  as  well  as  our  own.  Whilst  we  claim  it  for  ourselves, 
let  us  not  deny  it  to  others.  Let  us  give  what  we  ask.  Let  us  be 
anxious,  not  to  make  men  think  as  we  do,  but  to  direct  them  to  the 
only  source  of  truth ;  and  let  us  not  condemn  their  motives,  if  in 
interpreting  the  Scriptures  they  diflfer  from  ourselves. 

'"  There  is  a  strong  disposition  in  men  to  make  their  own  creeds 
standards  for  those  around  them,  to  cling  to  the  opinions  on  which 
they  differ  from  others  with  peculiar  confidence  and  tenacit}-  ■;  and, 
as  if  incapable  of  error,  to  look  with  an  evil  eye  on  those  who 
doubt  them.     But  this  is  a  strange  inconsistency  in  a  Protestant. 


218'  THE   UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [JEr.  23-34. 

The  claim  of  infallibility  was  the  veiy  article  of  the  Romish  church 
against  vvliich  Luther  most  strenuously  set  his  face.  He  maintained 
that  popes,  councils,  fathers,  and  the  whole  church  might  err; 
and  who  of  us  that  reads  the  records  of  the  church,  who  that  sees 
the  lamental)le  and  now  acknowledged  errors,  both  of  the  Romish 
and  Protestant  communions,  will  not  assent  to  this  doctrine  of 
human  frailty?  Yet,  in  opposition  to  this  i)rinciple,  how  many 
Protestants  clothe  themselves  with  that  infallibility  which  the^'  have 
condemned  and  derided  in  Rome,  assume  this  very  place  of  pope 
in  the  church,  prepare  articles  of  faith  for  their  brethren,  and  give 
over  to  perdition  those  who  will  not  receive  their  decrees  !  To  this 
usurping  and  uncharitable  spirit  the  miseries  of  the  church  in  every 
age  are  to  l)e  traced.  It  is  this  which  has  divided  Christians  into 
hostile  l»ands,  kindled  public  wars,  and  made  the  page  of  Christian 
history  as  black  and  bloody  as  the  records  of  heathenism. 

"•Strange,  that,  with  all  history  to  instruct  us,  we  do  not  learn 
to  be  humble,  candid,  and  tolerant ;  that  we  do  not  remember 
that  we,  and  not  our  brothers,  ma}'  have  erred ;  and  that,  even 
if  we  are  right,  it  does  not  become  us  to  pronounce  his  error  a 
crime. 

"  The  peace  of  the  church  has  been  long  enough  disturbed. 
There  is  but  one  wa^'  to  restore  it.  We  must  respect  each  other's 
rights,  feel  our  own  fallibility,  be  kind  to  them  that  differ  from  us, 
and  be  just  to  the  excellences  and  sincerity  of  all  denominations. 
Look  where  we  will  into  the  innumerable  divisions  of  the  churcli, 
we  may  everywhere  find  marks  of  the  spirit  of  Jesus.  The  Catholic 
church,  even  if  it  seems  to  us  the  most  corrupt,  can  boast  of  names 
which  do  honor  to  humanit}-.  Let  us  cease  to  think  that  our  own 
sect  has  engrossed  all  truth  and  all  goodness.  Tliis  charity  is  tlie 
ornament  of  the  true  Clu'istian,  and  the  only  l)ond  which  can  unite 
disciples  too  long  divided,  the  only  remedy  which  can  heal  the 
wounded  and  lacerated  body  of  Christ." 

ADDRESS    AT   THK    FORMATION    OF   THE    BERRY-STREET    CONFERENCE. 

May,  1S20.  Liberal  Christianity.  "The  views  and  dispo- 
sitions which  have  led  to  this  meeting  may  easily  be  expressed. 
It  was  thought  by  some  of  us,  that  the  ministers  of  tins  Common- 
wealth who  are  known  to  agree  in  what  are  called  Liberal  and 
calliolic  views  of  C/iristiuitifi/,  needed  a  bond  of  union,  a  means  of 
intercourse,  and  an  opportunity  of  conference  not  as  yet  enjoyed. 
It  was  thought  that  b}-  meeting  to  join  their  i)rayers  and  counsels, 
to  report  the  state  and  pr()si)ects  of  religion  in  different  i)arts  of 
the  Commonwealth,  to  comnmnicate  the  methods  of  advancing  it 


\y 


1803-1814.]  BERRY-STREET   CONFERENCE.  219 


which  have  been  found  most  successful,  to  give  warning  of  dangers 
not  generall}'  apprehended,  to  seek  advice  in  difticulties,  and  to 
take  a  broad  survey  of  our  ecclesiastical  affairs,  and  of  the  wants 
of  our  churches,  — much  light,  strength,  comfort,  animation,  zeal, 
would  be  spread  through  our  body.  It  was  thought  that,  by  such 
a  meeting,  brotherly  love  would  be  advanced,  that  a  foundation 
would  be  laid  for  joint  exertion,  and  that  many  valuable  objects, 
which  now  languish  through  our  ignorance  of  each  other,  and  want 
of  concert,  might  be  prosecuted  with  vigor  and  success.  It  was 
thought  that  the  circumstances  of  the  times  demand  a  more  earnest 
co-operation  than  formerly,  —  that,  living,  as  we  do,  in  an  age  in 
which  the  principle  of  combination,  the  power  of  associated  num- 
bers, is  resorted  to  by  all  sects  and  parties  in  an  unprecedented 
degree,  we  were  bound  to  avail  ourselves  of  this  instrumentality', 
as  far  as  consists  with  the  free,  upright,  independent  spirit  of  our 
religion.  For  these  ends  it  was  proposed  that  an  annual  meeting 
should  be  held,  which  should  be  spent  in  prayer,  in  hearing  an 
aTIdress  from  one  of  our  number,  in  offering  reports  as  to  the  state 
of  our  churches,  and  in  conference  as  to  the  best  methods  of  ad- 
vancing religion 

"The  Christian  religion  is  in  a  particular  manner  committed  to 
the  care,  watchfulness,  protection  of  ministers  ;  and  Christianit}', 
if  it  be  true,  must  be  acknowledged  as  eminently  the  cause  of  God, 
and  the  highest  interest  of  human  beinos.  We  exaogerate  nothina; 
when  we  s[)eak  of  all  human  institutions, — government,  science, 
arts,  public  wealth,  public  prosperity,  of  all  the  outward,  positive 
goods  of  life,  and  even  of  the  progress  of  intellect  and  the  devel- 
opment of  genius,  as  inferior  and  comparatively  unimportant  con- 
cerns ;  for  man's  relations  to  God  and  to  a  future  life  are,  after  all, 
the  true  springs  of  purity,  goodness,  greatness,  consolation,  joy  ; 
and  it  is  by  making  them  known  in  their  realit}-  and  extent,  that 
society  is  to  be  advanced  and  refined,  as  well  as  individuals  redeemed 
and  trained  for  heaven. 

"  Let  us,  then,  never  forget  tliat  the  religion  which  reveals  the 
True  God  and  Immortal  Life,  which  is  the  best  legacy  of  past 
ages,  and  the  only  hope  for  the  future,  is  committed  to  us,  to  be 
preserved,  extended,  perpetuated  ;  and  let  the  dignity  of  our  office 
—  an  office  before  which  the  splendor  of  thrones  and  the  highest 
distinctions  of  earthly  ambition  grow  dim  —  be  used  b}'  us  to  V 
develop  a  just  elevation  of  mind,  a  force  of  resolution  and  action, 
a  superiority  to  temporary'  applause,  a  willingness  to  live  and  die, 
to  labor  and  suffer,  for  tlie  promotion  of  Clu-istianity 

"  The  present  is  not  an  age  of  controversy  of  believers  w'ith  infi- 


220  THE   UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

dels,  but  of  believers  with  believers  ;  and  it  is  not  uncommon  now  to 
hear  the  name  of  Christian  denied  to  those  who,  in  earlier  seasons 
of  peril,  were  thought  the  most  powerful  defenders  of  the  faith. 
It  is  not,  however,  the  distinguishing  peculiarity  of  our  times  that 
Christian  fights  with  Cliristian,  for  such  contentions  make  up  the 
burden  of  ecclesiastical  history  ;  but  tliis  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
striking  distinction  of  the  age,  that  Christians,  instead  of  being 
arra3'ed,  as  heretofore,  under  the  difl'erent  standards  of  little  sects, 
are  gradually  gathering  by  large  masses  and  witli  SNstematic  order 
into  two  great  divisions.  Tliese  two  great  divisions  are  known 
among  us  by  the  names  of  Orthodox  and  Liberal  ;  and  altliough 
it  is  true  tliat  other  party  distinctions  remain,  yet  these  are  so  promi- 
nent and  comprehensive,  that  they  deserve  our  peculiar  and  ahnost 
exclusive  attention,  in  considering  tlie  special  duties  which  are 
imposed  on  us  by  the   times. 

"This  most  important  division  of  the  Cln-istian  community  is 
traced  to  different  causes  by  the  different  parties.  The  Orthodox 
maintain  that  the  great  cause  of  it  is  an  arrogant  disposition  in 
tlieir  opponents  to  exalt  reason  at  tlie  expense  of  revelation,  to 
scatter  the  sacred  cloud  of  mystery  which  hangs  over  tlie  deep 
things  of  God,  to  reject  the  Divine  word  because  it  apparently 
contradicts  tlie  conclusions  of  human  understanding.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Liberal  or  Rational  maintain  that  this  division  is  to  be 
traced  to  the  advancement  of  the  human  mind,  to  the  establish- 
ment of  just  principles  of  Biblical  criticism,  to  the  emancipation  of 
Christianity  from  the  corruption  of  ages  of  darkness,  and  that  it  is 
not  their  unwarrantal)le  boldness,  but  a  servile  adherence  on  the 
part  of  their  opponents  to  prejudices  consecrated  bj'  antiquit}', 
which  prevents  the  union  of  Christians. 

"These  explanations,  though  totally  opposed  to  each  other,  as- 
sist us  to  understand  the  true  nature  of  the  controversy  which 
agitates  the  community.  We  may  learn  from  them,  that  particular 
doctrines  are  not  the  chief  walls  of  separation.  The  great  question 
is  not,  whether  the  trinity,  or  vicarious  |)uiiishmcnt,  or  innate  sin,  be 
true.  There  is  a  broader  question  which  now  divides  us,  and  it  is 
this,  —  How  far  is  reason  to  be  used  in  explaining  revelation  ? 

"The  Liberal  Christian  not  only  differs  from  his  Orthodox 
brother  on  i)articular  points,  but  differs  in  his  mode  of  explaining 
that  liook  which  they  both  acknowledge  to  be  the  umi)ire.  He 
maintains  that  the  great,  essential  i)rincii)les  of  C'hristianity,  such 
as  God's  unity  and  paternal  character,  and  the  equity  and  mere}'  of 
his  administration,  arc  there  revealed  with  noontide  brightness,  and 
that  the}'  accord  perfectly  with  the  discoveries  of  nature,  and  the 


1803-1814.]  DUTIES   OF  LIBERAL  CHRISTIANS.  221 

surest  dictates  of  our  moral  faculties.  Consequcntlj-  he  maintains 
that  passages  of  Scripture,  which,  taken  separatel}',  might  give 
clifTerent  ideas  of  God's  nature  and  government,  are,  in  common 
candor  to  the  sacred  writers,  to  l)e  construed  in  consistenc}'  with 
these  fundamental  truths.  He  affirms,  too,  that  just  as  far  as  we 
acquaint  ourselves  with  the  circumstances  under  which  these  pas- 
sages were  written,  such  a  consistent  interpretation  is  seen  to  be 
the  intention  of  the  authors,  and  that  we  are  therefore  justified 
in  believing  that  nothing  but  the  antiquit}'  of  the  sacred  writings 
prevents  us  from  making  the  same  discovery  in  relation  to  other 
passages  which  continue  to  be  obscure. 

"  Tlie  Orthodox  Christian  discards  as  impious  this  exercise  of 
reason,  tliough  he  himself  not  seldom  is  compelled  to  resort  to  it, 
and  maintains  that  the  Scriptures  are  frittered  away  bj'  his  oppo- 
nents because  they  take  the  liberty,  which,  when  needed,  is  taken 
by  all,  of  explaining  figuratively  certain  passages,  which,  according 
to  their  literal  import,  seem  to  contradict  the  general  strain  of 
Scripture  and  the  clearest  views  whicli  God's  works  and  word  atfbrd 
of  his  wisdom  and  goodness.  Such  is  the  state  of  the  controversy' 
among  us.  A  rational,  consistent  interpretation  of  Scripture  is 
contended  for  b}'  one  part}',  who  maintain  that  before  such  an  inter- 
pretation the  doctrines  of  tlie  Trinit}',  of  Infinite  Satisfaction,  of 
Election,  of  Irresistible  Grace,  and  Sudden  Conversion,  fly  as  the 
shades  of  the  night  before  the  sun  ;  whilst  the  other  party  main- 
tain that  these  doctrines  are  not  a  whit  the  less  credible  because 
the}-  offend  reason  and  the  moral  sense,  that  an  important  part  of 
faith  is  the.  humiliation  of  the  understanding,  weakened  and  per- 
verted as  it  is  by  sin,  and  that  myster}'  is  one  of  the  sure  and 
essential  marks  of  Divine  revelation. 

"The  question  now  presents  itself.  What  duties  result  from 
this  state  of  the  Church? 

"Is  this  controversy  an  important  one?  Is  this  rational  inter- 
pretation of  the  Scriptures  for  whicli  we  plead  important?  Are 
the  doctrines  which  seem  to  us  to  flow  from  such  interpretation 
worth  contending  for?  These  questions  will  help  us  to  judge  of 
our  duty  at  the  present  moment.  And  in  answer  to  them  I 
would  maintain,  that  the  controversy  is  of  great  importance,  and 
that  we  owe  to  Jesus  Christ,  our  Master,  and  to  his  gospel,  a 
strenuous  defence  of  the  rational,  consistent  interpretation  whicli 
we  are  seeking  to  give  to  his  word.  The  success,  perhaps  the 
veiy  existence,  of  Christianity  requires  this  service  at  our  hands. 
Christianit}'  cannot  flourish,  or  continue,  unless  thus  interpreted. 
It  is  a  fact,  that,  however  disordered  human  affairs  seem  to  be, 


2-22  THE   UNITARIAN  CONTROVERSY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

society  is  becoming  more  enlightened  ;  and  there  is  a  growing  de- 
mand for  a  form  of  religion  which  will  agree  with  the  clear  dictates 
of  conscience,  and  the  plain  manifestations  which  the  universe 
makes  of  God.  An  irrational  form  of  religion  cannot  support  itself 
against  the  advances  of  intelligence.  We  have  seen  in  Catholic 
countries  a  general  revolting  of  enlightened  men  from  Christian- 
it}',  through  disgust  at  Popery,  the  onlv  form  under  which  it  was 
presented  to  their  view.  Let  an  irrational  Protestantism  be  exclu- 
■sively  propagated,  so  that  the  intelligent  will  be  called  to  make 
their  election  l)etween  this  and  inOdelit}-,  and  the  result  can  hardly 
be  doubted.  The  progressive  influence  of  Christianity  depends 
mainly  on  the  fact,  that  it  is  a  rational  religion  ;  by  which  1  mean, 
not  that  it  is  such  a  system  as  reason  could  discover  without 
revelation,  and  still  less  that  it  is  a  cold  and  lifeless  scheme  of 
philosophical  doctrines,  but  that  it  is  a  religion  which  agrees 
with  itself,  with  our  moral  nature,  with  our  experience  and  ob- 
servation, with  the  order  of  the  universe,  and  the  manifest  attributes 
of  God 

"I  have  time  to  add  but  one  more  reason  for  earnestly  and 
firmly  defending  and  spreading  what  we  deem  the  consistent, 
rational,  and  just  interpretation  of  Christianity  ;  and  it  is  this,  that 
the  cause  of  Practical  Relit/ion,  of  evangelical  piety  and  morals,  is 
dee[)ly  concerned  in  this  movement.  On  this  point  a  more  par- 
ticular discussion  is  needed  than  the  present  limits  allow,  because 
increasing  pains  are  taken  to  represent  our  views  as  unfriendly  to 
vital  religion,  and  to  connect  with  opposite  doctrines  the  ideas  of 
devoted  zeal  and  seriousness.  This  fact  is  particularly  interesting 
to  ?/s,  for  our  great  work  as  Christian  ministers  is  to  promote 
Praclicdl  Clnistianily,  love  to  God  and  love  to  man  ;  and  our  pe- 
culiarities are  susi)icious  indeed,  if  they  are  in  any  manner  unfavor- 
able to  this  supreme  end  of  our  office. 

"  Rut  the  reproach  is  groundless.  On  the  contrary,  the  chief 
motive,  I  conceive,  for  insisting  on  and  spreading  rational  views  is, 
that  they  are  manifestly  more  suited  than  so-called  Orthodox  views 
to  reconcile  men's  hearts  to  God,  to  purify  and  exalt  human  nature, 
to  advance  charity  and  philanthropy,  and  all  the  peculiar  virtues 
of  the  gospel.  Did  I  not  l)elieve  this,  I  should  say,  let  us  at  once 
lay  down  the  weapons  of  controversy  ;  for  even  if  we  hold  the  truth, 
it  is  not  worth  contending  for,  it  ought  not  to  be  contended  for,  at 
the  hazard  of  the  peace  of  the  community,  if  it  is  only  a  theorem 
for  the  speculative  intellect,  an  abstract  science,  without  power  to 
operate  on  the  character,  inaitiUicable  to  the  conscience  and  life. 
Agjiin  I  say,  it  is  the  practical  injiuence  of  Liberal  views,  it  is  the 


1S03-1814.J  COK^GREGATIONALISM.  223 

baneful  tenclenc}'  of  Orthodox  views,   which  summons  us  to  the 
zealous  advocacy  of  rational  and  consistent  Cliristianit}'." 

1820.  Congregationalism.  "Our  fathers  maintained  the  inde- 
pendence of  Ciiristian  churches.  This  was  their  fundamental  prin- 
ciple. They  taught  that  every  church  or  congi-egation  of  Christians 
IS  an  independent  community,  —  that  it  is  competent  to  its  own 
government,  has  the  sole  power  of  managing  its  own  concerns, 
electing  its  own  ministers,  and  deciding  its  own  controversies,  and 
that  it  is  not  subject  to  anj'  other  churches,  or  to  bisliops,  or  s^-nods, 
or  assemblies,  or  to  an}-  foreign  ecclesiastical  tribunal  whatever. 
Tliis  groat  principle  seemed  to  our  fathers  not  only  true,  but  in- 
finitely important 

"The  question  now  offers  itself.  Were  our  fathers  justifial)le  in 
adopting  and  asserting  this  principle  ?  And  one  answer  immedi- 
ately suggests  itself.  In  the  Scriptures  we  find  not  one  word  of  a 
national  church,  not  an  intimation  that  all  the  churches  of  the  same 
country  should  link  themselves  together,  should  give  up  their  in- 
dependence and  self-control,  and  subject  themselves  to  a  common 
master  and  a  few  prelates.  In  Scripture  we  find  but  two  uses  of 
the  word  church,  when  applied  to  religious  concerns.  It  some- 
times means  the  whole  body  of  Christians  spread  over  the  earth, 
and  sometimes  a  particular  congregation  of  Christians  accustomed 
to  meet  in  one  place.  That  such  congregations  are  to  submit 
themselves  to  one  common  head  or  pope,  as  the  Catholics  teach, 
or  to  a  national  head,  as  the  English  church  teaches,  or  to  any 
power  or  tribunal  distinct  from  that  which  subsists  in  each,  is 
nowhere  even  hinted  in  the  Scriptures.  Such  connections  are 
human  arrangements,  and  can  be  defended  only  by  arguments 
drawn  from  their  necossit}-,  or  their-  obvious  fitness  to  promote 
the  ends  of  the  Christian  religion. 

"But  can  such  a  defence  be  sustained?  What  benefits,  I  pray 
you,  are  to  be  expected  from  uniting  particular  churches  into  a 
mass,  a  body,  under  one  government?  To  answer  these  questions, 
consider  the  purposes  for  which  churches  are  instituted,  —  and  the}'- 
may  be  expressed  in  a  short  compass.  Churches  arc  instituted 
that  Christians  may  grow  in  knowledge,  piety,  and  charity,  by 
meeting  together  as  Christians,  by  joining  in  worship,  by  com- 
muning together  in  Christ's  ordinances,  by  receiving  instruction 
from  a  public  teacher,  and  uniting  in  good  works.  The  association 
is  a  friendly  one,  intended  to  promote  holiness,  truth,  and  universal 
virtue,  by  persuasion,  example,  and  intercourse.  Now,  I  ask,  how 
are  these  objects  advanced  by  combining  many  churches  under  one 


L- 


224  THE   UNITARIAN   CONTROVERSY.  [JEt.  23-34. 

government?  Will  a  church  be  more  stronglj-  united  in  love,  will 
it  worship  more  fervently,  or  make  surer  progress  in  truth,  if  its 
minister  be  appointed,  its  worship  regulated,  its  creed  established, 
by  a  foreign  power,  be  that  power  a  pope,  or  a  king,  or  an  assembly 
of  bishops,  or  an  assembly  of  elders?  One  would  think  that  every 
church  could  better  consult  its  own  edification  —  and  this  is  its 
great  object  —  than  strangers. 

"  There  should  undoubtedly  be  a  close  union  between  different 
churches,  hut  a  union  of  charity,  and  not  a  consolidation  into  one 
mass,  or  a  subjection  to  one  tribunal.  This  last  mode  of  binding 
churches  together  is  uncongenial  with  the  free  and  equal  spirit  of 
Christianit}',  engenders  ambition,  intrigue,  and  jealous}',  subjects 
Christ's  Church  to  civil  or  ecclesiastical  bondage,  substitutes  force 
for  persuasion,  and  stifles  the  spirit  of  inquir}-.  These  are  almost 
inevitable  effects.  Once  create  a  power  or  jurisdiction  over  all  the 
churches  of  a  country,  or  over  a  large  number,  and  3'ou  create  a 
prize  for  ambition.  This  power  becomes  important  to  the  magis- 
trate, it  excites  the  craving  of  the  clerg\'.  They  who  gain  it  will 
not  fail  to  strengthen  and  extend  it ;  free  inquiry  will  be  its  prey  ; 
and  the  cardinal  virtues  of  the  gospel  —  humility',  meekness,  and 
charity — will  be  trodden  under  its  feet 

"  Congregationalism  is  the  only  effectual  protection  of  the  Church 
from  usurpation,  the  onl}-  effectual  security  of  Christian  freedom, 
of  the  right  of  private  judgment.  As  such  let  us  hold  it  dear.  Let 
us  esteem  it  an  invaluable  legac}'.  Let  us  resist  everj'  effort  to 
wrest  it  from  us.  Attempts  have  been  made,  and  ma}'  be  repeated, 
to  subject  our  churches  to  tribunals  subversive  of  their  indei)en- 
dence.  Let  the  voice  of  our  fathers  be  heard,  warning  us  to  stand 
fast  in  the  liberty  with  which  Christ  has  made  us  free.  The  inde- 
pendence of  our  churches  was  the  fundamental  principle  which  the}' 
aimed  to  establish  here,  and  here  may  it  never  die."  ^ 

1  The  reader,  who  wouhl  trace  the  gradual  development  of  Mr.  Channing's 
principles,  should  read,  in  connection  with  this  address,  the  tracts  on  "  Objec- 
tions to  Unitarian  Christianity  Considered,"  1819,  Works,  Vol.  V.  pp.  3U3-410, 
One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  401-408;  "  The  Moral  Argument  against  Calvinism," 
1820,  Works,  Vol.  I.  pp.  217-241,  One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  45'J-4G8;  and  chiefly 
the  "  Discourse  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  Jared  Sparks,  Baltunore,"  1819, 
Works,  Vol.  III.  pp.  69-103,  One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  307-384. 


1814-1822.]  DIVINE  JUSTICE.  225 

Chapter  IV.  —  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH. 

^T.  34-42.     1814-1822. 

Controversy  was  utterly  uncongenial  to  Mr.  Clianning  ;  his  tem- 
per, tastes,  desires,  habits,  all  conspired  to  make  it  repugnant. 
He  was  discriminating  in  processes  of  thought,  instinctively  repelled 
dogmas,  however  time-hallowed,  which  were  abhorrent  to  the  dic- 
tates of  his  moral  nature,  made  nice  distinctions  between  opinions 
resulting  from  accidental  influences  and  truths  addressed  to  the 
reason  of  man  universall}'  in  the  creeds  transmitted  by  tradition, 
and  was  earnestly'  watching  for  a  brighter  spnitual  day  to  dawn  ; 
but,  while  thus  impelled  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  progress-party, 
and  fitted  by  eloquence  to  be  a  leader  there,  he  yet  appreciated  so 
justly  what  was  good  in  the  tendencies  of  established  bodies  of 
believers,  and  so  cordially  sympathized  with  the  character  displayed 
by  Christians  of  every  denomination,  that  he  felt  he  was  doing 
violence  to  his  heart  by  withdrawing  from  their  communion.  Above 
all,  he  was  so  conscious  of  the  darkness,  ignorance,  sophistry, 
overspreading  the  theological  world,  and  so  fervently  longing  for 
some  full  vision  of  Divine  Wisdom,  that  a  position  of  sectarian 
dogmatism  seemed  to  him  as  absurd  as  it  was  presumptuous.  He 
was  chiefly  desirous  to  forget  the  things  behind  and  to  press  on. 
It  would  be  treating  him  with  great  injustice,  then,  not  to  present 
some  more  positive  traces  of  his  spiritual  growth  during  these  years 
of  painful  dissension.  How  very  small  a  space  controversy  occupied 
in  his  mind  is  proved  by  the  fact,  that,  among  his  unpublished 
sermons  and  manuscripts  of  that  period,  there  does  not  remain  a 
single  controversial  paper.  He  was  seeking  to  reverence  and  love 
God,  to  respect  and  sympathize  with  man,  to  form  himself  and  his 
fellows  anew  in  Christ's  image,  to  mould  society  upon  the  pattern 
of  Divine  justice.     This  will  appear  in  the  following  extracts. 

SECTION    FIRST. 

RELIGION. 

Oclober,  1814.  Divine  goodness  and  justice  one.  "I  would 
have  you  penetrated  with  the  conviction  that  God  is  most  just ;  but 
I  would  have  you  hold  this  truth  in  consistency  with  that  most 
interesting  of  all  truths,  that  God  delights  to  do  good,  and  that  all 
his  operations  are  directed  by  benevolence.  Benevolence  and 
justice  are  harmonious  attributes  of  God,  to  which  all  others  may 
be  reduced  ;  and  the  true  idea  of  justice  is,  that  it  is  a  branch  or 
mode  of  exercise  of  benevolence. 

15 


226  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [iEx.  34-42. 

"  This  tlioiiglit  is  so  important,  especially'  as  giving  us  the  clear- 
est view  of  the  justice  of  God,  that  I  shall  proceed  to  offer  a  few 
remarks  in  illustration  of  it.  There  is  reason  to  fear  that  this  attri- 
bute has  not  always  been  placed  in  its  true  light.  Some  persons, 
misled  by  confining  their  attention  to  a  few  passages  of  Scripture, 
have  represented  justice  as  a  distinct  perfection  from  goodness, 
and  as  sometimes  clashing  with  it,  and  opposing  the  wishes  of 
Divine  benevolence.  Such  sentiments  are  dishonorable  to  God, 
and  injurious  to  true  piet}',  b}'  stripping  his  character  of  its  chief 
excellence,  the  infinity  of  goodness.  Such  representations  of  justice 
have  induced  some  to  regard  it  as  an  attribute  to  be  dreaded  ratlier 
than  to  be  esteemed  and  loved  ;  and  many  have  wished  to  exclude 
it  from  their  conception  of  God.  But  an  attention  to  the  general 
scope  of  Scripture  will  correct  the  error,  and  teach  us  that  God's 
justice  coincides  with  goodness,  and  is  even  a  branch  of  it,  and 
that  it  is  therefore  to  be  regarded  with  affectionate  reverence 

"  Divine  justice  is,  in  fact,  an  exercise  of  enlarged  benevolence, 
enjoining  and  enforcing  by  rewards  and  punishments  those  dispo- 
sitions and  actions  on  which  the  peace,  order,  improvement,  and 
felicity  of  rational  beings  depend.  I  repeat  it,  the  -principle  of  jus- 
tice is  benevolence.  It  is  God's  goodness  which  inclines  and  impels 
him  to  maintain  a  moral  government,  or  to  treat  beings  according 
to  their  characters  ;  for  nothing  has  so  much  influence  as  character 
on  the  hai)piness  or  miserj'  of  his  universe.  The  more  benevolence 
a  being  possesses,  the  more  he  will  honor,  reward,  and  encourage 
that  spirit  of  universal  love  which  is  the  very  soul  of  happiness, 
and  the  more  he  will  discountenance  that  selfish  and  ungrateful 
spirit  which  disorders,  and  darkens,  and  desolates  creation. 

"God's  justice,  then,  is  a  wise  benevolence,  employing  rewards 
and  punishments  to  exalt  intelligent  creatures  to  the  most  perfect 
and  hai>py  character,  to  a  participation  of  that  love  or  moral  good- 
ness which  forms  his  own  felicity." 

1815.  Spiritual  influences.  "There  is  another  class  of  Chris- 
tians, who,  whilst  they  believe  that  God  constantly  operates  on  the 
human  mind,  and  that  without  his  operation  no  fruits  of  goodness 
are  produced,  yet  believe  that  the  mode  of  his  influence  is  essen- 
tially ditfcrent  from  that  presented  in  the  view  just  given.  They 
believe  that  Divine  influence  is  not  sudden  and  irresistible,  l)ut 
suited  to  the  nature  of  man  as  a  free  and  accountable  being ;  that 
it  is  habitual,  gentle,  persuasive,  ofl'ering  truth  to  the  mind  and 
motives  to  the  will,  but  leaving  the  individual  at  liberty  to  comply 
with  or  reject  it.  They  conceive  tliat  compulsion  or  irresistible 
power  would  entirely  destroy  the  virtue  of  human  actions,  would 


1814-1822.]  WALKING  WITH  GOD.  227 

reduce  man  to  a  macliine,  and  would  tluis  entirely'  defeat  God's 
end,  which  is  to  rendei"  us  objects  of  approbation  and  reward. 
They  conceive  that  our  whole  goodness  is  to  be  ascribed  to  God 
as  its  author,  because  he  gives  us  all  our  powers,  our  understand- 
ing, our  consciences,  our  knowledge  of  duty,  our  capacity  of  im- 
provement, because  he  furnishes  in  his  gospel  the  most  powerful 
motives  to  obedience,  and  because,  by  the  silent  influences  of  his 
providence  and  spirit  on  the  heart,  he  suggests  good  thoughts, 
awakens  desires  of  holiness,  and  furnishes  all  the  strength  which 
we  need  to  resist  temptation.  But  the}'  believe  that  God's  agency 
stops  here,  that  he  does  not  in  any  manner  compel  men  to  follow 
the  light  and  the  motives  which  he  presents,  —  does  not  force  them 
to  use  the  strength  which  he  bestows.  It  depends  on  themselves 
whether  the}*  concur  with  or  resist  his  grace,  whether  the}'  use  well 
or  neglect  the  powers  which  he  gives,  whether  they  will  serve  God 
or  disobey  him." 

1817.  Walking  with  God.  "It  is  the  earnest  desire  of  the 
pious  man,  whose  heart  has  been  touched  by  God's  good  spirit,  to 
feel  what  he  believes,  that  God  is  with  him  ;  and  his  attention  is 
often  withdrawn  from  all  finite  things,  that  he  may  bring  home  this 
thought  with  power  to  his  heart. 

"■  The  quickness  of  perception,  the  sensibility,  to  which  the  mind, 
by  use  and  time,  may  attain  on  these  subjects,  is  not  easily-  believed 
by  those  who  have  made  no  progress  in  religion.  The  pious  man, 
whose  mind  is  exercised  on  God,  comes  to  see  him  in  a  peculiar 
manner.  He  has  a  consciousness  of  his  presence  which  he  cannot 
easily  describe  or  communicate  to  one  who  has  lived  wholly  in  the 
world.  In  scenes  which  to  others  are  blank  and  desolate,  he  feels 
that  he  is  not  alone ;  and  in  society  where  others  see  only  their 
fellow- beings,  a  higher  presence  is  revered  and  perceived.  Even 
when  thinking  of  outward  things,  there  is,  if  I  may  so  speak,  in 
the  breast  of  a  devout  man,  a  latent  sense  of  God  ;  just  as,  when 
we  are  near  or  in  sight  of  an  individual  whom  we  respect,  there  is 
a  consciousness  of  him,  and  a  reference  to  him,  even  though  we 
are  conversing  freely  with  other  beings. 

"The  pious  man  finds  in  the  whole  of  Hfe,  in  its  successes 
or  reverses,  in  the  kindness  of  friends  or  the  calumnies  of  foes, 
in  the  difficulties  and  trials  of  his  state,  calls  and  motives  to 
this  secret  converse  with  God,  and  life  becomes  more  and  more 
interestmg  in  proportion  as  it  strengthens  this  sacred  intimacy. 
Often,  when  to  those  around  he  seems  to  be  living  among  things 
seen,  and  engaged  by  human  agencies,  he  is  holding  a  high  and 
pure  nitcrcourse  with  the  P'ather  of  his  spirit.     And   this   piety 


228  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^.t.  34-42. 

brings  its  reward  in  the  serenity  and  refinement  wliicli  it  imparts 
to  the  whole  spirit  of  him  who  thus  walks  witli  God." 

1813.  The  dignity  of  piety.  "  What  is  there  wliich  gives 
such  dignity  to  our  nature  as  the  capacity  of  knowing  and  of  lov- 
ing the  best  of  beings?  It  is  chiefly  this  capacity  of  religion  that 
lifts  us  above  brutes,  that  allies  us  to  superior  orders  of  l)eings. 
You  must  at  once  acknowledge  that  the  mind  is  ennobled  just  in 
proportion  to  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  the  objects  on  wiiich 
it  is  employed.  Tliink,  then,  of  the  elevation  of  that  mind  which 
habitually  directs  itself  to  God,  of  that  heart  in  wliicli  this  infi- 
nitely great  and  good  being  is  enthroned.  We  ought  to  considt-r 
piet}'  as  the  highest,  most  generous,  and  dignified  attainment  which 
is  placed  within  our  reach,  —  in  fact,  as  the  noblest  characteristic 
which  an  intelligent  creature  can  exliibit. 

"It  is  melancholy  that  piety  should  not  be  associated  in  every 
mind  witli  the  idea  of  dignity  and  lionor.  But,  unhappily,  religion 
has  been  so  often  worn  as  a  mask  by  the  unprincipled,  it  has  so 
often  been  accompanied  b}'  mummery  and  superstition,  that  some 
have  associated  with  its  venerable  name  feelings  of  contempt  and 
degradation.  They  think  that  to  be  devout  is  to  be  weak.  Of  all 
delusions  there  is  none  greater  than  this. 

"  We  should  feel  that  piety  is  the  very  spirit  of  heaven,  the  very 
life  of  angels,  a  pure  celestial  flame,  ever  tending  to  that  world 
from  which  it  descended,  and  aspiring  towards  Him  by  whom  it  is 
enkindled.  We  should  feel  that  piety  partakes  the  glory  of  God, 
who  is  its  object,  and  assimilates  us  to  him  ;  that  it  gives  warmth 
to  benevolence,  strength  to  fortitude,  firmness  to  integrity,  and 
calmness  and  peace  to  afflicted  virtue.  These  are  the  venerable 
and  attractive  attributes  in  which  piety  should  be  arrayed." 

1816.  Resemblance  to  God.  "  There  is  something  most  affect- 
ing in  the  thought  of  resembling  God.  It  is  a  reflection  which 
ought  to  fill  and  almost  overwhelm  our  minds,  that  we  have  a 
nature  capable  of  bearing  the  image  of  God's  perfections.  This 
single  view  of  our  nature  throws  round  it  a  lustre  infiniteh'  sur- 
passing all  the  honors  of  the  world  ;  and  this  thought  of  resembling 
God  is  not  a  presumptuous  one.  The  purity,  the  virtue,  to  which 
we  are  called  in  the  gospel,  and  which  men  have  in  a  measure 
attained,  is  the  same  in  nature  with  that  which  constitutes  the  glor}' 
of  God.  In  particular,  that  disinterested  love,  that  diffusive  bcricv- 
olence,  to  which  Jesus  Christ  so  emphatically  calls  us,  forms  the 
highest  glory  of  the  Divine  character.  The  language  of  John  on 
this  subject  is  remarkable.  '  God  is  love,  and  he  that  dwells  in 
love  dwells  in  God.'     Astonishing  thought!     By  Christian  good- 


1814-1822.]  PIETY  AND   GOODNESS.  229 

ness  we  are  made  partakers  of  God's  nature,  we  shine  with  a  ray 
of  his  Hght,  we  share  his  higliest  perfection,  we  become  temples  of 
tiie  Divinity,  God  dwells  in  us.  This  grand  reality  is  too  faintly 
felt  by  us.  We  do  not  with  sufficient  force  conceive  the  intimate 
relation  which  we  may  sustain  to  God.  We  do  not  heartily  believe 
that  Christian  virtue  constitutes  us  his  children,  by  making  us  like 
him.  We  do  not  bring  it  home  to  ourselves,  that  in  sinning  we 
are  extinguishing  a  ray  of  Divinity  within  our  souls,  and  that  by 
every  step  in  moral  progress  we  are  ascending  towards  God,  the 
Original  and  End  of  all  excellence  and  felicity." 

1818.  True  piety  one  with  active  goodness.  "  Religion  is 
a  high  degree  of  delight  in  all  the  perfections  of  God,  —  in  his  wis- 
dom, his  rectitude,  his  benevolence ;  and  what  is  the  most  accepta- 
ble expression  of  this  veneration?  Is  it  enough  to  admire  and 
praise?  Do  we  not  most  efficiently  manifest  our  esteem  by  seeking 
to  become  what  we  praise,  by  transcribing  into  our  lives  the  per- 
fections of  God,  by  copying  his  wisdom  in  the  judicious  pursuit  of 
good  ends,  his  justice  in  the  discharge  of  all  our  obligations,  and 
his  benevolence  in  the  diffusion  of  all  possible  happiness  around 
us?  Then  is  our  love  of  God  the  most  exalted,  when  in  our  sev- 
eral spheres  we  aim  to  be  like  him,  to  reflect  his  glory,  to  act  for 
the  great  end  for  which  he  is  ever  active,  the  improvement  and 
happiness  of  every  being  within  our  influence. 

"  I  wish  30U  to  feel  that  religion,  love  to  God,  is  in  no  way  at 
war  with  our  relations  and  present  state.  It  does  not  take  us  out 
of  the  w.orld.  It  is  not  inconsistent  with  any  of  the  useful  pursuits 
of  life,  but  unites  them  with  itself,  and  makes  them  oblations  to 
God.  He  who  feels  the  true  influence  of  religion  does  not  relinquish 
his  labor.  On  the  contrary,  he  becomes  more  industrious,  labors 
with  more  cheerfulness,  is  more  contented  with  his  lot,  however 
difficult.  Religion  furnishes  motives  which  give  to  existence  a 
dignity  and  animation  such  as  he  was  unconscious  of  before. 
Neither  does  he  forsake  society.  On  the  contraiy,  his  social  char- 
acter is  improved.  Taught  by  God's  goodness,  he  looks  round  on 
his  fellow-beings  with  new  tenderness.  A  more  benignant  smile 
lights  up  his  countenance  at  sight  of  human  virtue  and  happiness, 
a  more  frequent  pain  is  felt  at  sight  of  human  guilt  and  misery. 
He  is  more  conscientious,  more  just  in  his  transactions,  more 
faithful  in  all  his  relations,  milder  in  his  temper,  and  more  active 
in  his  charity.  Neither  does  he  give  up  all  his  enjoyments.  His 
religion  cuts  off  no  innocent  and  healthy  stream  of  pleasure.  It 
heightens  pleasure,  b}-  making  it  more  rational,  more  pure,  more 


230  SPIRITUAL   GROWTH.  [^r.  34-42. 

equable,   more  consistent  with   all   the  diitles  of  life.     This,  ni}' 
friends,  is  the  nature  and  influence  of  true  religion. 

"In  one  word,  religion  is  designed  to  refine  and  improve  our 
whole  nature,  to  make  us  better  in  every  condition,  to  awaken  all 
our  faculties,  to  render  us  active,  intelligent,  generous,  pure,  tem- 
perate, meek,  contented,  and  serene.  And  it  is  genuine  just  so 
far,  and  no  farther,  as  these  effects  are  produced.  This  influence 
of  religion  over  the  whole  life  is  the  proper  standard  by  which  it 
should  be  measured." 

1819.  PiKTY  AND  MORALITY.  "What  IS  it  iu  God  which  calls 
forth  our  veneration,  gratitude,  love,  filial  attachment?  What 
attribute  gives  him  a  claim  to  these  sentiments?  On  this  i)oint 
there  is  little  diflerence  of  opinion.  All  Christians  will  tell  you 
that  God  is  chiefly  to  be  loved  and  revered  because  he  is  good  or 
benevolent,  and  because  he  is  righteous  or  just,  —  because  he  de- 
sires at  once  the  happiness  and  the  excellence  of  his  creatures,  — 
because  he  rejoices  to  send  benefits  on  all  who  are  fitted  to  receive 
them, — because  he  enjoins  and  rewards  virtue,  and  abhors  and 
punishes  impenitent  guilt.  Benevolence  and  righteousness,  then, 
are  the  attributes  on  which  Piety  chiefly  rests  as  its  object,  and  by 
communion  with  which  it  acts  and  grows. 

"But  consider  a  moment  wliat  benevolence  and  righteousness 
are.  Are  they  not  the  very  qualities  which  we  mean  by  Morulili/  ? 
What  is  morality  but  the  exercise  of  a  benevolent  and  just  temper 
towards  all  beings  witiiin  our  knowledge  and  influence?  If  so, 
what  is  God's  character,  the  character  wliich  we  are  to  love,  but 
perfect  morality?  —  what  but  tlie  very  dispositions,  in  their  fulness, 
which  conscience  enjoins  upon  every  man,  and  which  form  what 
we  call  rectitude?  To  love  God,  then,  is  to  love  morality  in  its 
most  i)erfect  form  ;  and  thus  we  see  how  religion  and  morals  pass 
into  eacli  otlier  and  become  one. 

"  Tins  idea  seems  to  me  too  important  to  be  passed  over  lightly. 
Men  have  always  sunk  a  great  gulf  between  piety  and  morality, 
religion  and  rectitude,  dcvontness  and  virtue.  To  love  God  has 
been  thouglit  something  (|uite  distinct  from  loving  our  neighbor, 
loving  our  duty,  loving  right  anil  worthy  actions.  But  they  are  not 
to  be  divided  !  To  love  (iod  is  the  same  thing  as  to  love  rectitude, 
for  God  is  rectitude  ;  this  is  the  central  principle  of  his  character. 
His  character  is  the  perfection  of  morality,  and  the  love  of  him  is  the 
love  of  morality.  Tlie  love  of  God  is  hut  another  name  for  the 
love  of  essential  benevolence  and  justice  ;  —  it  is  a  sincere  and  obe- 
dient delight  in  a  Divine  government,  by  which  these  virtues  are 


1814-1822.]  PIETY  AND  MORALITY.  231 

manifested,  enforced,  spread  abroad,  and  renewed  most  gloriously. 
So  inseparable  are  religion  and  morality.  If  we  could  conceive  of 
God  as  wanting  the  qualities  and  attributes  which  in  men  we  call 
moral  virtues,  we  should  thereby  tear  up  and  destroy  the  vital  germ 
of  piety.  Nothing  would  remain  for  our  love,  veneration,  and  filial 
attachment  to  cling  to  in  God.  He  would  have  no  claim  on  us. 
It  is  because  he  is  The  Good,  because  he  is  a  moral  being,  and 
because  in  loving  him  we  love  Perfect  Morality,  that  we  are  bound 
to  love  him  with  all  tlie  heart,  soul,  and  strength. 

"  According  to  these  views,  the  genuineness  and  strength  of  our 
religion  appear  altogether  in  our  love  of  righteousness  and  good- 
ness, and  in  our  endeavor  to  approach  God  in  these  moral  perfec- 
tions. I  know  religion  is  generally  represented  as  something 
different  from  this.  The  labor  of  men  has  always  been  to  divorce 
piety  from  virtue, — to  substitute  adulation  for  moral  obedience, 
acts  of  homage  to  God  for  equitj'  and  benevolence  to  men.  Hea- 
thenism was  little  more  than  an  attempt  to  conciliate  the  Divine  favor 
b}'  outward  rites,  to  please  God  by  other  means  than  a  pure  and 
good  life.  We  cannot  wonder  that  men  fly  to  these  false  modes  of 
religion,  for  the  obligations  they  impose  are  light  and  easy,  when 
compared  with  those  of  rectitude.  It  is  vastly  easier  to  flatter  the 
Supreme  Being  than  to  subdue  ourselves.  Nothing  is  so  hard  as 
to  root  out  bad  passions,  to  be  upright,  at  whatever  cost,  and  to 
be  benevolent  and  charitable  under  all  provocations  and  difficulties. 
To  seek  a  resemblance  of  God's  moral  purity  is  unspeakably  more 
toilsome  than  to  praise  him  with  transport 

"The  happiest  influence  of  religion  appears,  not  in  giving  us 
occasional  joys  and  raptures,  but  in  communicating  delicacy  and 
power  to  our  sense  of  duty,  in  strengthening  conscience  to  resist 
all  created  tilings  when  they  oppose  its  convictions,  in  exaltuig  our 
ordinary  life,  in  making  our  control  of  the  passions  complete,  our 
charity  superior  to  all  sacrifice  and  suflJering,  and  our  uprightness 
immovable  as  the  throne  of  God.  The  happiest  influence  of  religion 
appears,  not  in  raising  us  to  sometliing  higher  tlian  morality,  for 
that  would  be  to  raise  us  above  God  himself,  but  in  giving  us  sub- 
lime ideas  of  morality,  a  pure  will  and  higli  aim,  a  purpose  of  ex- 
cellence such  as  never  could  exist  without  a  knowledge  of  God's 
character,  and  a  hope  of  his  aid  in  imitating  his  goodness.  Religion 
makes  us  moral  by  renewing  our  cliaracters  and  lives  in  the  image 
of  Divine  virtue.  It  forms  us  to  a  rectitude,  and  benevolence,  and 
purity,  of  a  higher  order  than  worldly  men  can  conceive.  In  this 
its  glory  and  strength  are  made  manifest.  Religion  is  the  perfection 
of  moralit}'." 


232  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

1816.  The  happiness  of  a  religious  life.  "The  human 
heart  not  only  needs  objects  of  affection,  but  it  demands  an  object 
vast,  infinite  as  God,  complete!}-  to  fill  and  to  satisfy  it.  The  soul 
of  man,  though  often  debased  and  contracted,  often  discovers  to 
us  a  remarkable  property,  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  in  its  con- 
stitution, —  a  certain  insatiableness  of  desire,  a  love  of  great  objects, 
a  discontent  with  what  is  narrow  and  limited,  a  thirst  for  something 
better  than  it  finds  on  earth.  This  principle  has  sometimes  been 
called  the  love  of  the  infinite,  and  though  often  suppressed  by  want, 
and  oftener  by  vice,  it  is  ineradicable  in  human  nature,  and  shows 
to  us  that  the  human  mind  can  find  repose  only  in  the  Infinite 
Being.  God  is  the  onl^'  fit  end  and  object  for  such  a  being  as  man. 
The  world  cannot  fill  his  mind.  You  see  him  discontented,  rest- 
less, even  amidst  its  fairest  prospects.  A  secret  uneasiness  preys 
on  him,  which  he  can  neither  analyze  nor  describe.  The  truth  is, 
his  soul,  whilst  confined  to  the  world,  has  not  3et  found  its  true 
element.  He  has  desires  and  affections  to  which  nothing  here  is 
proportioned. 

"  Whilst  earthly  objects  are  exhausted  by  familiarit}',  the  thought 
of  God  becomes  to  the  devout  man  continually  brighter,  richer, 
vaster,  derives  fresh  lustre  from  all  that  he  observes  of  nature  and 
providence,  and  attracts  to  itself  all  the  glories  of  the  universe. 
The  devout  man,  especially  in  moments  of  strong  religious  sensi- 
bility, feels  distinctly  that  he  has  found  the  true  happiness  of  man. 
He  has  found  a  Being  for  liis  veneration  and  love,  whose  character 
is  niexhaustible ;  who,  after  ages  shall  have  passed,  will  still  be 
uncom[)rehended  in  the  extent  of  his  perlections,  and  will  still  com- 
municate to  the  pure  mind  stronger  proofs  of  his  excellence  and 
more  intimate  signs  of  his  approval." 

1816.  Heaven.  "  Descriptions  of  this  nature  too  often  convey 
the  impression  that  heaven  is  a  state  of  rapturous  ecstasy,  suspend- 
ing reason  and  the  calm  exercise  of  understanding.  It  is,  indeed, 
true,  that  the  Scriptures  teach  us  that  in  the  future  life  the  afiTections 
will  be  powerfully  excited.  New  sensibility  will  be  communicated 
to  the  heart.  God  will  be  loved  with  a  vastly  purer  and  intenser 
love  than  is  known  on  earth.  But  still  tlie  understanding  will  not 
be  sacrificed  to  the  feelings.  Devotion  will  be  calm,  deliberate, 
reasonable.  It  will  be  the  fruit  of  extended  knowledge.  All  the 
faculties  of  the  understanding  will  be  exerted  and  invigorated,  as 
well  as  the  atfections  ;  and  the  hai)piness  of  heaven  will  possess 
that  serene  and  rofiecting  character  which  it  is  becoming  and  lion- 
oral)le  for  rational  beings  to  enjo}'. 


-1 

1814-1822.J  ERRONEOUS   VIEWS   OF  HEAVEN.  233 

"  Another  representation  of  heaven,  which  seems  to  me  unfavor- 
able to  a  strong  impression  of  its  happiness,  is  this  :  —  Heaven  is 
often  described  as  a  place  where  eternity'  will  be  spent  in  immediate 
acts  of  Divine  worship.  This  error  arises  from  a  too  literal  and 
narrow  interpretation  of  passages  in  Scripture.  Their  true  meaning 
is,  that  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  spirits  in  heaven  will  possess 
that  sensibility  to  God  which  places  of  worship  are  particularl}- 
designed  to  promote.  Whatever  region  of  this  vast  universe  they 
ma}'  visit,  they  will  regard  it  as  God's  empire,  God's  temple ;  his 
presence  will  be  felt,  his  perfections  be  traced  and  adored,  his  will 
be  cheerfully  obej'ed.  This  spirit  of  devotion,  which  we  ought  to 
cherish  on  earth,  will,  indeed,  be  the  habit  of  heaven  ;  but  its  exer- 
cise will  be  consistent  with  the  greatest  variety  of  scenes  and 
employments,  and  very  unlike  that  wearisome  monotony  of  an  end- 
less round  of  religious  services  which  some  seem  to  anticipate. 

"  I  proceed  to  consider  another  view  of  heaven  which  renders  it 
uninteresting.  Heaven  is  sometimes  described  in  a  manner  which 
excludes  the  idea  of  improvement,  of  progression.  The  thought  of 
a  stationary  existence,  of  remaining  the  same  through  eternity,  of 
a  world  where  the  mind,  as  it  looks  forward  to  endless  ages,  will 
see  no  change,  no  progressive  ascent  to  superior  virtue,  is  a  most 
discouraging  and  melancholy  one.  The  human  mind  seems  so  im- 
patient of  limits,  it  so  delights  in  boundless  prospects,  that  we  can 
hardl}'  feel  as  if  it  would  be  happ3',  even  in  heaven  itself,  were  it  to 
find  that  it  had  reached  its  goal ;  that  no  accessions  were  to  be 
made  to  its  knowledge  and  goodness  ;  that  no  nearer  approach 
could  be  gained  to  God  and  superior  orders  of  being ;  that  all 
above  it  was  forbidden  ground,  an  inaccessible  felicity. 

"Such  conceptions  of  heaven  are  altogether  inconsistent  with 
what  we  know  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  understanding,  which 
seem  capable  of  indefinite  progression,  and  with  what  we  see  of  the 
works  of  God,  which  teach  us  that  he  delights  in  a  progressive  cre- 
ation. We  ought  rather  to  conceive  of  heaven  as  a  state  which  will 
offer  far  greater  means  of  improvement  than  the  present,  which  v' 
will  open  new  fields  for  thought,  new  worlds  for  research,  which  will 
inspire  a  more  intense  desire  of  moral  greatness,  and  give  continu- 
ally increasing  energy  and  splendor  to  all  the  virtues  which  ennoble 
our  nature 

"Another  error  in  the  description  of  heaven,  which  I  think  ren- 
ders it  less  interesting,  is  that  the  thought  of  society  is  thrown  too 
much  out  of  sight.  Now,  human  nature  is  essentially  social.  It 
wants  objects  of  affection,  companions  to  whom  it  may  communi- 
cate its  thoughts  and   purposes,  and  with  whom  it  may  act  and 


234  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

enjo}'.  Pleasure  is  tasteless  without  friendl}'  participation,  and 
ever}'  view  of  heaven  excluding  this  is  unfavorable  to  an  impression 
of  its  happiness.  We  are  too  apt  to  think  of  heaven  as  a  solemn 
place.  It  ought  to  be  viewed  b^'  us  as  a  place  of  cheerful  society. 
The  countenances  of  its  inhabitants  should  seem  to  us  irradiated 
b}'  a  benign  smile  in  their  intercourse  with  one  another,  and  their 
piety,  though  reverential,  should  seem  to  us  a  filial  and  happy  sen- 
timent, which  enters  into  the  conversation,  and  which  they  delight 
to  manifest  together. 

''Another  view  of  heaven  which  seems  to  me  to  weaken  its  in- 
terest is  this  :  —  Its  inhabitants  are  often  described  as  forming  a 
world  by  tliemselves,  as  having  no  connection  with  any  other  be- 
ings. IIea\'en  seems  to  be  considered  as  a  region  separated  from 
the  rest  of  the  universe.  Now  an  improved  and  benevolent  mind 
can  hardly  escape  the  desire  of  extending  its  acquaintance  with  tliis 
boundless  universe  of  which  it  forms  a  part ;  and  heaven  would 
seem  a  place  of  confinement,  did  it  shut  up  its  inhabitants  forever 
from  every  other  region.  But  we  ought  not  to  conceive  thus  of  the 
future  state  of  good  men.  We  need  not  doubt  the  fact,  that  angels, 
whose  home  is  heaven,  visit  our  earth  and  bear  a  part  in  our  trans- 
actions ;  and  we  have  good  reason  to  believe,  that,  if  we  obtain 
admission  into  heaven,  we  shall  still  have  opi)ortunity,  not  onl}'  to 
return  to  earth,  but  to  view  the  operation  of  God  in  distant  spheres, 
and  be  his  ministers  in  other  worlds 

"It  is  not  impossible,  that,  in  our  intercourse  witli  other  worlds, 
we  shall  meet  with  beings  who  are  passing  through  the  first  stage 
of  discipline,  like  that  wliich  is  now  assigned  to  ourselves,  —  beings 
exposed  to  pain,  temptation,  and  sorrow,  beings  who  may  need  our 
symi)athy  and  aid,  and  to  whom  we  may  render  the  same  offices 
which  we  have  reason  to  beheve  angels  now  render  to  the  human 
race.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  do  not  render  heaven  a  less  inter- 
esting or  less  happy  world,  when  we  su})pose  that  its  inhabitants 
retain  the  tendercst  sensibility,  and  feel  for  the  sufferings  winch  ma}- 
be  endured  in  other  regions  of  tlie  creation.  Tliere  is  a  sympatlu' 
which,  thougli  in  a  measure  painful,  gives  a  peculiar  charm  to  ex- 
istence, and  wliich  a  good  man  would  not  wisli  to  resign  ;  and  we 
ought  not  to  believe  that  tliis  is  excluded  from  heaven. 

"Once  more:  the  descriptions  which  are  given  of  heaven  are 
often,  I  tliink,  rendered  less  interesting  than  they  should  be,  by 
false  ideas  which  are  entertained  about  tlie  perfection  of  its  inhab- 
itants. It  seems  to  be  tliought,  that,  because  good  men  are  to  be 
perfect  hereafter,  tliey  will  all  resemble  each  other ;  and  hence  that 
diversity  of  character,  of  taste,  and  habits,  which  contributes  so 


1814-1822.]  HEAVEN  A  PROGRESSIVE   STATE.  235 

inuch  to  oar  happiness,  is  made  to  give  place  to  a  monotonous  and 
unvaried  excellence.  But  all  God's  works  are  marked  by  variet}', 
and  to  this  they  owe  much  of  their  interest  and  beauty. 

"Will  all  this  variety  be  blotted  out  in  heaven?  No  one,  who 
reflects  that  this  life  is  a  preparatory  state,  can  doubt  that  our  future 
character  will  be  a  continuation  of  the  present,  —  that,  if  we  enter 
heaven,  we  shall  cany  with  us  essentially  the  same  minds  which  we 
possess  on  leaving  the  world,  and  thus  all  the  peculiarities  of  earth 
which  are  consistent  with  goodness  will  be  transplanted  in  the  future 
state.  The  Scriptures  teach  us  that  it  will  be  part  of  the  happiness 
of  heaven  to  meet  there  the  good  and  excellent  of  former  times,  — - 
the  patriarchs,  and  prophets,  and  apostles,  and  other  benefactors 
of  mankind.  But  this  happiness  would  be  wholly  lost,  were  men  in 
heaven  to  lose  their  peculiar  characters,  were  all  to  be  cast  into  one 
mould,  were  all,  in  becoming  perfect,  to  become  perfectly  alike.  No, 
—  heaven  will  not  present  this  unvaried  and  dull  uniformity.  The 
strong  lines  of  character  which  marked  men  on  earth,  we  ma^'  sup- 
pose, will  distinguish  them  hereafter.  Paul  will  retain  his  ardor, 
John  his  kindness,  Isaiah  his  imagination.  In  heaven  we  shall  wit- 
ness every  form  of  intellectual  and  moral  excellence.  Some  of  its 
inhabitants  wall  exhibit  to  us  the  milder,  and  others  the  sublimer 
virtues.  Some  will  be  distinguished  by  glow  of  feeling,  some  by 
profoundness  of  thought,  some  by  activit}'  and  energy  of  will. 
There  will  be,  too,  different  degi-ees  of  the  same  excellence,  and 
different  employments  corresponding  to  the  character. 

"The  true  view  of  heaven,  that  which  the  Scriptures  give,  that 
which  .reason  sanctions,  and  that  which  we  can  most  powerfully 
realize,  is,  that  it  will  not  essentially  change,  but  rather  improve 
our  nature.  We  shall  be  the  same  beings  as  on  earth  ;  we  shall 
retain  our  present  faculties,  our  present  affections,  our  love  of 
knowledge,  love  of  beauty,  love  of  action,  love  of  approbation,  our 
sympathy,  gratitude,  and  pleasure  in  success.  We  shall  probably, 
too,  have  bodies  not  wery  different  from  what  we  now  have,  —  the 
eye  to  behold  creation  and  receive  its  beauties,  the  ear  to  hear 
the  voice  of  friendship  and  to  receive  the  pleasures  of  harmony,  and 
even  sense  refined  and  purified.  This  we  know,  that  Jesus  in  a 
form  like  ours  ascended  into  heaven,  and  when  Moses  and  Elijah 
conversed  with  him  on  the  Mount,  they  appeared  in  the  human 
form,  differing  from  ours  only  in  its  splendor ;  and  from  these  facts 
it  would  seem  that  our  future  bodies  will  bear  a  general  resemblance 
to  the  present." 

1817.  Heaven  a  place  for  grov^th  and  action.  "In  heaven 
the  understanding  will  be  called  into  vigorous  exercise,  and  will  be 


236  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [Mt.  34-42. 

continually  enlarged  and  improved  b}'  exertion.  Some  persons 
seem  to  conceive  that  the  mind  will  at  once  attain  its  full  and  per- 
fect growtli  in  the  future  world,  that  it  will  ascend  immediate!}- 
from  this  region  of  darkness  and  error  into  the  brightest  light  of 
heaven,  tliat  it  will  expand  at  once  to  the  full  extent  of  its  ca- 
pacities, that  everything  which  is  to  be  known  will  at  once  be 
acquired,  and  therefore  that  new  acquisitions  will  not  be  proposed, 
and  will  not  of  course  awaken  its  activity-.  But  this  is  an  imagi- 
nation altogether  unauthorized  by  Scripture,  and  it  ditl'ers  so 
entirely  from  present  experience,  that  nothing  but  positive  declara- 
tions of  Scripture  can  give  it  a  claim  to  belief.  In  this  life,  pro- 
gression is  the  universal  law.  Nothing  is  brought  into  being  in 
its  most  perfect  state.  Everything  rises  to  maturity  from  feeble 
beginnings. 

"  The  all-wise  Creator  delights  in  a  progressive  system,  in  grad- 
ual improvement,  not  in  immediate  perfection.  It  is  his  uniform 
method  to  conduct  beings  through  various  stages,  not  to  fix  them 
at  once  in  an  unchangeable  condition.  Now,  such  being  the  method 
of  Providence,  and  such  the  nature  and  experience  of  man,  is  it  not 
natural  to  expect  that  in  a  future  life  our  nature  will  be  progressive, 
that  the  knowledge  with  which  the  Christian  will  commence  his 
future  being  will  be  a  point  from  which  he  will  start,  a  foundation 
on  which  he  will  build,  rather  than  a  state  in  which  he  will  eter- 
nally rest? 

''  Freed  from  all  the  passions  and  prejudices  which  now  darken 
and  disorder  his  mind,  loving  the  truth  with  increasing  ardor, 
clothed  with  a  spiritual,  vigorous,  refined,  immortal  body,  released 
from  all  pain,  disease,  languor,  and  relaxing  toil,  and,  above  all, 
associated  with  enlightened  and  benevolent  minds,  with  angels  of 
light,  with  apostles,  prophets,  sages,  with  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  the 
wisdom  of  God,  —  blest  with  all  these  aids  and  guides,  with  what 
rapid  steps  must  the  Chri*^tian  advance  in  the  knowledge  of  God 
and  of  his  works  !  And  when  we  consider  that  this  progression  will 
be  eternal,  will  never  end,  what  an  astonishing  coneei)tion  is  given 
us  of  the  future  greatness  of  man !  We  cannot  follow  him  on  his 
path  of  glory.  To  an  ever-progressing  being  no  limits  can  be  pre- 
scribed. There  is  no  rank  of  created  existence  to  which  he  will  not 
ascend.  AVhere  seraphs  now  worship,  there  man  will  one  day  wor- 
ship, and  the  purest  praises  which  heaven  now  hears  will  ascend 
from  once  human  lii)s.  Are  there  orders  of  beings  whose  cxi)ansive 
minds  embrace  the  interests  of  worlds  as  easily  as  we  do  the  con- 
cerns of  our  l»usiuess  and  families?  The  mind  of  man,  continually 
improving,  will  enjoy  the  same  expansion.    1  am  lost  when  I  at- 


1814-1822.]      THE  FUTURE   GLORIES  OF  THE   GOOD.  237 

tempt  to  represent  to  myself  human  nature  perfected  in  heaven,  and 
through  endless  ages  approaching  its  wise  and  holy  Creator." 

1816.  The  future  glories  of  the  good.  "It  is  a  very  in- 
teresting view  of  death,  that,  instead  of  destroying,  it  sets  a  seal  on 
the  virtues  of  good  men,  the  seal  of  eternity.  It  places  them  be- 
3'ond  danger.  It  takes  them  from  a  region  of  moral  infection, 
where  they  sometimes  drooped,  where  temptation  triumphs  over  the 
most  experienced  in  piety,  wliere  the  purest  excellence  can  hardly 
be  viewed  without  feelings  of  solicitude. 

"  When  we  think  of  the  good  and  holy  who  have  left  us,  we 
should  banish  from  our  thoughts  all  gloomy  images  which  death 
presents.  They  should  rise  before  our  minds,  improved,  perfected, 
clothed  with  a  new  lustre  of  goodness.  We  shoukl  think  of  them  as 
ascended  to  a  purer  region.  The  countenance  on  which  we  were 
accustomed  to  see  the  expression  of  all  kind  affections  should  sliine 
upon  us  brightened  with  a  more  benignant  smile.  Their  piety 
should  appear  as  raised,  refined,  and  kindled  into  purer  ardor  b}'  its 
near  approach  to  God.  We  should  see  them  surrounded  with  better 
friends  and  examples  than  those  they  have  left,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  purest  and  happiest  society. 

"  Tliat  in  this  wide  creation  there  are  spheres  of  nobler  action 
than  are  enjoyed  on  earth,  that  there  are  wider  fields  for  the  powers 
of  intelligent  beings,  and  more  generous  and  glorious  objects  for 
benevolence,  who  can  doubt?  This  world,  it  is  not  unhkely,  is  the 
abode  of  the  feeblest  and  most  imperfect  members  of  God's  family. 
It  is,  perhaps,  the  sphere  of  the  humblest  labor.  Nowhere,  per- 
haps, do  intelligent  beings  enjoy,  expand,  so  little.  Go  where  we 
will  in  creation,  if  we  except  the  abode  of  the  condemned,  probably' 
we  shall  find  more  improved  intelligence,  and  wider  spheres  of  use- 
fulness. Our  present  experience  teaches  us  that  God  delights  in  an 
active  creation.  We  see  all  nature  in  motion.  We  see  that  he 
delights  in  accomplishing  his  most  important  ends  b}'  the  agency  of 
his  rational  creatures,  and  that  thus  their  concurrence  with  the  cre- 
ation forms  at  once  their  happiness  and  dignit}'.  Who  can  doubt 
that  this  same  principle  regulates  the  whole  universe  which  God  has 
made,  that  everywhere  his  purposes  are  committed  to  the  charge  of 
creatures,  that  all  spaces  and  ages  are  one  vast  field  of  exertion? 
Among  the  chief  wonders  and  glories  which  the  future  world  is  to 
disclose  to  us  will  be  the  enlarged  powers,  relations,  and  influences 
of  virtuous  beings. 

"Let  us  not,  then,  imagine  that  the  usefulness  of  the  good  is 
finished  at  death.     Then  rather  does  it  begin.     Let  us  not  judge  of 


238  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  34-42. 

their  state  by  associations  drawn  from  the  chiUness  and  silence 
of  the  grave.  The}'  have  gone  to  abodes  of  Hfe,  of  warmth,  of 
action.  They  have  gone  to  fill  a  larger  place  in  the  system  of  God. 
Death  has  expanded  their  powers.  The  clogs  and  fetters  of  the 
perishable  body  have  fallen  otf,  that  they  ma}-  act  more  freely  and 
with  more  delight  in  the  grand  system  of  creation.  We  should 
represent  them  to  our  minds  as  ascended  to  a  higher  rank  of  exist- 
ence, and  admitted  to  co-operate  with  far  higher  communities.  Tliis 
earth  was  only  their  school,  their  place  of  education,  wliere  we  saw 
their  powers  comparatively  in  an  infant  state.  They  have  now 
reached  a  maturer  age,  and  are  gone  to  sustain  more  important 
relations.  They  have  been  called  because  their  agency  was  needed 
in  higher  services  than  those  of  this  w^orld.  AVliere  they  are  now 
acting,  it  is  not  given  to  us  to  know  ;  but  the  all-wise  Father  can 
never  be  without  a  sphere  for  the  virtues  of  his  children.  It  would 
be  grateful  to  believe  that  their  influence  reaches  to  the  present 
state,  and  we  certainly  are  not  forbidden  to  indulge  the  hope.  But 
wherever  they  may  be,  they  are  more  useful,  more  honorably  occu- 
pied, than  when  on  earth ;  and  by  following  their  steps,  we  may, 
however  separated  from  them  during  life,  hope  to  obtain  admission 
into  the  same  bright  regions  where  they  are  pressing  onward  to 
perfection." 

SECTION    SECOND 

HUMAN    NATURE. 

1815.  Generous  views  ok  man.  "  We  need  to  feel  more  deeply 
that  we  are  intrusted  with  a  religion  which  is  designed  to  ennoble 
human  nature,  which  recognizes  in  man  the  capacities  of  all  that  is 
good,  great,  and  excellent,  and  which  offers  every  encouragement 
and  aid  to  the  pursuit  of  perfection.  The  Christian  minister,  in 
preparing  his  discourses,  should  often  recollect,  that  man,  degraded 
as  he  frequently  appears,  has  yet  powers  and  facuilties  Avliich  may 
be  refined  into  angelic  perfection,  that  he  is  invited  to  prepare  for 
the  community  of  angels,  that  he  is  formed  for  endless  progress  in 
intellectual  and  moral  excellence  and  felicity.  He  should  often 
recollect,  that  in  Jesus  Cln-ist  our  nature  has  been  intimately  united 
with  the  Divine,  and  that  in  Jesus  humanity  is  already  enthroned 
in  heaven.  Familiarized  to  these  generous  conceptions,  it  should 
often  be  his  object  in  preaching  to  unfold  to  men  their  capacities  of 
greatness,  to  reveal  the  splendor  of  that  destiny  to  which  they  are 
called  by  Jesus  Christ,  to  awaken  aspirations  after  a  nobler  charac- 
ter and  a  higher  existence,  and  to  inflame  them  with  the  love  of  all 


1814-1822.]  MAN'S   CAPACITIES   OF  GOODNESS.  239 

the  graces  and  virtues  with  which  Jesus  came  to  enrich  and  adorn 
human  nature.  In  this  wa}'  he  will  prove  that  he  understands  the 
true  and  great  design  of  the  gospel  and  the  ministry,  which  is  the 

perfection  of  man's  character 

"  JNIay  I  be  permitted  to  saj-,  that  perhaps  the  greatest  defect  in 
the  ministry,  as  at  present  conducted,  is,  that  it  is  not  sufficiently 
directed  to  ennoble  and  elevate  the  minds  of  men.  It  does  not 
breathe  a  sufficiently  generous  spirit.  It  does  not  appeal  sufficiently 
to  the  highest  and  best  principles  of  the  human  heart,  nor  delineate 
with  sufficient  frequency  and  energ}'  those  lofty  sentiments  and 
deeds  to  which  something  congenial  responds  in  almost  ever^' 
breast.  It  appeals  too  constantl}-  to  the  lowest  principle  of  man's 
nature,  —  I  mean  the  principle  of  fear,  which,  under  judicious  ex- 
citement, is  indeed  of  undoubted  use,  but  which,  as  ever}-  parent 
knows,  when  habitually  awakened,  is  always  found  to  depress  and 
debase  the  mind,  to  break  the  sjjirit,  to  give  a  tameness  to  the 
character,  and  to  chill  the  best  affections.  Perhaps  one  cause  of 
the  limited  influence  of  Christianity  is,  that,  as  Christianity  is  too 
often  exhibited,  it  seems  adapted  to  form  an  abject,  servile  charac- 
ter, rather  than  to  raise  its  disciples  to  true  greatness  and  dignit}'. 
Perhaps,  were  Christianity  more  habitually  regarded  as  a  system 
whose  chief  design  is  to  infuse  honorable  sentiments,  an  ingenuous 
love  of  God,  a  superiority  to  unwortlw  pursuits,  a  virtue  akin  to 
that  of  heaven,  its  reception  would  be  more  cordial, -and  its  influ- 
ence more  extensive,  more  happy,  more  accordant  with  its  great 
end,  —  the  perfection  of  human  nature." 

1816.  Man's  capacities  of  goodness.  "One  of  the  great 
characteristics  of  the  present  day  is  a  lowness,  a  sordidness,  a 
frigidness  of  thought  and  feeling.  Men  think  meanly  of  their 
nature,  and  hence  their  conduct  is  selfish  and  earthly.  We  do  not, 
indeed,  see  men  in  general  given  up  to  gross  vices.  We  do  not 
meet  around  us  the  ferocity  or  beastly  licentiousness  of  the  savage 
state.  We  find  man\-  marks  of  improvement,  when  we  compare  the 
present  with  earlier  ages.  But  there  is  little  elevation  of  sentiment. 
Comparatively  few  seem  to  be  conscious  of  their  high  original,  tlieir 
capacities  of  excellence,  their  relation  to  God,  their  interest  in 
eternitv. 

"Blessed  be  God,  in  the  histor}'  of  every  age  and  nation  — 
amidst  the  ravages  of  ambition  and  the  mean  aims  of  selfishness 
—  there  have  broken  forth  nobler  sentiments,  and  the  evidences  of 
a  heavenly  virtue.  Every  age  has  been  illustrated  b^-  men  who  bore 
themselves  like  men,  and  vindicated  the  cause  of  human  nature,  — 


240  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  04-42. 

men  who,  in  circumstances  of  great  trial,  have  adhered  to  moral 
and  religious  principle,  to  the  cause  of  persecuted  truth,  to  the 
interests  of  humanit}-,  to  the  hope  of  immortality,  — who  have  trod- 
den under  foot  the  fairest  gifts  of  fortune  and  the  world  in  the  pur- 
suit of  dut}'.  It  has  often  pleased  God  to  gather  round  these  men 
the  clouds  of  adversity,  that  their  virtues  might  shine  with  a  sub- 
limer  splendor.  This  is  the  greatest  value  of  history,  that  it  intro- 
duces us  to  persons  of  this  illustrious  order ;  and  its  noblest  use  is 
b}-  their  examples  to  nourish  in  us  a  conviction,  that  elevated  purity 
of  motive  and  conduct  is  not  a  dream  of  fauc}',  but  that  it  is  placed 
within  our  reach,  and  is  the  very  end  of  being. 

"  I  have  spoken  of  history  as  refuting  the  low  conceptions  which 
men  form  of  their  nature  ;  but,  without  looking  back  to  former  ages, 
may  not  every  individual,  amidst  the  corruptions  of  present  soeiet}-, 
discover  in  his  own  sphere  some  delightful  examples  and  illustra- 
tions of  human  goodness  ?  Does  he  not  discern  some  whose  names 
are  never  to  be  inscribed  on  the  rolls  of  earthly  fame,  and  who  can 
boast  no  distinction  of  intelligence  or  station,  but  whose  sincere 
devotedness  to  God,  whose  gratitude  in  adversity,  whose  patience 
under  injury,  whose  cheerful  discharge  of  humble  duties,  whose 
unwearied  zeal  in  doing  good,  afford  a  delightful  proof  of  the  con- 
nection between  the  human  and  angelic  nature?  Let  none,  then, 
say  that  the  corruptions  of  society  forbid  us  to  believe  that  our 
nature  is  susceptible  of  high  advancement.  The  road  to  perfection 
is  not  unexi)lored.  We  have  forerunners  in  this  path.  AVe  see  the 
traces  of  many  steps  directed  to  immortality.  Men  of  like  passions 
with  ourselves  have  subdued  temptation.  The  good  and  great  were 
not  miracles  in  the  moral  world.  We  possess  the  same  power,  the 
same  motives,  the  same  heavenly  guide,  and  the  same  promise  of 
Divine  assistance 

"  He  who  never  looks  up  to  an  excellence  higher  than  he  has 
attained,  who  never  regards  himself  as  formed  for  pure  and  gener- 
ous sentiments,  who  never  admits  the  thought  that  exalted  good- 
ness is  placed  within  his  reach,  will  never  put  forth  his  powers  in 
pursuit  of  virtue.  He  will  never  rise.  He  dooms  himself  to  his 
present  state.  Exertion  supposes  that  good  ma}'  be  attained,  and 
vigorous  exertion  supposes  that  the  mind  is  kindled  by  the  prospect 
of  great  attainments.  What  can  you  expect  from  him  who  sees 
nothing  in  the  future  better  than  the  past?  On  the  other  hand,  a 
belief  in  tlie  capacities  and  dignity  of  humanity,  a  belief  of  its  future 
glory,  a  belief  that  higher  excellence  is  the  very  end  for  which  we 
were  made,  is  a  spring  of  generous  and  unwearied  activity.  This 
faith,  when  deeply  fixed  in  the  mind,  is  a  pledge  and  earnest  of  the 


1814-1822]  FORCE  OF  MORAL  PURPOSE.  241 

improvement  to  which  it  aspires.  It  awakens  new  power  in  the  soul. 
It  gives  a  natural  clignit}'  to  the  thoughts  and  actions,  and  produces 
an  almost  involuntary  abstinence  from  all  that  is  false  and  selfish. 

"He  who  accustoms  himself  to  reflect  on  Jesus  Christ,  on  his 
apostles,  on  martyrs,  on  the  best  of  men,  on  the  loveliest  and  sub- 
limest  forms  of  humanity,  who  regards  these  high  beings  as  his 
forerunners  in  the  path  of  glory,  and  whose  chief  prayer  is,  that 
he  ma}-  walk  in  their  steps,  —  this  man  has  learned  the  true  secret 
of  greatness.  Though  on  earth,  he  has  taken  his  place  in  a  higher 
world.  Blessed  be  God,  these  consoling  and  encouraging  views 
are  not  only  authorized  by  the  gospel,  but  Jesus  Christ  came  for 
this  very  end,  to  fix  them  in  our  minds,  to  make  them  the  rule  of 
our  lives.  His  great  object  was  to  exalt  us  to  true  glorj-.  His 
example  was  placed  before  us,  not  to  create  a  transient  emotion, 
but  to  show  us  to  what  height  our  nature  ma}^  be  raised." 

1818.  Force  OF  MOKAL  PURPOSE.  "  The  Christian  is  known  by 
the  energy  with  which  he  wills  to  do  right.  It  is  his  distinction, 
that  his  sense  of  religious  dut}^,  his  moral  principles,  his  purposes 
of  virtue,  predominate  within  him.  He  does  not  merely  love  what 
is  good,  but  chooses  it  with  power. 

' '  We  hear  often  of  greatness  of  character.  The  only  true  great- 
ness consists  in  unconquerable  purpose  of  obedience  to  God.  It 
consists  in  adhering  with  energy  and  courage  to  truth,  duty,  and 
honor.  It  consists  in  taking  our  rules  of  action  from  our  own 
minds,  enlightened  by  revelation,  and  following  our  deliberate  con- 
victions of  .right  in  the  face  of  death  and  danger.  It  consists  in 
asking  ourselves,  first,  not  what  is  expedient  or  safe,  but  what  is 
generous,  excellent,  and  acceptable  to  God  ;  and  in  forming  pur- 
poses of  rectitude  with  a  force  which  man  and  time  and  suffering 
cannot  subdue.  This  holy  energy  of  mind  is  the  only  true  great- 
ness, and  it  is  a  greatness  not  beyond  the  reach  of  our  na- 
ture  

"  The  truly  interesting  portions  of  history  are  those  which  attest 
the  moral  power  of  man,  which  show  us  fellow-beings  sustained  by 
inward  principle  and  confidence  in  God  under  the  heaviest  pressure 
of  pain,  which  show  us  the  mind  unchanged  in  prosperity  and  ad- 
versity, passing  unmoved  through  honor  and  disgrace,  clinging  to 
excellence  when  her  only  earthly  dowry  was  death.  Would  we  see 
our  nature  in  its  greatness,  we  must  see  it  forsaken  by  all  outward 
aids,  compassed  with  obstacles,  yet  steadfast,  gathering  power  from 
difficulty,  and  opposing  a  firmer  front  in  proportion  to  the  violence 
with  which  its  principles  are  assailed. 

16 


242  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

"The  true  use  of  the  trials  and  temptations  of  life,  and  of  the 
turbulent  passions  in  our  own  breasts,  is  to  call  forth  sph-itual  en- 
erg}'  and  heroic  purposes.  God  might  have  placed  us  in  a  world 
where  duty  and  pleasure  would  have  mingled  and  formed  one  cur- 
rent ;  but  where  would  have  been  the  discipline  of  virtue  in  such  a 
world?  Under  such  a  constitution  of  things,  our  nature  would  have 
been  free  from  sin  ;  but  whilst  ever}'  stain  would  have  been  pre- 
vented, almost  every  bright  trace  of  moral  glory  would  have  been 
dim.  The  crown  would  have  fallen  from  the  head  of  goodness. 
We  are  otherwise  circumstanced  ;  —  we  are  placed  now  in  a  region 
of  storms,  perils,  hardships ;  now  in  one  of  blandishments,  seduc- 
tions, snares.  In  such  a  world,  would  we  be  virtuous  and  make 
progress  in  religion,  we  must  put  forth  our  powers  to  choose  the 
good  and  to  love  it  entirely.  The  conscience  must  act  with  vigor. 
Excellence  must  be  pursued  earnestly.  An  inert  purpose  will  avail 
us  nothing.  Our  whole  nature  must  be  awake.  Who  does  not  see 
that  such  a  world  is  fitted  to  form  a  higher  order  of  minds  than  a 
state  removed  from  temptation?  True,  we  must  toil,  but  the  har- 
vest is  rich.  We  must  fight,  but  the  strength  we  gain  b}'  conflict  is 
an  inestimable  compensation.  Here  we  have  one  explanation  of 
our  present  state.  We  are  tried  as  by  fire,  that  we  may  come  forth 
purer  from  the  furnace.  Our  virtues  are  in  peril,  that  we  may  hold 
them  with  a  firmer  grasp.  This  is  the  world  for  the  formation  of 
generous  and  resolute  spirits.  Let  its  purpose  be  in  us  full}'  ac- 
complished  

"This  force  of  principle  gives,  as  it  were,  new  power  to  the 
whole  man.  With  this  inward  spring  how  much  can  we  accom- 
plish, how  much  endure !  Sustained  by  a  consciousness  of  recti- 
tude, diflficulties  no  longer  daunt  us,  and  hindrances  sink  before 
us.  The  minds  of  men  are  exceedingly  weakened  by  inconsistent 
passions,  by  fear,  interest,  regard  to  opinion.  They  effect  little, 
because  they  want  unity.  He  who  is  accustomed  to  ask  what  is 
right,  and  to  espouse  it  with  energy,  leaving  the  consequences  with 
God,  derives  new  power  from  his  singleness  of  purpose.  It  gives 
him  fearlessness  of  mind.  His  faculties,  concentrated  on  his  du- 
ties, act  freely  and  strenuously  ;  he  perseveres  w  here  others  would 
droop,  and  succeeds  where  they  would  fiiil.  Right  action,  by  being 
in  itself  simple  and  harmonious,  brings  an  immediate  reward  in 
peace,  equanimity,  steadiness.  Strong  moral  principle  is  a  spring 
of  honorable  impulse,  and  gives  us  the  highest  use  of  all  our  fac- 
ulties  

"  Force  of  moral  purpose  makes  us  happy.  Happiness  does  not 
consist,  as  men  are  too  apt  to  imagnie,  in  passive  enjoyments.     It 


18U-1822.]  TRUE  HAPPINESS.  243 

is  found  In  the  strenuous  use  of  our  best  affections.  We  enjoy  most 
in  i)utting  forth  our  whole  nature,  in  being  full}'  alive  to  all  scenes 
and  relations,  and  especiall}-  in  preserving  our  noblest  faculties  in 
healthy  and  efficient  activity.  There  is  a  constant  satisfaction  at- 
tending the  vigorous  exercise  of  conscience,  while  a  feeble  operation 
of  the  moral  principle,  which  shows  us  what  is  right,  but  gives  no 
strength  to  perform  it,  is  a  source  of  constant  miser}'.  There  is  an 
exhilaration,  a  hope,  a  joj',  springing  up  within  us  when  we  will 
with  power  what  we  see  to  be  good,  when  we  are  conscious  of 
treading  under  foot  i\\e  low  principles  and  interests  which  would 
part  us  from  God  and  dut}',  when  we  sacrifice  firmly  and  unre- 
servedl}-  selfish  desires,  or  the  world's  favor,  to  the  claims  of  Chris- 
tian rectitude.  Moral  energ}-  inspires  an  unconquerable  resolution, 
and  fills  us  with  a  rare  delight.  The  mind  enlarges  itself,  and 
gains  a  new  feeling  of  its  capacities  and  destination,  in  these 
seasons  of  generous  excitement ;  just  as  the  body  seems  to  gather 
new  height  and  dimensions  when  a  person  is  upborne  by  an  exalted 
sentiment.  The  most  exulting  moments  of  life  are  those  when, 
after  a  conflict  of  strong  passion  with  the  sense  of  duty,  we  come 
ofl"  conquerors,  and  are  conscious  that  we  have  risen  in  spiritual 
existence.  A  feeling  of  this  nature  becomes  in  a  degree  habitual 
to  the  man,  whose  general  tone  of  mind  is  a  sincere  purpose  of  ad- 
hering to  the  path  of  Christian  virtue." 

1814.  True  happiness.  "The  true  happiness  of  man  has  its 
scat  in  the  mind  which  God  has  breathed  into  us,  in  the  enlarge- 
ment of  its  powers,  in  the  elevation  of  its  sentiments,  in  the  firm- 
ness and  purity  of  its  principles,  in  its  ascent  to  its  native  heaven. 
Compared  with  the  capacities  of  this  imperishable  principle,  and 
with  the  means  of  unfolding  and  exalting  it,  everything  outward  is 
worthless. 

"  The  best  of  all  the  blessings  which  God  gives  to  man  is  a  heart 
alive  to  what  is  great  and  good,  which  glows  at  the  sight  of  excel- 
lence, and  kindles  with  desire  to  become  one  with  what  it  admires. 
The  best  of  all  God's  blessings  is  a  heart  which  is  accustomed  to 
aspire  to  him  as  its  source  and  destination,  which  is  alive  to  his  all- 
pervading  presence,  which  meets  him  in  his  works,  converses  with 
him  in  solitude,  blesses  him  in  affliction,  prays  to  him  with  the 
assurance  of  being  heard,  and  hopes  from  him  all  which  infinite 
goodness  can  bestow.  The  best  of  all  blessings  is  a  heart  which 
partakes  God's  benevolence,  which  feels  its  relation  to  the  uni- 
verse, which  is  bound  by  friendship  to  the  good,  by  sympathy  to 
the  afflicted,  and  by  an  overflowing  tenderness  to  the  narrow  circle 


/ 


244  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  34-12. 

of  domestic  life.  Tlie  best  of  all  blessings  is  a  heart  which  car- 
ries with  it  a  consciousness  of  its  unbounded  destiny-,  which  looks 
forward  to  eternit}'  as  its  inheritance,  which  hopes  for  perfect 
goodness,  which  feels  alliance  with  higher  orders  of  beings,  and 
anticipates  a  union  with  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect,  with 
departed  friends,  and  with  the  ascended  Saviour.  In  such  a  state 
of  heart  is  the  true  happiness  of  man." 

1814.  Perfect  society.  "  Perfect  social  happiness  is  reserved 
for  a  higher  stage  of  existence.  Fill  as  30U  ought  Aour  relations 
here,  and  you  will  rise  to  a  better  world,  and  be  welcomed  into  a 
happier  and  purer  community.  But  this  is  not  all.  It  is  very 
doubtful  whether  we  should  be  the  happier,  if  our  social  connections 
were  at  present  improved  as  much  as  we  desire.  We  desire  friends 
who  will  regard  us  with  unremitting  tenderness,  in  whose  societj' 
we  shall  escape  from  every  temptation,  who  would  fly  to  our  aid  in 
every  difBcult}^  to  our  rescue  in  every  danger.  The  thought  of 
such  friends  is  indeed  delightful ;  but  in  the  present  life  we  are  not 
worth}'  of  them,  and  I  fear  they  would  injure  us  by  the  very  excess 
of  their  tenderness.  They  would  probably  keep  ns  all  our  lives  in 
a  state  of  infantile  dependence.  Relying  always  on  their  aid,  and 
shielded  always  by  their  care,  we  should  attain  no  firmness  of  char- 
acter, no  courage,  no  proper  self-dependence." 

1815.  .Indications  of  immortality.  "In  the  inexhaustible 
love  of  knowledge  which  animates  the  human  understanding  we 
have  a  bright  indication  of  the  realit}'  of  a  future  existence.  God 
has  given  to  man  a  spirit  which  is  evidently  designed  to  expand 
through  the  universe,  which  disdains  the  confinement  of  space,  and 
which,  although  for  ages  it  has  been  making  progress  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  nature,  still  thirsts  for  more  extended  information.  There 
is  a  restlessness  in  the  human  mind  which  no  acquisition  can  allay. 
Thought  is  forever  enlarging  its  horizon. 

"  Were  man  destined  to  Hve  only  in  this  world,  his  desires  and 
powers  would  have  been  fitted  wholly  for  this  world,  and  his  capaci- 
ties would  have  been  limited  to  the  means  of  i)resent  enjoyment. 
But  his  faculties  are  now  continuallv  overleaping  the  bounds  of 
earth ;  he  delights  in  discoveries  which  have  no  relation  to  his  ex- 
istence on  this  jjlanet ;  he  calls  to  his  aid  the  arts,  not  merely  to 
render  life  comfortable,  but  to  assist  him  in  tlie  most  remote  re- 
searches ;  invents  instruments  which  extend  his  sight  beyond  these 
visible  heavens,  and  levcal  hidden  stars  and  s_ystems  ;  and  presses 
on  and  on  to  fathom  the  profoundest  secrets  of  tne  universe.  The 
human  mind  has  an  intense  delight  in  what  is  vast  and  unexplored. 


1814-1822.]  INDICATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY.  245 

Does  such  a  mind  carry  with  it  no  proof  that  it  is  destined  to  wider 
spheres  of  experience  than  earth  affords,  —  that  it  is  designed  to 
improve  forever  in  the  knowledge  of  God's  wonderful  works? 

"  In  man's  power  of  looking  forward  with  hope  to  distant  and 
everlasting  ages,  we  have  a  second  clear  mark  of  a  being  destined 
to  anotheT-  existence.  Were  this  world  everything  to  man,  his 
longings  would  not  stray  beyond  its  brief  span.  His  anticipations 
would-be  proportioned  to  his  being.  Of  what  use,  except  to  tor- 
ment him,  would  be  the  idea  of  eternity  to  a  creature  of  time? 
Why  kindle  in  man  the  sublime  sentiment  of  immortality,  if  the 
grave  is  to  be  his  doom  ?  .   .  .   . 

"  Our  capacity  of  knowing  God  is  another  indication  that  we  are 
appointed  to  future  modes  of  being.  The  human  mind  is  not  limited 
to  objects  of  sense.  It  has  a  reUsh  for  the  unseen.  It  forever  tends 
to  rise  from  the  effect  to  the  cause,  —  from  creation  to  its  Author. 
This  tendency  may  be  pronounced  one  of  the  essential,  instinctive 
principles  of  our  nature. 

"  Nor  is  this  desire  of  acquaintance  with  God  slight  and  tran- 
sient. The  human  mind,  by  cultivation  of  pious  sentiments,  may 
be,  and  often  has  been,  raised  to  an  intimate  union  with  the  Divine 
Being,  to  a  vivid  feeling  of  his  presence,  to  an  habitual  discern- 
ment of  him  in  his  works  and  providence.  It  has  attained  to  sen- 
timents of  sacred  rapture,  to  more  than  earthly  joy,  in  praising, 
adoring,  thanking  him  ;  and  just  in  proportion  as  the  heart  is  the 
abode  of  these  generous  emotions,  it  desires  a  nearer  approach  to 
the  Divinity,  and  longs  for  an  improved  condition,  in  which  He  ma}^ 
be  worshipped  with  pure  and  perfect  love.  When  a  mind  has  thus 
become  alive  to  God,  it  clings  to  existence  with  increasing  earnest- 
ness. It  cannot  endure  the  thought  of  being  blotted  out  from 
among  God's  works,  —  of  being  deprived  of  the  consciousness  of 
his  perfections,  —  of  losing  forever  his  friendship,  —  of  rendering 
him  no  more  service.  Piety  necessarily  takes  this  form  of  desire 
for  near  communion  with  the  Infinite  Being  in  a  future,  better,  end- 
less existence  ;  and  what  do  all  these  aspirations  indicate  ? 

"  We  have  another  indication  of  man's  future  life  in  the  moral 
sensibility  which  God  has  imparted  to  the  soul. 

"  The  human  mind,  notwithstanding  its  degradation,  has  some- 
thing in  it  congenial  with  excellence.  It  delights  to  hear  and  read 
of  angelic  worth  and  greatness  of  character.  It  loves  to  conceive 
of  more  perfect  forms  of  human  nature  than  real  life  exhibits.  To 
this  propensity,  poetry  and  fiction  are  indebted  for  their  origin. 
Especially  when  the  mind  has  been  refined  by  the  practice  of  good- 
ness, does  it  naturally  represent  to  itself  a  beauty  of  virtue  such  as 


246  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  34-42. 

has  never  been  attained  on  earth.  It  is  dissatisfied  with  all  that  it 
has  gained,  and  pants  for  greater  purit}'.  Its  verj-  improvements 
prompt  it  to  desire  a  better  existence,  where  present  stains  and 
imperfections  will  be  done  awa^-,  where  it  will  fill  a  wider  sphere 
of  nsefulness,  where  it  ma}-  be  united  with  the  excellent  whom  it 
loves,  and  become  worthy  of  their  friendship.  This  delight  in 
goodness,  this  thirst  for  perfection,  with  which  the  human  mind  is 
instinct,  is  full  of  promise.  Were  this  life  ever3-thing  to  us,  would 
God  have  formed  us  thus  capable  of  conceiving  and  desiring 
heights  of  excellence  which  in  this  life  are  unattainable  ?  Will  he 
crush  the  hope  of  moral  progress,  to  which  our  ver}'  virtues  give 
intenseness?  .... 

"  The  man  of  refinement  and  sensibility  finds  himself,  as  it  were, 
in  accordance  with  universal  nature.  Every  scene,  every  season, 
touches  some  spring  in  his  heart.  The  stream,  the  mountain,  the 
ocean,  the  clouds,  the  distant  constellations,  all  speak  to  him  in  a 
language  that  he  understands.  There  is  something  in  him  akin  to 
all  this  beauty  and  sublimity,  which  gives  him  a  claim  to  property 
in  the  whole  creation.  There  is  especially  in  the  soul  a  sensibility 
to  the  grand,  awful  scenes  of  nature.  Whatever  bears  the  impress 
of  infinite  majest}-,  whatever  is  too  vast  to  be  grasped  b}-  the  senses, 
brings  to  the  heart  a  mysterious  delight.  The  storm,  the  thunder, 
and  raging  ocean,  fearful  as  the}-  are,  still  awaken  a  solemn  pleas- 
ure, for  the}'  speak  to  us  of  almighty  power,  and  accord  with  our 
love  of  greatness.  Now  this  sensibility  to  whatever  is  great  and 
fair  in  universal  nature  seems  to  attest  the  glor}^  of  the  human 
soul,  and  to  point  out  to  it  a  sublime  destiny.  AVlij-  has  God  placed 
man  amidst  this  boundless  theatre,  revealed  around  him  this  end- 
less creation,  touched  his  heart  with  the  love  of  beauty,  and  given 
him  this  delightful  and  awful  interest  in  all  that  meets  his  eye,  if 
he  is  merely  a  creature  of  the  earth,  soon  to  shut  his  e^'es  on  these 
majestic  scenes,  and  to  be  buried  forever  in  a  narrow  grave? 
Does  tlii.s  love  of  the  infinite,  this  attachment  to  the  universe,  seem 
suitable  to  so  frail  a  nature?  Do  the}-  not  suggest  the  idea  of  a 
being  who  belongs  to  the  universe,  and  who  is  to  fill  an  ever- 
widening  sphere?  .... 

"  I  now  i)rocecd  to  another  and  a  more  decisive  indication  of  a 
future  life,  which  is  furnished  us  by  human  nature.  I  refer  to  the 
capacit}'  which  man  actually  possesses  of  attaining  to  greatness  of 
character. 

"  Whilst  man  fulls  far  below  the  perfection  he  desires,  he  yet 
is  sometimes  seen  to  ascend  to  a  sul)limity  of  virtue  which  docs 
honor  to  our  nature,  and  proves  that  it  is  formed  for  heaven.     We 


1814-1822.J  SUBLIME  DESTINY  OF  MAN.  247 

shall  discover  in  history  persons  not  merely'  faithful  in  tlieir  regard 
to  the  prescribed  duties  of  life,  but  who  are  filled  with  a  grand  dis- 
interestedness of  character,  a  sublime  goodness,  which  outstrips  what 
is  positively-  demanded,  which  is  prodigal  of  service  to  God  and  man, 
and  overflows  with  sacrifices  and  sufferings  in  the  cause  of  duty. 

"These  great  examples  show  us  what  man  may  become,  and 
what  he  is  designed  to  be.  These  are  lineaments  of  a  noble  nature, 
marks  of  a  sublime  capacit}',  a  sublime  destiny-.  We  all  have  some- 
times seen  our  nature  manifested  in  these  honorable  forms,  have 
seen  great  temptations  and  calamities  calling  forth  great  virtues, 
have  seen  the  human  countenance  bright  with  the  expression  of 
magnanimous  affections,  and  have  felt  how  lovely  and  how  glorious 
may  be  liumanit}'.  And  can  we  believe  that  the  soul  of  man,  gifted 
with  such  capacities,  is  created  for  a  day?  Can  we  think  that 
the  great  men  who  have  thrown  such  light  on  the  past  were  but 
meteors,  extinguished  as  soon  as  kindled,  —  extinguished  in  the 
midst  of  their  glory?  Why  were  such  sublime  capacities  given  to 
a  being  of  such  an  humble  destin}'  ?  Does  the  all-wise  Creator  thus 
waste  his  noblest  gifts,  and  is  he  so  unconcerned  for  those  on  whom 
these  gifts  have  been  conferred  ?  It  is  a  natural  sentiment,  entitled 
to  respect,  that  exalted  goodness  cannot  perish.  It  is  fitted  for  a 
better  world  than  this,  and  the  Creator  would  be  dishonored  were 
his  noblest  work  to  be  lost.  Nature  may  pass  away,  but  can  good- 
ness, sublime  goodness,  that  image  of  God,  be  destroj'ed?  And 
if  human  nature  be  capable  of  this  goodness,  is  it  not  destined  to 
immortality  ? 

"Another  indication  of  a  future  state  suggested  by  our  nature 
is  to  be  found  in  the  triumph  which  man  often  obtains  over  death, 
in  the  manner  in  which  he  passes  through  the  last  change. 

"  To  the  sensible  appearances  of  death,  so  sad  and  appalling,  we 
should  do  well  to  oppose  the  energ}'  of  soul  with  which  it  is  often 
encountered.  Then  death  itself  will  furnish  us  with  a  proof  of  im- 
mortality. Sometimes  the  hour  of  death  is  an  hour  of  peculiar 
glory  for  human  nature.  Instead  of  being  conquered,  man  is  seen  to 
conquer  the  last  foe  ;  and  he  seems  to  suffer  onlj-  that  the  greatness 
of  humanitj'  may  be  developed.  In  instances  like  these,  the  last 
act  of  the  soul  is  an  assertion  of  its  immortality.  Can  we  believe 
that  this  moment  of  sublime  virtue  is  the  moment  of  annihilation, — 
that  the  soul  is  extinguished  when  its  beauty  is  most  resplendent ! 
If  God  intended  that  death  should  be  an  eternal  extinction,  would 
it  be  adorned,  as  it  often  is,  with  a  radiance  of  the  noblest,  loveli- 
est sentiments  and  affections  of  our  nature?  Would  the  greatest 
triumph  of  man  be  the  harbinger  of  his  ruin  ? 


248  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [JEt.  34-42. 

"  There  is  another  view  yet  more  sublime.  I  refer  to  the  deatli 
of  the  martyr  to  religion,  to  his  countr}',  to  the  cause  of  truth  and 
human  improvement.  You  have  read  of  men  who  preferred  death 
to  desertion  of  duty.  They  encountered  the  menaces  of  power, 
they  endured  the  gloom  of  prisons,  and  at  length,  in  the  fulness  of 
their  powers,  were  led  to  the  place  of  execution.  Their  steps 
never  filtered,  their  purpose  never  trembled,  their  looks  were  firm, 
yet  mild  and  forgiving,  and  with  unshaken  trust  in  God  they  counted 
it  an  honor  to  suffer  in  his  cause.  And  what  now  shall  we  say  of 
death?  That  it  triumphed  over  these  men  of  unsubdued  virtue, — 
that  it  quenched  these  bright  spirits?  Or  shall  we  rather  say 
that  it  was  designed  to  illustrate  the  immortal  energy  of  piety  and 
virtue,  and  to  show  that  the  faithful  soul  is  more  than  conqueror 
over  the  last  foe?  Can  we  think  that  God  impels  those  who  love 
him  by  the  best  principle  in  their  nature  to  encounter  death  in  its 
most  dreadful  forms,  and  then  abandons  them  to  final  extinction,  at 
the  very  moment  when  they  must  be  to  him  most  worthy  of  his  love? 
"  We  find  another  indication  of  immortality  in  our  nature,  when 
we  consider  the  principal  source  of  human  enjoyment.  I  ask,  then, 
what  is  this  principal  source  of  human  enjoyment? 

"  A  slight  observation  will  teach  us  that  happiness  is  derived 
chiefly  from  activity,  from  conscious  growth,  from  the  successful 
effort  to  improve  our  powers,  from  rising  by  our  own  energy  to  an 
improved  condition.  It  is  not  what  we  have  already  gained,  be 
it  knowledge,  property,  reputation,  or  virtue,  which  constitutes  our 
happiness,  so  much  as  the  exertion  of  our  faculties  in  furtlier  ac- 
quisitions. The  idea  of  advancement  is  of  all  others  the  most  con- 
genial with  the  human  mind.  We  delight  not  so  much  in  possession 
as  in  piu-suit,  not  so  much  in  holding  the  prize  as  in  pressing  for- 
ward to  seize  it  with  the  eye  of  hope.  The  feeling  of  progress  is 
the  great  spring  of  hapi)iness ;  and  it  is  this  which  gives  cheerful- 
ness and  animation  under  the  severest  lot. 

"  Now  what  does  such  a  nature  indicate?  Is  it  true  that  man's 
chief  hai)piness  consists  in  animated  pursuit,  in  consciousness  of 
improvement,  —  that,  when  his  advancement  is  most  swift  and 
sure,  this  principle  most  prompts  him  to  press  forward?  Is  not 
perfection,  then,  the  end  of  his  being?  Is  he  not  made  to  advance, 
to  ascend,  forever?  and  does  not  this  soaring  nature  discover  a 
being  designed  for  a  forever  brightening  career?  Would  this  in- 
satiable thirst  for  progress  have  been  given  to  a  creature  of  a 
day,  whose  powers  are  to  i)erish  just  when  beginning  to  unfold, 
and  whose  attainments  are  to  be  buried  with  him  in  eternal  ob- 
livion? .... 


1814-1822.]  GREATNESS  OF  HUMAN  NATURE.  249 

"  If  this  world  were  our  home,  and  our  only  portion,  should  we 
have  sentiments  implanted  b}'  our  Creator  which  teach  us  to  live 
above  it,  and  impel  us  to  feel  that  it  is  noble  to  renounce  it?  Were 
this  our  only  sphere  of  enjoyment,  could  we  ever  deem  it  beneath 
us,  unworth}'  our  nature? 

"But  this  is  not  all;  we  not  only  honor  men  when  the}'  rise 
above  the  world,  its  pleasures  and  gains,  —  we  particularly  revere 
them  when  they  hold  life  itself  with  a  degree  of  indifference,  when 
they  disdain  it  in  comparison  with  principle,  and  advance  to  meet 
seeming  destruction  by  a  resolute  and  unshaken  adherence  to  prin- 
ciple. On  the  other  hand,  we  feel  a  contempt  for  those  who  cling 
to  life  as  the  best  of  blessings.  We  cannot  endui-e  the  coward, 
while  we  are  lenient  even  towards  the  excess  of  courage.  We  view 
with  admiration  the  man  who  is  prodigal  of  life  in  an  honorable 
cause,  and  who  prefers  death  to  the  least  stain  of  guilt.  Now 
these  feelings  surely  indicate  that  the  present  is  not  our  whole  ex- 
istence. Were  this  life  everything  to  us,  should  we  be  so  con- 
stituted as  to  consider  the  voluntary  relinquishment  of  it  as  the 
noblest  deed  ?  Should  we  have  feelings  which  impel  us  to  cast  it 
away?  Were  death  entire  and  eternal  extinction  of  all  our  power 
and  virtue,  would  the  welcoming  of  it  appear  the  height  of  glory  ? 
All  these  feelings  which  I  have  considered,  and  which  prompt  us 
to  sacrifice  the  world  and  life  to  the  purity  of  the  soul,  are  so  many 
attestations  from  God  to  the  dignity  of  the  soul,  so  many  assur- 
ances that  it  is  destined  for  higher  relations  than  those  which  it 
now  sustains  to  the  bod}^  and  the  world." 

1814.  Greatness  of  human  nature,  as  revealed  by  Jesus 
Christ.  "  Consider  the  discoveries  which  Jesus  Christ  has  made 
of  the  glory  of  human  nature.  His  gospel  may  be  said  to  be  a 
revelation  of  man  to  himself.  It  calls  us  home  to  our  own  hearts, 
and  there  discloses  to  us  capacities  which  should  awaken  the  pro- 
foundest  gratitude  and  admiration.  The  great  unhappiness  of  men 
is,  that  the}'  live  abroad,  thc}^  lose  themselves  in  the  accidents 
ai'ound,  they  are  engrossed  by  outward  events,  by  the  changes  of 
the  natural  or  political  world.  The}'  do  not  explore  the  grander 
world  within. 

' '  Jesus  Christ  thought  nothing  worthy  of  his  notice  but  the  soul 
of  man  ;  and  the  whole  tone  of  his  gospel  is,  that  the  soul  is  capable 
of  all  that  is  great  and  excellent,  that  it  may  become  the  image  of 
God,  that  it  may  ascend  to  the  glor}'  and  purity  of  angels.  It  is 
constantl}'  his  doctrine,  that  man  is  appointed  to  join  the  society 
of  heaven,  and  that  he  will  there  shine  as  the  sun,  that  he  will 


250  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^x.  34-42. 

exchange  his  present  imperfection  for  spotless  purity.  As  in  the 
child  we  view  the  future  man,  so  in  man  we  are  taught  b}^  the 
gospel  to  view  the  germ  of  the  future  angel.  We  are  taught  that 
there  is  no  height  of  excellence  in  the  universe  to  which  the  human 
mind  in  the  progress  of  eternity  may  not  attain.  These  are  views 
which  have  little  to  interest  him  who  never  reflects  on  his  inward 
nature,  who  only  feels  that  he  has  a  body  and  organs  of  sense,  and 
who  thinks  the  highest  happiness  is  to  be  found  in  the  gratifications 
of  the  brute.  But  there  are  those  who  feel  conscious  of  the  heavenly 
principle  within  them,  who,  at  the  sight  of  distinguished  virtue, 
pant  to  attain  to  its  resemblance,  who  kindle  at  the  thought  of  a 
boundless  progression,  of  a  never-ending  ascent  towards  God.  To 
such  persons,  how  delightful  is  the  confirmation  which  the  gospel 
gives  to  the  wishes  and  aspirations  of  their  better  nature  !  What 
a  splendor  is  thrown  round  human  nature,  when  it  is  thus  viewed 
as  the  future  associate  of  all  that  is  most  excellent  in  heaven,  as  the 
bright  reflection  of  the  glorious  goodness  of  the  Creator !  " 


SECTION   THIRD. 

CHRIST    AND    CHRISTIANITY. 

1815.  The  end  of  Christianity.  "  This  idea,  that  the  great 
end  of  Christianity,  of  the  mission  of  Jesus,  is  to  exalt  the  human 
character,  although  it  runs  through  the  Scriptures,  has  been  veiy 
much  overlooked.  Christians  have  been  inclined  to  believe  that 
Christ  lived  and  died  to  influence  the  mind  of  God,  rather  than 
the  mind  of  man,  —  to  make  God  favorable  to  us,  rather  than  to 
make  us  obedient  to  God. 

"  I  cannot  but  believe  that  this  is  a  very  erroneous  view,  and 
utterl}'  unauthorized  by  the  Scriptures.  The  Scriptures,  I  think, 
lead  us  to  believe  that  holiness,  or  excellence  of  character,  is  a 
vastly  greater  blessing  than  pardon  or  forgiveness.  According  to 
the  Scriptures,  it  is  a  greater  privilege  to  be  delivered  from  the 
polluting  power  than  from  the  consequences  of  sin.  According  to 
the  Scriptures,  holiness,  goodness,  virtue,  is  the  pearl  of  great 
price.  It  is  God  himself  dwelling  in  the  human  heart.  It  is 
heaven  enjoyed  on  earth. 

"  There  is  no  happiness  but  in  goodness.  This  is  the  felicity  of 
God,  and  this  is  the  best  gift  he  imparts  to  his  creatures.  The 
noblest  work  of  God  is  a  holy,  pure,  virtuous  mind ;  and  Jesus 
Christ  can  i)erform  no  ministiy  more  noble  than  the  recovering  of 
a  sinful  mind  to  a  heavenly  state." 


1814-1822]  CHRIST'S  LOVE  FOR  MAN.  251 

1817.  The  spirit  of  Christ.  "  Our  religion  demands  of  us, 
not  merely  single  acts  and  feelings,  but  a  character  or  general 
frame  of  mind.  We  must  have  Christ's  spirit,  which  means  his 
temper ;  or,  in  other  words,  we  must  have  an  habitual  state  of  the 
soul  answering  to  our  Lord's 

"The  great  principle,  which  runs  through  and  binds  together 
all  parts  of  the  Christian  system  is  this,  —  that  our  happiness,  our 
eternal  happiness,  depends  on  the  character  we  form.  Men  are 
very  apt  to  forget,  that  in  everything  but  religion  they  estimate 
one  another,  not  by  occasional  acts,  but  by  the  general  frame  of 
the  mind.  There  is  such  a  thing,  we  all  know,  as  character,  some- 
thing very  different  from  particular  actions  and  occasional  feelings, 
something  prominent  in  the  mind,  and  which  works  itself  into 
almost  all  the  life.  Character  is  not  something  which  we  put  on 
at  one  moment  and  put  off  at  another,  not  something  reserved  for 
great  occasions,  or  which  appears  only  in  striking  actions.  It  in- 
fluences the  common  decisions  of  the  judgment.  It  gives  a  peculiar 
form  to  the  common  opinions  and  purposes  of  the  individual,  and, 
still  more,  it  pervades  the  whole  mind 

"Jesus  Christ  did  not  come  to  work  upon  the  surface  of  the 
human  heart,  but  to  pervade  it  with  his  religion  ;  he  did  not  come 
to  inculcate  transient  feelings  and  actions,  but  to  implant  perma- 
nent principles,  to  give  a  new  life  to  the  soul.  It  is  well,  it  is 
necessary,  that  we  should  know  the  large  demands  of  his  gospel, 
so  as  not  to  lose  its  blessings  by  stopping  at  low  attainments,  —  so 
as  to  propose  seriously  the  acquisition  of  that  devout,  benevolent, 
and  heavenly  temper,  which  is  the  veiy  essence  of  his  religion. 
We  cannot  be  too  sensible  that  to  be  a  Christian  is  a  great  work. 
If  we  do  not  rightly  estimate  the  difficulties  of  our  task,  how  can 
we  apply  to  it  with  perseverance,  resolution,  spirit,  and  success? 
We  have  to  incorporate  Christian  principles  into  our  very  souls. 
We  have  an  inward  conflict  to  sustain,  a  glorious  change  to  ac- 
complish, by  God's  assistance,  in  that  mind  which  is  most  properly 
ourselves." 

1819.  Christ's  love  for  man.  "To  feel  the  strength  of  Christ's 
benevolence  whilst  he  was  on  earth,  we  must  consider  that  it  re- 
ceived no  aid  from  any  persons  around  him.  It  is  comparatively 
easy  to  cherish  a  sentiment  which  operates  in  every  other  breast, 
to  reflect  a  light  which  shines  strongly  on  ever}-  side.  But  the 
benevolence  of  Christ  received  no  accession  from  S3'mpath3'.  The 
fountain  of  this  living  water  was  within  himself.  He  drew  his  love 
from  his  own  will.     The  age  in  which  he  lived  had  no  thought  of  a 


252  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

benevolence  so  purified,  extended,  and  disinterested  as  his.  It 
was  a  selfisli,  exclusive,  bigoted  age.  The  characters  of  the  most 
improved  were  narrowed  and  debased  bj'  prejudice.  Jesus  Christ 
is  seeu^  to  have  been  a  lonely  being,  even  among  his  disciples,  when 
the  tone  and  temper  of  his  mind  are  considered.  No  one  felt  like 
him,  or  could  lend  fervor  to  his  charity.  His  love  cannot  but  im- 
press us,  when  we  thus  consider  how  solitary,  how  unborrowed  it 
was,  how  it  resisted  every  social  influence  and  example,  in  how  full 
a  river  it  flowed  through  a  parched  land,  from  which  it  received 
no  tributar^^  stream. 

"To  feel  as  we  ought  the  love  of  Christ,  we  should  consider 
also  its  extent.  In  reading  his  history,  we  see  it  spreading  over 
the  whole  face  of  society,  comprehending  all  orders  of  men,  and 
embracing  ever}'  human  relation  and  interest.  His  love  did  not 
owe  its  strength,  as  ours  too  often  does,  to  its  limitation.  The 
current  was  not  powerful  because  hemmed  in.  It  was  not  a  close 
circle,  witliin  which  his  affection  glowed  to  intenseness.  He  felt 
that  the  world  was  his  home,  and  there  was  a  prodigal  liberality  in 
his  affection.  He  could  not  be  happy  but  in  expanding  his  sym- 
pathy to  the  whole  range  of  man's  wants  and  sorrows.  There  was 
no  class  of  human  beings  beneath  his  notice.  If  he  preferred  any 
in  regard,  it  was  the  poor  and  forsaken  ;  precisely  because  they 
needed  most  a  friend  and  benefactor.  The  place  of  instruction  in 
which  he  seemed  to  take  particular  pleasure  was  the  open  air,  where 
all  might  hear  him.  His  charity,  like  that  light  to  which  he  often 
compared  himself,  fell  on  all.  It  spread  from  the  little  child  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  It  blessed  individuals  who  were  near  him,  and 
at  the  same  time  reached  the  most  remote  nations  and  ages.  In 
the  same  breast  dwelt  the  tenderness  of  a  son  for  an  amiable 
mother,  and  the  vast  charity  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  His 
benevolence  partook  at  once  the  character  of  the  stream  which 
winds  through  the  valley,  and  of  the  mighty  ocean  which  connects 
all  lands. 

"  Again,  to  perceive  the  strength  of  Christ's  love  during  his 
ministry  on  earth,  we  must  remember  that  he  carried  with  him  a 
consciousness  of  his  immense  superiorit}'  to  all  around.  He  was 
not  a  man  moving  among  equals.  He  remembered  the  glor}'  he 
had  left,  and  to  which  he  was  to  return.  The  wisest  and  best 
around  him  must  have  appeared  to  him  hke  children.  There  were 
none  in  whose  society  he  could  find  the  refreshment  and  pleasure 
which  we  derive  from  equal  and  congenial  minds.  Now  it  is  when 
men  are  surrounded  by  inferiors,  that  their  pride,  contempt,  impa- 
tience, and  weariness  perpetually  break   forth.     What  a  striking 


1814-1822.]  CHRIST  A  MEDIATOR.  253 

proof,  then,  of  the  benevolence  of  Jesus  is  it,  that,  so  far  from 
exhibiting  indifference  or  contempt,  he  was  distinguished  by  a 
lowly  and  gentle  sweetness  of  deportment !  His  dignity  was  so 
softened  b}-  meek  and  tender  feeling,  that  his  disciples  approached 
him  with  familiarit}-,  lived  with  him  as  a  friend,  and  felt  no  pain 
in  his  presence.  We  should  have  expected  that  a  being  so  august, 
and  whose  works  were  so  wonderful,  would  have  struck  awe  into 
men's  minds  ;  but  the  amiableness  of  Jesus  seems  to  haA^e  triumphed 
over  his  greatness,  and  to  have  inspired  affection  even  stronger 
than  reverence.  We  see  this  illustrated  in  every  part  of  his  his- 
tor}' ;  in  John's  lying  on  his  bosom,  in  Mary's  anointing  his  head, 
and  in  the  deep  and  tender  grief  with  which  his  disciples,  after  his 
death,  came  to  embalm  his  remains.  When  I  consider  this  con- 
scious superiority  of  Jesus,  I  cannot  express  my  conception  of  the 
strength  of  his  benevolence,  as  displayed  in  the  affectionate  famil- 
iarity with  which  he  lived  among  men,  in  the  gentleness  and  con- 
descension of  his  manner,  in  his  hiding  his  majesty  behind  his 
compassion.  It  is  far  easier  to  scatter  blessings  than  to  stoop  to 
the  low  and  to  live  with  them  as  a  friend.  The  Son  of  God  walk- 
ing amidst  the  band  of  his  disciples  as  an  equal,  sitting  at  their 
table,  inviting  to  it  the  publican,  and  conversing  with  all  he  met 
on  the  highway  and  in  the  palace  with  like  sympath}'  and  interest, 
displays  to  m^--  mind  a  charity  stronger  than  when  he  employed 
his  power  to  raise  the  dead.  In  ever}-  act  and  relation  of  common 
life,  we  see  that  his  very  life  and  spirit  was  benignity." 

1817.  Christ  a  mediator.  "The  sentiment  which  I  wish  to 
enforce  is  this, — that  Jesus  Christ  is  continually,  in  all  ages,  in 
all  times,  employed  and  interested  in  behalf  of  the  human  race,  — 
that  his  kindness  to  mankind  is  constantly  operating,  —  that  he 
bears  a  permanent  relation  to  them,  —  that  he  never  ceases  to  do 
good. 

"It  is  to  be  feared  that  these  conceptions  are  not  sufficiently 
familiar.  Many,  when  they  think  of  Christ,  think  of  him  only,  or 
chiefl}^  as  having  lived  several  ages  ago.  Their  minds  travel  back 
to  the  time  when  he  dwelt  on  earth.  They  conceive  of  him  verj' 
much  as  a  teacher  or  prophet  who  brought  an  important  message 
from  God,  and,  having  declared  it,  died  in  attestation  of  it,  and 
then  left  the  world  to  enter  into  a  state  of  reward  and  rest.  Jesus 
Christ  is  thus  separated  from  us,  and  thrown  back  into  a  distant 
antiquity.  AYithout  being  distinctly  avowed,  this  is  with  many  the 
most  habitual  and  frequent  mode  of  regarding  Christ,  and  it  is  one 
cause  of  the  faint  interest  often  manifested  in  his  character 


254  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

"  Such  a  view  of  Christ,  when  no  higher  views  are  connected 
with  it,  will  not  take  a  strong  hold  on  men  of  improved  and  culti- 
vated minds.  They  will  not  feel  that  their  obligations  to  Christ 
are  great,  when  he  is  regarded  only  as  a  prophet  of  earl}-  times  ; 
and  the  reason  is,  that,  from  their  early  familiarit}^  with  the  leading 
truths  of  his  gospel,  and  from  their  habit  of  reasoning  about  these 
truths,  they  come  to  think  that  the}'  might  have  learned  these  with- 
out his  aid.  You  well  know  that,  since  the  time  of  Jesus,  the 
human  mind  has  been  much  employed  in  seeking  for  evidences  in 
Nature,  of  many  interesting  doctrines  which  he  taught.  The  con- 
sequence is,  that  a  system  of  Natural  Rehgion  has  been  constructed. 
We  have  works  of  the  learned,  in  which  God's  unit}-  and  goodness, 
and  a  future  state  of  retribution,  are  supported,  and,  we  are  some- 
times told,  are  demonstrated,  by  proof  drawn  from  the  creation  and 
providence.  Now,  the  effect  of  this  mode  of  appeal  to  Nature  in 
defence  of  these  truths  is,  to  lead  men  to  the  notion  that  Nature  is 
a  sufficient  witness  to  these  doctrines,  and  that  the  authority  of 
Christ  ma}-  be  spared.  Jesus  seems  to  them  to  have  conferred  no 
signal  benefit  in  teaching  doctrines  which  are  written  on  ever}-  page 
of  God's  works.  But  it  is  forgotten  that  it  is  by  the  light  which 
Christ  has  thrown  on  Nature  that  they  are  enabled  to  read  it  with 
so  much  ease.  It  is  forgotten  that,  before  his  time,  philosophers 
hesitated,  wavered,  doubted,  about  these  simple  truths  of  religion, 
as  they  are  now  termed.  It  is  forgotten  that  philosophy  had  not 
taken  a  step  towards  subverting  idolatry. 

"Hence  the  more  cultivated  become  insensible  to  their  obliga- 
tions to  Christ,  when  viewed  as  a  mere  teacher  of  an  early  age. 
Hence  it  is  not  uncommon  to  hear  Nature  arrayed  against  Christ, 
to  hear  Nature  referred  to  as  a  higher  authority  than  Christ,  to  see 
his  instructions  virtually  set  aside  when  they  do  not  correspond 
with  what  is  asserted  to  be  the  doctrine  of  Nature,  although  before 
his  coming  she  had  taught  so  little,  —  although  it  is  his  gospel  which 
has  given  her  a  tongue.  I  have  intended  by  these  remarks  to  show 
that  the  habit  of  thinking  of  Christ  merely  or  chiefly  as  a  teacher 
who  lived  several  ages  ago,  and  left  behind  him  an  excellent  system 
of  religious  truth,  is  not  suited  to  excite  a  strong  interest  in  him,  — 
certainly  not  such  an  interest,  not  such  a  sensibility,  as  pervades 
the  New  Testament. 

"  I  would  now  observe,  that  this  mode  of  viewing  Christ  is  wrong, 
defective,  inconsistent  with  the  plain  declaration  of  the  Scriptures. 
According  to  these,  Jesus  Christ  is  not  a  teacher  whose  agency  was 
chiefly  confined  to  the  time  when  he  was  on  earth.  He  eve?-  lives 
and  is  ever  active  for  mankind.    He  sustains  other  offices  than  those 


1814-1822.] 


CHRIST  A  MEDIATOR.  255 


of  a  teacher ;  he  is  Mediator,  Intercessor,  Lord,  and  Saviour.  He 
has  a  permanent  and  constant  connection  with  mankind,  and  a  most 
intimate  union  with  his  Church.  He  is  through  all  time,  now  as 
well  as  formerly,  the  active  and  efficient  friend  of  the  human  race. 

"  When  Jesus  spoke  of  his  death,  he  never  spoke  of  it  as  if  it 
were  to  separate  him  from  the  concerns  of  our  world,  as  if  he  were 
to  rest  from  his  efforts  for  mankind.  He  regarded  it  as  an  event 
which  was  to  introduce  him  to  a  nobler  and  wider  sphere  of  activity-, 
where  he  was  to  contribute  more  extensively  to  the  conversion  and 
salvation  of  mankind.  '  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.'  '  When 
I  am  lifted  up,'  that  is,  crucified,  '  I  will  draw  all  men  to  me.' 
After  his  resurrection,  he  did  not  speak  as  if  his  work  had  been 
finished  by  dying  and  rising  again.  He  says,  '  AU  power  is  given 
to  me  in  heaven  and  earth.  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  to  the  end  of  the 
world.' 

"According  to  the  Scriptures,  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  as  a  re- 
ward for  his  humiliation,  labor,  and  sufferings  for  mankind,  is  now 
exalted  to  universal  empire.  Angels  are  subjected  to  him.  Nature 
is  subjected  to  him.  He  is  present  by  his  knowledge  and  power 
with  his  Church.  He  never  forgets  the  race  for  which  he  died.  He 
intercedes  for  them.  He  assists  them.  He  watches  over  the  inter- 
ests of  his  religion.  He  will  make  it  victorious.  According  to  the 
Scriptures,  the  time  is  coming  when  his  influence,  now  silent,  will 
be  conspicuous,  when  the  veil  behind  which  he  operates  will  be 
withdrawn.  He  is  to  come  with  hosts  of  angels.  He  is  to  raise 
the  dead,  to  judge  the  world,  to  fulfil  the  solemn  threatenings,  and 
to  confer  the  everlasting  blessings  of  his  gospel. 

"  Tliis  connection  of  Jesus  Christ  with  the  human  race  seems  to 
me  very  clearly  unfolded  in  Scripture,  and  though  it  is  astonishing 
by  its  vastness,  yet  it  is  in  no  respect  incredible.  That  God  should 
choose  to  save  and  bless  a  race  of  beings  by  the  agency  of  an  illus- 
trious deliverer,  is  only  an  exemplification  of  that  system  which  is 
established  in  nature,  under  which  we  see  God  committing  the 
preservation  and  happiness  of  a  large  family  to  a  parent,  of  a  large 
kingdom  to  a  sovereign.  Connections  and  dependencies  of  this 
nature  are  peculiarly  adapted  to  call  forth  an  exalted  benevolence, 
and  the  strongest  and  best  aflfections  of  the  soul.  God  might  have 
raised  mankind  by  an  immediate  act  of  power  from  sin  and  death. 
But  it  is  more  consistent  with  his  character,  and  with  his  usual 
modes  of  operation,  to  assign  this  work  to  an  exalted  being  capable 
of  accomplishing  it,  and  to  place  this  being  in  the  most  interesting 
relations  to  our  world. 

"  Is  it  now  asked,  '  Why  are  these  views  important? '     I  answer, 


256  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

the}^  give  a  new  complexion  to  the  mind  wbicli  truly  imbibes  them. 
The3^  are  not  mere  speculative  principles.  They  are  suited  to  move 
and  actuate  the  soul  to  its  centre,  to  have  a  powerful  operation  on 
the  affections  and  the  life,  and  therefore  they  should  often  be 
revolved.  The  heart  which  is  truly  imbued  with  them  rises  to 
Christ  with  a  grateful  and  affectionate  veneration  which  is  felt  for 
no  earthly  friend.  There  is  something  peculiarly  affecting  in  the 
idea  of  a  love,  a  philanthropy,  living  and  operating  through  ages, 
and  looking  down  from  heaven  with  an  unbroken  tenderness  on  a 

race  like  ours 

"  I  close  with  observing,  that  a  mind  conversant  with  these  views 
of  Christ  acquires  a  vigor  of  hope,  and  a  fulness  of  jo}',  which  can 
be  derived  from  no  other  source.  Our  hope  of  the  heavenly  world 
is  nourished  by  no  views  so  effectual!}'  as  by  these.  That  world,  so 
pure,  so  distant,  so  unseen,  though  beUeved  by  us  to  exist,  is  not 
easily  conceived  of  as  designed  to  be  our  future  dwelling.  It  is  by 
bringing  it  home  to  the  heart,  that  Jesus  is  there,  that  Jesus  in  our 
nature  is  there,  that  he  is  there  as  a  friend,  and  forerunner,  and 
advocate,  —  it  is  by  cherishing  these  views  that  heaven  is  brought 
nigh  to  us,  that  hope  acquires  courage  and  strength  to  ascend  to 
that  pure  and  eternal  state.  It  is  possible,  by  the  aid  which  these 
views  of  Christ  can  give,  to  obtain  a  conviction  of  the  future  glory 
of  human  nature,  altogether  different  from  that  vague  and  cold  be- 
lief which  the  multitude  possess,  —  a  conviction  which  partakes  of 
the  vividness  of  immediate  perception." 

1816.  The  kingdom  of  heaven.  "  Christ  came  to  establish  an 
empire  of  benevolence,  peace,  charity,  on  the  ruins  of  malice,  war, 
and  discord.  The  work  of  diffusing  good-will  through  a  world  of 
free  and  voluntary  agents  must  of  necessity  be  gi-adual,  and,  like 
all  the  great  purposes  of  God,  must  advance  with  a  slow  and  silent 
progress.  But  this  work  has  been  in  a  degree  accomplished  by 
Jesus  ;  and  what  is  more,  there  is  a  very  remarkable  adaptation  in 
his  whole  character  to  this  office  of  spreading  peace  on  earth,  — 
such  an  adaptation  as  proves  him  to  be  the  predicted  Pacificator  of 
the  World 

"At  the  thought  of  this  reign  of  benevolence,  the  whole  earth 
seems  to  me  to  burst  forth  into  rejoicing.  I  see  the  arts  and  civil- 
ization spreading  gladness  over  deserted  regions,  and  clothing  the 
wilderness  with  beauty.  Nations  united  in  a  league  of  philan- 
thropy advance  with  constantly  accelerating  steps  in  knowledge 
and  power.  I  see  stupendous  plans  accomplished,  oceans  united, 
distant  regions  connected,  and  every  climate  contributing  its  pro- 


1814-1822]  DANGERS   OF  FREE   INSTITUTIONS.  257 

ductions  and  treasures  to  the  improvement  and  happiness  of  the 
race.  In  private  life,  I  see  every  labor  lightened  by  mutual  confi- 
dence and  aid.  Indigence  is  unknown.  Sickness  and  pain  are 
mitigated,  and  almost  disarmed,  by  the  disinterestedness  of  those 
who  suffer,  and  by  the  s^nnpathy  which  suffering  awakens.  Every 
blessing  is  heightened  and  diffused  by  participation.  Every  family, 
vmited,  peaceful,  and  knowing  no  contention  but  for  pre-eminence 
in  doing  good,  is  a  consecrated  and  happ}'  retreat,  the  image  of 
heaven.  The  necessary  ills  of  life  shrink  into  nothing.  The  hu- 
man countenance  puts  on  a  new  and  brighter  expression.  Human 
nature  with  its  selfishness  loses  its  base  deformit}',  and  is  clothed 
with  the  glory  of  God,  whose  designs  it  embraces,  with  whose 
spirit  it  is  imbued. 

"Let  us,  then,  welcome  Jesus,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  who  came 
with  this  spirit  from  heaven.  Let  us  welcome  Jesus,  whose  gospel 
has  already  obtained  so  many  conquests  over  selfishness  and  ma- 
lignity, and  brought  to  reign  in  so  many  hearts  the  principle  of 
charity." 

SECTION  FOURTH. 

SOCIETY. 

1814.  Dangers  of  free  institutions.  "  One  of  the  great  ben- 
efits of  a  republican  government  is,  that  it  admits  the  elevation  of 
the  best  men  to  power.  In  hereditary  governments,  the  people 
have  no  pledge  that  the  crown  will  not  be  worn  by  the  worst  and 
weakest  men  in  society.  But  '  a  republic,'  we  are  told,  '  opens 
wide  the  door  of  honor  and  oflfice  to  merit,  —  no  artificial  distinc- 
tions are  there  employed  to  depress  virtue  and  wisdom,  and  supe- 
rior talent  has  at  once  the  means  of  development  and  reward.  How 
great,  then,  is  the  prospect  that,  in  a  republic,  the  power  of  the 
state  will  be  confided  to  the  wise  and  good !'.... 

"  The  privilege  of  electing  rulers  is  indeed  invaluable ;  but  who 
does  not  see,  in  a  moment,  that  this  privilege  will  be  a  blessing  or 
a  curse,  according  to  the  character  of  the  community?  Let  a 
people  be  corrupt,  and  who  will  be  their  favorite,  —  the  uncor- 
rupted  patriot,  the  man  of  inflexible  principle,  too  upright  to  flatter 
bad  passions  and  to  promise  subservience  to  unworthy  views,  or 
the  subtle,  specious  demagogue,  who  pants  for  power,  and  dis- 
dains no  art  by  which  it  may  be  acquired?  Bad  men,  of  all  others, 
are  most  greedy  of  political  power,  for  they  see  in  power,  not  only 
the  gratification  of  ambition,  but  food  for  their  avarice,  and  all 
their  passions  ;  and  in  a  corrupt  state  of  the  community,  what  can 

17 


258  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

preserve  the  reins  of  government  from  their  imhol}'  gi'asp?  De- 
praved themselves,  they  understand  the  depraved  feehngs  of  others, 
and  can  bend  every  popular  passion  to  their  service.  To  the 
mercenary  they  exhibit  the  allurements  of  office  ;  to  the  envious 
they  promise  a  triumph  over  their  superiors  ;  to  the  discontented 
and  restless,  a  removal  of  fancied  or  exaggerated  grievances.  A 
corrupt  state  of  society  is  the  very  element  for  the  artful  and  as- 
piring. Unfettered  by  principle  and  inflamed  b}'  the  prospect  of 
success,  the}'  pursue  power  with  an  energ}'  which  no  labor  can 
exhaust,  no  disappointment  repress,  and  on  which  better  men  look 
with  astonishment.  Better  men  are  too  much  inclined  to  shrink 
in  despair  from  a  conflict  with  these  unscrupulous  spirits.  They 
cannot  stoop,  they  sa}-,  to  artifice  and  falsehood.  The}'  cannot 
purchase  office  by  the  sacrifice  of  uprightness,  by  communion  with 
the  worst  members  and  worst  feelings  of  societ}'.  What  have  the}', 
then,  to  hope  from  this  desperate  struggle  with  the  depraved,  but 
envenomed  and  unceasing  abuse,  and  a  final  defeat,  more  fatal  the 
longer  it  has  been  deferred?  Such  reflections  too  often  paralyze 
the  efforts  of  the  wise  and  upright,  and  the  place  of  honor  which  is 
their  due  is  usurped  by  the  unworthy. 

"Is  it  said,  that,  under  free  institutions  of  society,  men  of 
talents,  if  not  of  virtue,  Avill  rise,  — that  a  republican  country  will 
at  least  escape  a  government  contemptible  by  its  folly  and  weak- 
ness? Yes!  men  of  talent  will  rise;  but  they  may  be  those  who 
have  a  talent  to  wield  a  mob,  rather  than  to  govern  a  state,  —  to 
build  up  a  party,  rather  than  to  strengthen  the  foundations  of 
national  greatness ;  it  may  be  cunning,  not  wisdom,  the  power  of 
managing  vulgar  passions,  which  men  of  vulgar  minds  often  possess 
in  the  highest  degree,  that  will  triumph.  In  some  corrupt  states 
of  society,  not  even  this  miserable  talent  will  be  requisite  to  obtain 
promotion.  Let  a  people  yield  themselves  to  their  passions,  and 
especially  to  envy,  the  besetting  sin  of  republics,  and  they  will 
sometimes  advance  men  of  gross  and  narrow  minds,  in  preference 
to  men  of  distinguishi'd  ability,  for  the  very  purpose  of  humbling 
their  superiors.  In  a  republic,  eminence  in  talent  is  sometimes  a 
crime,  and  rude  and  clamorous  ignorance  may  be  raised  above  it. 
From  these  causes  it  may  happen  again,  as  it  has  happened  before, 
that  the  rulers  of  a  republic  will  be  more  weak  and  wicked  than  the 
spoilt  child  of  royalty.  Of  what  use,  then,  is  the  privilege  of  elect- 
ing rulers  to  a  depraved  peoi)le  ? 

"These  remarks  naturally  lead  to  the  consideration  of  another 
advantage  peculiar  to  repul)lican  institutions,  —  I  mean,  the  power 
they  confer  of  removing  without  violence  rulers  who  abuse  their 


1814-1822.]  DANGERS   OF  FREE  INSTITUTIONS.  259 

trust.  This,  is  indeed  a  great  privilege  ;  but  again  I  sa}^  that  its 
benefits  depend  on  tlie  character  of  the  community.  Let  bad  men 
rise  to  power  by  flattering  the  passions  of  a  depraved  people,  and 
how  are  thej'  to  be  displaced,  except  by  the  arts  of  men  more  subtle 
than  themselves?  The  influence  which  their  elevation  gives  is  all 
directed  to  perpetuate  their  swa}'.  They  wield  the  power  of  the 
state  for  the  great  and  almost  exclusive  purpose  of  strengthening 
the  part}'  to  which  they  owe  their  greatness.  For  this  end,  pat- 
ronage and  office  are  emploj'ed  to  reward  past  services,  and  to 
attract  new  adherents  from  the  ranks  of  their  opponents.  Venal 
presses  are  kept  in  perpetual  action  to  increase  the  perversity  of 
public  sentiment,  and  especiall}-  to  feed  the  spirit  of  party.  There 
is  no  passion  in  our  nature  more  headstrong,  unrelenting,  un- 
bending, and  unwilling  to  be  convinced,  than  party  spirit,  and  on 
this  the  artful  and  aspiring  chiefly  rel}'  for  the  preservation  of  their 
power.  Let  this  be  kindled,  and  a  corrupt  administration  has  little 
to  fear.  To  the  thorough  partisan  no  conduct  of  his  leaders  gives 
offence.  His  conscience  is  in  their  keeping.  Self-will,  pride,  ma- 
lignity, prompt  him  to  uphold  their  worst  measures.  He  would 
rather  see  the  republic  perish  by  their  crimes,  than  owe  its  safety 
to  the  virtues  and  elevation  of  their  opponents.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  a  corrupt  republic  is  the  very  soil  for  party  spirit.  Here 
it  grows  without  culture,  and  shoots  up  into  deadly  luxuriance, 
even  when  left  to  its  native  vigor.  Let  its  growth  be  aided  by 
human  art,  and  it  overspreads  the  fairest  plants  of  social  life,  and 
darkens  a  nation  with  its  poisonous  branches.  With  these  means 
of  support,  bad  rulers  have  nothing  to  fear. 

"Especially  if  the  republic  be  extensive,  as  well  as  corrupt,  is 
the  prospect  of  removing  from  power  those  who  abuse  it  almost 
sure  of  disappointment.  The  rulers  of  such  a  communit}',  seated 
as  the}'  are  in  the  centre,  sending  forth  their  patronage  to  the  re- 
motest extremities,  and  guiding  to  one  end  the  exertions  of  their 
supporters,  have  every  advantage  for  perpetuating  their  power. 
Their  opponents,  scattered  over  a  wide  extent  of  countr}',  having 
different  interests,  wanting  bonds  of  union,  offer  a  divided  and 
feeble  resistance.  They  complain  of  the  oppression  under  which 
the  nation  groans  ;  but  the  credulous  and  malignant  spirit  of  party 
is  instructed  to  la}'  to  their  charge  the  very  evils  which  they  are 
struggling  to  avert,  and  a  guilty  administration  contrives  to  direct 
upon  their  heads  the  indignation  which  its  own  crimes  and  follies 
have  awakened.  Thus  we  see  how  little  benefit  is  to  be  expected 
in  a  corrupt  republic  from  the  power  of  removing  unfaithful 
rulers." 


260  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^t.  34-42. 

1817.  Justice  to  the  poor.  "For  what  end  are  civil  societ}', 
government,  and  propert}'  instituted  ?  Not  to  build  up  a  favored 
few,  but  for  the  general  welfare  of  mankind.  No  vahd  reason,  no 
justification,  can  be  offered  for  the  present  order  of  things,  for  the 
division  of  the  earth  into  distinct  possessions,  for  the  great  inequali- 
ties of  property  which  exist,  but  this,  that  the  improvement  and 
happiness  of  men  in  general  are  protected  by  these  establishments. 
The  rich  derive  their  title  to  their  wealth  from  this  consideration, 
that  the  general  welfare  is  advanced  by  the  institution  of  property-. 
Society  was  not  instituted,  as  they  are  too  apt  to  think,  for  them 
alone  ;  but  the}'  belong  to  society.  The  true  end  of  the  social 
union  demands  that  they  live  for  the  general  as  well  as  individual 
good,  and  the  fact  that  the}^  derive  the  highest  benefits  from  ci\il 
institutions  imposes  on  them  a.  peculiar  obligation  to  promote  the 
public  weal. 

"  Societ}'  is  instituted  for  the  good  of  all  ranks  of  men.  No 
single  rank  is  made  merel}'  for  the  rest,  but  all  are  to  exist  for  each 
other.  It  is  a  sentiment,  abstractly  true,  though  it  can  never  be 
applied  to  practice,  that  a  man  forfeits  his  right  to  property  just  as 
far  as  he  fails  to  contribute,  according  to  his  abilit}',  to  the  common 
well-being.  He  breaks,  in  so  doing,  the  tacit  compact  which  every 
man  is  supposed  to  make  who  becomes  or  remains  a  member  of 
society.  According  to  these  principles,  there  is  a  moral  obligation 
on  the  rich  to  benefit  the  other  ranks  of  society.  This  the}'  neces- 
sarily do,  in  a  measure,  by  employing  the  poor  and  recompensing 
them  for  their  labor.  Such  service  is  a  very  important  one.  But 
when  we  consider  their  abilit}',  and  consider,  too,  the  immense 
benefits  which  they  receive  from  the  labors  of  the  poorer  classes, 
the}'  surely  ought  not  to  restrict  their  aid  to  this  limit 

"The  present  state  of  the  world  seems  to  me  to  demand  of  the 
rich  a  peculiar  regard  to  the  poorer  orders  of  society.  The  time 
has  come,  when  the  security  of  civil  institutions  depends  in  no  small 
degree  on  the  prevalence  of  a  conviction  among  the  mass  of  the 
people,  that  these  institutions  are  beneficial,  that  property  with  all 
its  inequalities  is  a  useful  establishment,  and  that  the  rich  are  their 
benefactors  and  friends.  Human  nature  is  not  formed  to  look 
patiently  on  superiors.  A  spirit  of  discontent  generally  lurks  in 
the  breasts  of  those  to  whom  the  humble  offices  of  life  are  assigned. 
This  spirit  is  at  this  moment  peculiarly  excited,  and  it  is  to  be  coun- 
teracted only  by  tlie  dilfiision  of  good  principles  through  the  great 
mass  of  society,  and  by  a  deportment  in  the  rich  which  will  engage 
the  confidence  of  the  poor 

"  The  consequence  of  the  progress  of  knowledge  and  of  all  im- 


1814-1822.]  EDUCATION   OF  THE  POOR.  261 

proveraents,  in  these  later  ages,  undoubtedly  has  been  to  arouse  a 
restless  and  revolutionary  spirit  through  society.  This  spirit  is  not 
to  be  condemned,  as  if  it  were  altogether  evil.  Whilst  it  is  in 
part  quickened  by  bad  passions,  it  is  in  part  the  natural  and  proper 
movement  of  the  mind  in  pursuit  of  a  better  state  of  things.  It  is 
traced  up  to  the  fact,  that  the  human  mind  has  outgrown  old  insti- 
tutions. It  is  an  impulse  which  we  cannot  but  hope  is  to  result  in 
a  more  just  and  happy  social  order. 

"  But  still  this  spirit  threatens  evil,  and  it  needs  to  be  regulated 
and  checked  by  the  diffusion  of  sound  principles  of  religion  and 
morality.  We  must  not  imagine  that  this  revolutionary  spirit  has 
exhausted  itself.  Its  violence  has  been  stayed  by  late  events.  But 
events  cannot  withstand  the  principles  of  human  nature,  and  the 
powerful  causes  which  are  now  exciting  the  activity  of  the  human 
mind.  The  press,  we  must  remember,  is  at  work,  —  the  mightiest 
engine  ever  set  in  motion  by  man.  A  freer  intercourse,  a  more 
intimate  connection,  a  more  rapid  communication  of  thoughts  and 
feehngs  than  was  ever  known  before,  subsists  between  men  of  the 
same  class,  and  between  different  classes  of  society.  We  must  not 
expect  that  society,  under  these  influences,  is  to  return  to  its  former 
state.  It  cannot  rest  as  much  on  prejudice  as  it  has  done.  It  must 
rest  more  on  reflection  and  on  principle.  In  this  country  in  par- 
ticular, where  the  majority  govern,  where  all  ranks  have  an  equal 
agency  in  the  election  of  rulers,  the  chief  support  of  social  order 
is  to  be  found,  not  in  an  outward  power  of  government,  but  in  the 
internal  conviction  and  moral  and  religious  sentiments  of  the  com- 
munity. Never  did  such  strong  motives,  even  of  a  worldly  nature, 
exist  as  among  ourselves,  for  the  improvement  of  the  poorer  classes 
of  society." 

1817.  Address  before  the  Association  for  the  Education 
OF  Indigent  Boys.  "The  strongest  argument  for  education  is 
found  in  the  nobleness  of  the  human  faculties,  and  the  poor  bring 
with  them  into  being  the  same  faculties  with  the  opulent.  Nature 
knows  none  of  our  arbitraiy  distinctions.  The  child  in  the  hum- 
blest walks  of  Ufe  is  as  richly  gifted,  as  largely  endowed,  as  in  the 
highest.  He  has  within  the  same  inexhaustible  mine  of  power  and 
affection,  the  same  resources  of  heart  and  intellect.  A  flame  is 
kindled  in  his  breast  which  is  never  to  die.  Such  a  being  is  not  to 
be  viewed  as  an  inferior  animal,  or  as  important  onl}'  because  he 
can  perform  certain  labors  for  the  community.  He  is  valuable 
when  considered  as  an  individual,  as  well  as  when  considered  in 
relation   to  society.     He  has  a  nature  which,  for  its  own  sake. 


262  SPIRITUAL   GROWTH.  [^Et.  34-42. 

deserves  to  be  developed,  and  which  God  gave  for  the  very  end 
that  it  should  be  improved. 

"Among  the  poor  are  not  only  all  the  essential  qualities  of  mind 
and  capacities  of  improvement  which  belong  to  all  men,  but  all  the 
varieties  of  intellect  which  are  found  in  other  ranks  of  life.  It  is, 
I  believe,  a  fact,  that  a  large  proportion  of  that  heaven-inspired 
energy  which  is  ordinaril}-  called  genius,  and  which  has  done  so 
much  to  advance  the  human  mind,  to  open  new  regions  of  thought 
and  action,  and  to  give  a  new  impulse  to  society,  has  been  fur- 
nished by  the  inferior  orders  of  society.  There  is  the  same  chance, 
to  speak  in  human  language,  that  the  sublime  faculties  of  a  Locke 
and  Newton  are  wrapped  up  in  the  child  of  the  poor  man  as  in  the 
titled  descendant  of  nobles.  As  many  great  minds  have  dawned  in 
hovels  as  in  palaces.  And  the  poor  have  not  onl}'  their  proportion 
of  superior  intellect,  but  they  carry  within  them  seeds  of  the  highest 
and  noblest  virtues,  of  capacities  of  elevated  devotion,  of  disinter- 
estedness, of  heroism,  of  those  properties  which  raise  our  nature  from 
the  dust  and  mark  out  its  immortal  destin}'.  The  possession  of  such 
a  nature  as  this  by  the  poor  is  certainl}-  an  unanswerable  argument 
for  opening  to  them,  as  far  as  possible,  all  those  advantages  which 
call  forth  the  mind  and  heart,  which  give  elevation  of  character, 
and  render  the  whole  of  life  a  state  of  improvement 

"  Of  all  our  benevolent  institutions,  those  which  regard  children 
seem  to  me  to  hold  the  first  rank.  Let  charity,  indeed,  extend 
itself  with  a  divine  activity  to  all  the  varieties  of  human  want ;  let 
it  multiply  its  forms  of  action  in  proportion  to  the  forms  of  guilt 
and  suffering ;  let  its  channels  be  everywhere  widened  and  deep- 
ened ;  let  it  erect  hospitals,  establish  dispensaries  and  provident 
institutions,  watch  over  almshouses,  open  receptacles  for  the  refor- 
mation of  the  vicious,  and  administer  comfort  to  the  aged  and 
dying.  The  aged  and  dying,  however,  will  soon  cease  to  suffer ; 
their  journey  is  almost  finished  ;  and  the  poor  of  middle  age  have 
formed  characters  which  yield  slowly  and  reluctantly  to  the  hifiu- 
ence  of  any  means  of  improvement.  But  the  child  has  just  begun 
to  live,  with  a  mind  pliant  and  tender,  with  habits  not  now 
rigid  and  unyielding,  with  a  heart  not  now  tainted  and  hardened, 
yet  with  propensities  which,  if  unchecked,  will  probably  issue  in 
guilt  and  misery.  Abandon  him  to  ignorance,  and  his  youth,  if  he 
struggle  through  its  hardships.  Mill  train  him  to  crimes  for  which 
society  has  reared  the  prison  and  the  gallows 

"The  children  of  poor  families  too  often  inherit  the  vices  and 
miseries  of  their  parents.  Brought  up  in  filth,  seeing  constantly- 
the  worst  examples,  hearing  licentious  and  profane  conversation, 


1814-1822.1  ALMS-GIVING.  263 

malfse  a  tbm,sand  frauds, -from  such  cbikUen  what   cau   you 

w    »ut  one  moral  or  religious  principle,  or  one  1^°"-    ™'''°'^°f 
acuiriug  ^^^-^IJ^  r^er^iJZr'rS  ;re'S 
,;a::;:ra.r.^*ttnBf?  or  cheerful  and  useful  labor^  and  to 
tte  f2iUes  of  a  belter  world.     Do  not,  do  not  let  bmr  per.sh. 

1819  Our  duties  to  the  poor.  "Formerly,  the  task  of  a 
ChrttL  minlter  in  pleading  for  the  poor  was  comparat.vely  easy^ 
He  bad  tto  plain  precepts  of  his  Master  to  support  bnn    and  he 

Sntrorars^Sat^tu'lhe  can  es  and  remedies  of 

:"  xls  to  the  selfish  and  avaricious  for  shutting  "-r  hearts  and 
hands  We  h.ave  been  told  that  poverty  grows  by  chai  i  y ,  that  the 
nro  tct  of  relief  begets  improvidence,  that  our  giving  bnbes  men 
toirake  labor,  that  the  way  to  cheek  beggary  is  to  make  .t  an 
^tokrable  condition  ;  -  from  all  which  the  inference  seems  natural 
t^l  the  less  we  give,  the  better.  If  this  doctrine  has  not  been  set 
f„Hl,  n  so  many  words,  yet  I  think  there  has  been  an  approach  to 
tt,  It  ulat  givhrg  tithe  poor  is  by  some  thought  a  less  binding  duty 

"'u'/m"n'not  to  deny  that  much  useful  truth  has  been  brought 
hpfore  the  Dublic  by  the  late  discussions  on  the  subject  of  poverty. 
I  Im  far  fom  denying  that  injudicious,  indiscriminate  chanty  has 
swebed  he  evil  which  it  hoped  to  alleviate.    The  ChnsUan  precept 
T'  live  alms,-  has  sometimes  done  injury,  and  chiefly  because  it 
t.  Tot  been   imited,  as  it  should  be,  by  another  precept,  namely. 
'hc  ttt  will  not  work,  neither  shall  be  eat,'  that  .s,  ^e  suppo.ted 
bv  charity.     In  the  Dark  Ages,  alms-giving  was  though   an  expia 
tton  to  sin  and  a  passport  to  heaven.     The  dying  left  legacies  U, 
coments    to  be  doled  out  to  daily  mendieauts  without  regard  to 
hreharalr  or  state,  so  that  society  lost  the  labor  of  many  of 


264  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^x.  34-42. 

its  strongest  and  healthiest  members.  And  this  evil  has  not  been 
confined  to  the  Cathohcs.  Protestant  sloth  has  been  as  injurious 
as  Romish  superstition.  Too  man}-  among  us  give  from  a  vague 
sense  of  duty,  but  forget  the  obligation  of  giving  vigilantly,  care- 
full}',  in  the  manner  most  suited  to  do  good.  It  is  easier  to  give 
mone}'  than  time  and  personal  attention.  Hence,  charit}'  nourishes 
idleness  instead  of  solacing  want,  and  is  a  bount}'  on  improvidence. 
Alms-giving,  I  freel}'  allow,  has  caused  much  evil.  I  am  also  pre- 
IDared  to  go  farther  and  say,  that,  let  us  give  ever  so  judiciously, 
we  shall  occasionally  do  evil,  as  well  as  good.  The  objections  made 
to  the  most  cautious  charity  are  not  wholl}-  without  foundation.  But 
this  is  no  reason  for  ceasing  to  give.  In  making  these  admissions, 
we  are  only  saying  that  charity  partakes  of  the  imperfection  of  all 
human  things.  The  truth  is,  we  seldom  or  never  receive  or  com- 
municate an  unmixed  good.  Ever}'  virtue  produces  occasional  evil. 
"•It  is  sometimes  objected  to  alms-giving,  as  I  have  intimated, 
that  to  prevent  poverty  is  better  than  to  relieve  it ;  and  that  there 
is  but  one  way  of  prevention,  which  is,  to  take  from  men  all  expec- 
tation of  relief  if  the}'  become  poor.  They  will  then,  it  is  thought, 
have  motives  which  can  hardly  fail  to  keep  them  from  want.  But, 
unluckily  for  such  reasoning,  there  is  one  way  only  of  cutting  off 
this  expectation,  and  God  forbid  that  we  should  ever  resort  to  it. 
That  only  way  is,  to  drive  all  human  feeling  from  our  breasts ;  for 
as  long  as  any  kindness  exists  in  a  community,  so  long  there  will 
be  resources  open  to  the  poor,  let  their  poverty  come  how  it  may, 
and  so  long  relief  will  be  expected  by  the  improvident.  I  repeat  it, 
there  is  but  one  way  of  suppressing  this  hope  of  relief.  We  must 
cast  from  us  all  kind  feeling.  We  must  turn  our  hearts  to  stone. 
We  must  bring  ourselves  to  see  unmoved  the  beggar  die  at  our 
doors.  We  must  make  up  our  minds  sternly,  inflexibly,  to  give 
nothing,  let  misery  assail  us  with  ever  so  piercing  a  cry,  with  ever 
so  haggard,  and  worn,  and  famished  a  look  ;  for  nothing  but  this 
will  prevent  the  improper  dependence  which  is  said  to  generate 
poverty.  Let  any  s}mpathy  survive,  and  it  will  act  and  be  a  hope 
to  the  improvident ;  and  can  any  man  seriously  think  that  the  evils 
of  tills  h()i)c  are  so  great,  that  to  avoid  them  we  should  turn  our- 
selves into  brutes,  dry  up  the  fountains  of  humanity  within  us,  part 
with  all  that  is  tender  and  generous  in  our  nature  ?  I  am  free  to 
say  that  the  most  injudicious  alms-giving  is  an  infinitely  less  evil  to 
society  than  this  extinction  of  sympathy.  Better  multiply  beggars, 
than  make  ourselves  monsters.  Kind  affection  is  the  life  of  a  coni- 
V  munity,  and  the  excesses  of  these  affections  are  to  be  chosen  before 
a  frozen  selfishness 


1814-1822.]  CHARITY  A   TEST  OF  RELIGION.  265 

"  These  remarks  will  not,  I  hope,  be  misunderstood.  I  am  not 
pleading  for  injudicious  alms-giving.  It  is  a  great  evil.  But  there 
is  an  opposite  evil  which  I  think  greater,  and  that  is,  making  use  of 
the  bad  consequences  of  charit}'  as  arguments  for  banishing  charity 
from  society  ;  and  to  this  point  man}'  late  speculations  on  poverty 
have  seemed  to  me  to  tend.  Christ's  precept  to  give  to  the  poor 
is  not  a  blemish  in  his  system,  but  an  important  and  noble  part 
of  it.  The  occasional  abuses  of  charity  are  not  to  discourage  us 
in  exercising  this  virtue.  We  must  feel,  however,  that  we  but  half 
do  this  duty  when  we  do  it  carelessly.  We  must  strive  to  give 
so  that  the  least  evil  and  the  greatest  good  may  result  from  our 
beneficence 

"  Does  an}'  one  ask,  '  Why  shall  I  pity  and  help  the  poor  man?' 
I  answer,  because  he  is  a  man  ;  because  povert}^  does  not  blot  out 
his  humanity ;  because  he  has  your  nature,  your  sensibilities,  your 
wants,  your  fears  ;  because  the  winter  wind  pierces  him,  and  hunger 
gnaws  him,  and  disease  racks  and  weakens  him,  as  truly  as  they  do 
you.  Place  yourself,  m}'  friend,  in  his  state ;  make  yourself,  by  a 
strong  effort  of  thought,  the  inhabitant  of  his  unfurnished  and  cold 
abode,  and  then  ask  why  you  should  help  him.  He  is  a  man, 
though  rags  cover  him,  though  his  unshorn  hair  may  cover  his 
human  features,  —  a  member  of  your  family,  a  child  of  the  same 
Father,  and,  what  is  most  important,  he  not  only  has  your  wants 
and  feelings,  but  shares  with  you  in  the  highest  powers  and  hopes 
of  human  nature.  He  is  a  man  in  the  noblest  sense,  created  in 
God's  image,  with  a  mind  to  think,  a  conscience  to  guide,  a  heart 
which  ma}'  grow  warm  with  sentiments  as  pure  and  generous  as 
your  own.  To  some  this  may  seem  declamation.  There  are  some 
who  seldom  think  of  or  value  rnan  as  man.  It  is  man  born  in 
a  particular  rank,  clad  by  the  hand  of  fashion  and  munificence, 
moving  in  a  certain  sphere,  whom  they  respect.  Poverty  separates 
a  fellow-being  from  them,  and  severs  the  golden  chain  of  humanity. 
But  this  is  a  gross  and  vulgar  way  of  thinking,  and  religion  and 
reason  cry  out  against  it.  The  true  glory  of  man  is  something 
deeper  and  more  real  than  outward  condition.  A  human  being, 
created  in  God's  image,  and,  even  when  impoverished  by  vice, 
retaining  power  essentially  the  same  with  angels,  has  a  mysterious 
importance,  and  his  good,  where  it  can  be  promoted,  is  worthy  the 
care  of  the  proudest  of  his  race 

"  Next  to  the  great  doctrine  of  immortal  life,  we  may  say  that 
the  most  characteristic  element  of  our  religion  is  that  of  universal 
CHARITY.  And  the  doctrine  of  immortality  and  the  duty  of  charity 
are  not  so  separate  as  many  may  think  ;  for  love  of  benevolence  is 


2G6  SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  [^x.  34-42. 

the  spirit  of  tlie  eternal  world,  the  temper  which  is  to  make  us  blest 
beyond  the  grave,  and  to  give  us  hereafter  the  highest  enjoyment  of 
the  character  and  works  of  our  Creator.  There  is  another  view  by 
which  it  appears  that  the  Christian  doctrine  of  immortality  blends 
with  and  sustains  charity  ;  —  for,  according  to  this  doctrine,  all 
men  are  to  live  forever,  Christ  died  for  all,  all  are  essentially  equal, 
and  the  distinctions  of  their  lives  are  trifles.  Thus  it  is  seen  that 
the  poor  are  recommended  with  an  infinite  power  to  the  love  and 
aid  of  their  brethren.  No  man  can  read  the  New  Testament  hon- 
estly, and  not  learn  to  measure  his  religion  chiefly  by  his  benevo- 
lence. If  the  spirit,  and  example,  and  precepts  of  Jesus  Christ 
have  not  taught  us  to  love  our  fellow-creatures,  we  have  no  title 
whatever  to  the  name  and  the  hope  of  Christians.  If  we  have  not 
learned  this  lesson,  we  have  learned  nothing  from  our  Master. 
About  other  things  Christians  may  disjiute,  but  here  there  can 
be  no  controversy.  Charit}'  is  a  dut^'  placed  before  us  with  a  sunlike 
brightness.  It  comes  to  us  from  the  lips,  the  life,  the  cross,  of  our 
Master ;  and  if  charit}'  be  not  in  us,  then  Christ  does  in  no  degree 
live  within  us,  then  our  profession  of  his  religion  is  a  mockery, 
then  he  will  say  to  us  in  the  last  day  :  '  I  was  hungrj^  and  ye  gave 
me  no  meat,  thirsty  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink.  I  know  you  not. 
Depart. ' " 

1820.  The  glory  of  a  state.  "It  is  plain,  that,  to  promote 
the  good  of  our  country,  we  must  know  what  that  good  is,  and  as 
misapprehensions  on  this  subject  have  done  infinite  injur}',  so  just 
views  will  show  us  that  every  man  in  everj^  class  may  contribute  to 
it.  The  honor  and  happiness  of  a  community'  consist  not  so  much 
in  the  ability-  and  acts  of  its  public  men,  as  in  the  character,  spirit, 
and  condition  of  its  citizens  ;  and  whatever  or  whoever  advances 
these  builds  up  the  public  welfare. 

"  If  I  were  to  express  in  a  line  what  constitutes  the  glory  of  a 
state,  I  should  say,  it  is  the  free  and  fall  development  of  Human 
Nature.  That  country  is  the  happiest  and  noblest,  whose  institu- 
tions and  circumstances  give  the  largest  range  of  action  to  the 
human  powers  and  art'ections,  and  call  forth  man  in  all  the  variety 
of  his  faculties  and  feelings.  That  is  the  happiest  country,  where 
there  is  most  intelligence  and  freedom  of  thought,  most  afl!'ection 
and  love,  most  imagination  and  taste,  most  industry'  and  enterprise, 
most  public  si)ii'it,  most  domestic  virtue,  most  conscience,  most 
piet}'.  Wealth  is  a  good  only  as  it  is  the  production  and  proof  of 
the  vigorous  exercise  of  man's  powers,  and  is  a  means  of  bringing 
out  his  affections  and  enlarging  his  faculties.     Man  is  the  only 


1814-1822.]  THE   GLORY  OF  A  STATE.  267 

glory  of  a  countr}^  and  it  is  tlie  advancement  and  unfolding  of 
human  nature  which  is  the  true  interest  of  a  state. 

"  If  this  be  true,  we  learn  what  is  the  great  end  of  government, 
the  highest  good  of  civil  polity.  It  is  liberty.  I  am  almost  tempted 
to  say  that  this  is  the  onl}-  political  blessing,  and  the  only  good  gift, 
which  law  and  order  can  confer  on  a  country.  By  liberty  I  do  not 
mean  what  anciently  bore  the  name,  for  anciently  they  had  little 
but  the  name.  I  mean  the  protection  of  every  individual  in  his 
rights,  and  an  exemption  from  all  restraints  but  such  as  the  public 
good  requires.  We  do  not  want  government  to  confer  on  us  positive 
blessings,  but  simply  to  secure  to  us  the  unobstructed  exercise  of 
our  powers  in  working  out  blessings  for  ourselves.  The  spring  of 
happiness  is  in  man's  own  breast,  not  in  his  government ;  and  the 
best  office  of  government  is  to  remove  ol)structions  to  this  inex- 
haustible energ}'  of  the  living  spirit  within  us.  Liberty,  then,  is 
the  greatest  political  blessing,  the  distinction  of  a  well-governed 
country.  It  is  a  good  which  cannot  be  measured.  The  glory  of  a 
country-,  then,  consists  in  the  free  character  of  its  institutions,  in 
the  security  the}'  give  to  every  man's  rights 

"  Ever}-  man  may  promote  the  glory  of  his  country,  for  every 
man,  whatever  be  his  sphere,  ma}'  put  forth  his  powers  in  useful 
pursuits,  and  express  and  give  some  extension  to  right  principles 
and  virtuous  affections.  Let  none  imagine  that  they  can  do  no 
good  to  the  community  because  they  are  in  private  stations.  The 
error  has  alwa3-s  been  to  ascribe  to  public  men  and  public  institu- 
tions an  undue  share  in  the  prosperity  of  a  nation.  The  great 
powers  in  the  natural  world,  on  which  its  motion,  life,  beauty,  hap- 
piness, depend,  are  subtile,  and  ever^'where  diffused  ;  and  so  the 
most  effectual  springs  of  a  nation's  felicit}'  are  very  different  from 
the  cumbrous  machiner}-  which  works  at  the  seat  of  government. 
They  are  silent  as  the  principle  of  life  in  the  animal  frame.  They 
consist  in  what  we  call  the  spirit  of  a  people.,  in  a  general  respect 
for  rights,  which  is  the  sole  foundation  of  civil  liberty,  in  industr}', 
temperance,  intelligence,  humanit}',  and  piety.  These  are  the  ele- 
ments of  a  country's  life,  and  he  who  multiplies  and  invigorates 
these  is  a  public  benefactor. 

"  The  sentiment,  that  a  countrj^'s  happiness  consists  chiefly  in  its 
virtue,  is,  I  know,  a  trite  one  ;  but,  if  I  mistake  not,  its  truth  is  at 
this  moment  receiving  some  new  illustrations,  and  the  time  seems 
to  be  coming,  when  it  will  be  felt  as  it  has  never  been  felt  before. 
Whoever  looks  at  Europe  will  see,  I  think,  that  a  new  spirit  has 
gone  forth  among  the  nations  ;  that  the  human  mind  is  unusuall}'- 
shaken ;    that  societ}'  demands  some   new  organization,  and  that 


268  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

new  powers,  and  those  of  a  moral  nature,  must  be  set  at  work  to 
sustain  its  institutions.  The  old  methods  of  keeping  men  in  order 
—  I  mean  military  force,  state  religions,  and  the  show  and  pomp  of 
courts  —  have  lost  much  of  their  efficac}',  and  lost  them,  not  merely 
through  temporar}-  causes,  but  through  the  very  progress  of  the 
human  mind.  There  is  an  accumulation  of  intelligence  and  energy-, 
a  consciousness  of  power,  in  the  mass  of  the  people,  never  pos- 
sessed before  ;  and  such  a  state  of  society'  seems  to  me  to  demand 
a  stronger  influence  and  wider  diffusion  of  moral  and  religious  prin- 
ciple than  formerlj-.  The  old  arts  of  restraining  a  people  b}-  super- 
stition and  ignorance  will  no  longer  avail.  A  purer  religion  and  a 
purer  morality  must  take  their  place,  or  the  prospects  of  the  world 
are  dark  indeed.  Governments  are  certainl}'  weakened  ;  the}-  have 
lost  in  an  unprecedented  degree  the  confidence  of  the  governed ; 
the  people  are  more  intelligent  and  combined  ;  and  unless  an  inward 
principle  of  order  be  substituted  for  outward  restraint,  unless  gov- 
ernments reform  themselves  and  aid  in  reforming  society',  we  maj' 
find  that  we  have  but  entered  upon  the  horrors  of  the  revolutionar}' 
period.  These  speculations  ma}-  be  founded  on  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  state  of  the  world  ;  but  of  one  great  principle  I  have  no 
doubt,  that  we  are  passing  through  a  process  which  will  give  new 
eflficacy  to  the  conviction,  that  the  stability  of  governments  is  their 
justice,  and  that  the  prosperity  of  states  rests  on  moral  improve- 
ments, on  a  Pure,  Rational  Religion,  on  a  Spirit  of  Humanity, 
within  every  nation  of  Chiistendom,  and  toward  all  mankind." 


Chapter  V. —MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY. 

Mt.  34-42.     1814-1822. 

We  have  traced  Mr.  Channing's  course  through  the  irksome  years 
of  the  Unitarian  controversy,  and  have  watched  his  spiritual  growth 
as  manifested  in  the  sermons  preached  to  his  people.  And  now  we 
would  observe  him  in  his  social,  pastoral,  and  home  relations  during 
this  period  of  his  middle-age  ministry.  But  before  describing  this 
portion  of  his  life,  it  may  serve  yet  further  to  illustrate  his  character 
as  a  controversialist  and  a  theologian,  to  make  a  few  remarks,  which 
are  naturally  suggested  by  the  preceding  chapters. 

The  first  point  to  be  noticed,  and  it  is  an  important  one,  is,  that 
it  was  his  sense  of  duty  to  the  cause  of  Free  Inquiry,  endangered 


U  V 


1814-1822.]  UNITY  IN  VARIETY.  269 

as  he  thought  by  a  bigoted  conservatism,  which  led  Mr.  Charming 
into  controversy.  The  individualizing  tendency  of  Protestantism 
was  then,  in  New  England  as  elsewhere,  swelling  like  the  waters  of 
a  freshet,  which  threaten  to  sweep  away  dikes  and  cultivated  acres, 
as  well  as  ic}'  fetters.  But  though  he  saw  the  risks  to  which  Chris- 
tendom was  exposed,  through  the  rashness  produced  by  rationalism 
in  the  self-willed  and  superficial,  Mr.  Channing  at  once  recognized 
that  it  was  as  wrong  as  it  was  vain  to  attempt  to  dam  up  the  liberal 
spirit  which,  on  all  sides,  was  seeking  a  larger  form  of  thought  and 
life.  He  welcomed  the  spring-time,  and  accepted  cheerfull}^  the  in- 
conveniences of  a  transition  age.  The  unity  in  uniformity^  enforced 
by  the  decrees  of  infallible  councils,  and  by  the  creeds  of  Protestant 
synods,  had  passed  forever ;  and  in  the  future  was  foreshadowed 
a  unity  in  variety^  arising  spontaneously  among  the  body  of  believ- 
ers bound  into  one  by  the  consciousness  of  limitation  and  error,  the 
desire  of  concert  and  mutual  reverence.  He  rejoiced  to  think  that 
the  sj'mbol  was  thus  to  give  place  to  the  reality,  that  the  con- 
strained catholicity  of  a  dominant  clergy  was  to  make  room  for 
the  universal  communion  of  Christians,  filled  with  one  spirit  of  holy 
love. 

Meanwhile,  a  period  was  to  be  passed  through  of  sectarian 
division,  wherein  each  party,  in  its  wish  to  be  faithful  to  its  own 
convictions,  would  be  tempted  to  treat  rival  denominations  with  in- 
justice. This  era  of  debate  he  saw  to  be  inevitable.  It  was  folly  to 
fear  it.  It  was  mere  waste  of  time  to  oppose  or  to  mourn  over  it. 
Duty  urged  him  to  follow  the  providential  leading,  with  confidence 
to  seek  plearer  views,  with  candor  to  listen  to  all  who  uttered  their 
sincere  opinions,  never  to  <;over  up  doubt  by  make-belief  or  half- 
belief,  without  dogmatism  to  be  decided,  and  patientl}'  to  wait  for 
the  time  when  glimpses  should  be  enlarged  to  complete  vision.  As 
faith  ascends  into  knowledge,  it  becomes  ever  more  apparent  that 
according  to  Divine  design  the  multiplicity  of  minds  is  a  means  of 
harmony,  that  the  most  bitterly  opposed  partisans  are  each  other's 
necessary  complements,  and  that  the  church  cannot  afford  to  spare 
a  single  sect  till  the  truth  which  it  embodies  has  attained  its  right- 
ful place.  The  principle  b}'  which  Mr.  Channing  was  governed  he 
has  thus  distinctl}^  expressed,  and  the  passage  throws  much  light 
upon  his  views  of  his  own  position  and  duties  :  — 

"  It  is  due  to  myself  to  say,  that  the  controversial  character  of  a 
part  of  my  writings  is  to  be  ascribed,  not  to  the  love  of  disputation, 
but  to  the  circumstances  in  which  I  was  called  to  write.  It  was  my 
lot  to  enter  on  pubhc  life  at  a  time  when  this  part  of  the  country 


270  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [Mr.  34-42. 

was  visited  b}'  what  I  esteem  one  of  its  sorest  scourges ;  I  mean, 
a  revival  of  tlie  spirit  of  intolerance  and  persecution.  I  saw  the 
commencement  of  those-  systematic  efforts,  which  have  been  since 
developed,  for  fastening  on  the  community  a  particular  creed. 
Opinions  which  I  thought  true  and  purifying  were  not  only  assailed 
as  errors,  but  branded  as  crimes.  Then  began  what  seems  to  me 
one  of  the  gross  immoralities  of  our  times,  the  practice  of  aspersing 
the  characters  of  exemplaiy  men,  on  the  ground  of  differences  of 
opinion  as  to  the  most  mysterious  articles  of  faith.  Then  began 
those  assaults  on  freedom  of  thought  and  speech,  which,  had  the}' 
succeeded,  would  have  left  us  onlj'  the  name  of  religious  liberty. 
Then  it  grew  perilous  to  search  the  Scriptures  for  ourselves,  and  to 
speak  freely  according  to  the  convictions  of  our  own  minds.  I  saw 
that  penalties,  as  serious  in  this  country  as  fine  and  imprisonment, 
were,  if  possible,  to  be  attached  to  the  profession  of  liberal  views 
of  Christianity,  —  the  penalties  of  general  hatred  and  scorn;  and 
that  a  degrading  uniformity  of  opinion  was  to  be  imposed  by  the 
severest  persecution  which  the  spirit  of  the  age  would  allow.  At 
such  a  period,  I  dared  not  be  silent.  To  oppose  what  I  deemed 
error  was  to  me  a  secondary  consideration.  My  first  duty,  as  I 
believed,  was,  to  maintain  practically  and  resolutely  the  rights  of 
the  human  mind ;  to  live  and  to  suffer,  if  to  suffer  were  necessary', 
for  that  intellectual  and  religious  liberty  which  I  prize  incomparable- 
more  than  my  civil  rights.  I  felt  myself  called,  not  merely  to  plead 
in  general  for  freedom  of  thought  and  speech,  but,  what  was  more 
important  and  trying,  to  assert  this  freedom  b}-  action.  I  should 
have  felt  m)'self  dislo3'al  to  truth  and  freedom,  had  I  confined  mj'- 
self  to  vague  commoni)laces  about  our  rights,  and  forborne  to  bear 
my  testimony  expressly  and  specially  to  proscribed  and  persecuted 
opinions.  The  times  required  that  a  voice  of  strength  and  courage 
should  be  lifted  up,  and  I  rejoice  that  I  was  found  among  those  by 
whom  it  was  uttered  and  sent  far  and  wide.  The  timid,  sensitive, 
diffident,  and  doubting  needed  this  voice  ;  and  without  it,  would 
have  been  overborne  hy  the  clamor  of  intolerance.  If  in  any  re- 
spect I  have  rendered  a  service  to  humanity  and  religion,  which 
may  deserve  to  be  remembered  when  I  shall  be  taken  away,  it  is  in 
this.  I  believe,  that,  had  not  the  spirit  of  religious  tyranny  been 
met,  as  it  was,  by  unyielding  opposition  in  this  region,  it  would 
have  fastened  an  iron  yoke  on  the  necks  of  this  people.  The  cause 
of  religious  freedom  owes  its  present  strength  to  nothing  so  much 
as  to  the  constancy  and  resolution  of  its  friends  in  this  quarter. 
Here  its  chief  battle  has  been  fought,  and  not  fought  in  vain.  The 
spirit  of  intolerance  is  not,  indeed,  crushed  ;   but  its  tones  are  sub- 


V. 


1814-1822.]  TREATMENT   OF   OPPONENTS.  271 

clued,  and  its  menaces  impotent,  compared  witli  what  they  would 
have  been,  had  it  prospered  in  its  efforts  here."  ^ 

But  though  thus  ready  to  defend  freedom  of  conscience  against 
every  form  of  oppression,  however  plausible,  Mr.  Channing  enter- 
tained no  personal  ill-will  towards  those  whose  course  he  was  called 
upon  to  resist.  He  had  genuine  dignity,  indeed,  and  a  high  sense 
of  honor,  and  was  capable  of  feehng  deep  indignation  ;  but  he  had 
been  for  years  too  chastened  in  spirit  to  indulge  anger  or  to  cherish 
unkindness.  And  as  he  was  considered  by  some  of  his  Ortliodox 
adversaries  to  have  been  quite  too  stern  in  his  mode  of  conducting 
controversy,  it  is  but  right  to  mention  one  or  two  facts,  and  to  give 
some  extracts  from  his  correspondence,  which  may  serve  to  set 
forth  his  character  in  its  true  colors. 

In  relation  to  his  letters  to  Dr.  Worcester,  one  of  his  brothers 
thus  writes :  — 

"  I  was  living  in  his  house  at  this  period,  and  when  he  had  fin- 
ished the  letter,  he  read  it  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  and  myself.     We 

both  at  once  made  complaints  at  its  mildness,  and  insisted  that  it  had 
the  tone  of  a  timid  man  begging  for  mercy,  rather  than  of  a  brave 
one  who  was  supporting  a  righteous  cause.  By  our  importunity 
he  was  persuaded  to  modify  it.  He  expressed  the  kindest  feelings, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  was  unwilling  to  seem  lukewarm  in  what 
he  regarded  as  a  very  serious  matter.  Many  parts  were  altered 
accordingly ;  and  when  the  letter  was  finally  sent  to  the  press,  its 
original  gentleness  was  merged  in  the  more  emphatic  passages 
which  he  had  inserted  in  consideration  of  our  urgent  requests. 
Years  afterwards,  I  beheve  in  1832,  I  was  reading  a  tract  of  his, 
while  sitting  with  him  in  his  study.  Its  vehemence  pained  me  so 
much,  that  I  could  not  but  remonstrate  against  its  spirit.  He  lis- 
tened patiently,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then,  looking  up  with 
the  sweetest  smile,  said  :  '  The  sins  of  earlier  days  arise  against 
me.  I  followed  the  judgment  of  friends  in  printing  that.  I  deeply 
regret  that  there  is  a  word  there  which  strikes  you  as  being  bitter. 
Surely  I  never  felt  an  unkind  emotion  towards  any  person  for  a 
difference  of  opinion.'     As  he  spoke,  the  whole  history  of  the  tract 

•  Preface  to  Reviews,  Discourses,  and  Miscellanies,  1830.  —  Tlie  statements 
and  arguments  presented  on  the  Orthodox  side  may  be  found  in  "  A  Letter  on 
Religious  Liberty,  by  Moses  Stuart,  Professor  of  Sacred  Literature  in  tlie  The- 
ological Seminary,  Andover."  Boston,  I80O.  Professor  Stuart  therein  avers 
that  the  accusations  of  Dr.  Channing  are  "  not  true,"  page  37.  This  letter  was 
replied  to  in  "  Two  Letters  on  Religious  Liberty,  by  Bernard  Whitman."  Bos- 
ton, 1830.  The  reply  called  out  a  rejoinder  in  the  Spirit  of  the  Pilgrims,  which 
Mr.  Whitman  answered  in  a  "  Third  Letter." 


272  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [Mt.  34-42. 

flashed  upon  me.  It  was  the  ver}-  letter  to  Dr.  Worcester  to  which 
I  had  been  instrumental  in  giA^ing  its  present  form.  This  was  by 
no  means  the  first  or  last  occasion  when  he  heard  his  own  mildness 
reproved,  and  when  he  was  induced,  by  fear  of  betraying  the  cause 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  to  use  a  warmth  of  expression  that  was 
really  in  discord  with  his  own  temper. 

"In  all  differences  of  opinion  with  others,  I  never  heard  him 
utter  a  harsh  word,  and  there  were  alwa3's  marked  expressions  of 
disapproval,  whenever  he  saw  acrimon}-  or  unfairness  manifested, 
however  obnoxious  the  person  might  be  against  whom  they  were 
directed.  When  Dr.  Griffin,  who  was  the  head  of  the  Orthodox 
party,  and  bitterly  opposed  to  Liberalism,  was  officiating  at  Park 
Street  Church,  a  slanderous  report  was  raised  against  him,  as  ma- 
levolent as  it  was  false.  I  was  walking  with  ni}-  brother  one  day 
in  the  Mall,  when,  Dr.  Griffin  having  passed  us,  he  was  led  to  speak 
of  this  base  stor}'.  He  declared  how  deeply  he  was  shocked  to 
see  a  smile  of  triumph  on  the  countenances  of  the  Doctor's  oppo- 
nents,—  man}'  of  them  being  of  course  his  own  supporters.  His 
language  on  this  occasion  was  the  strongest  which  I  ever  heard  fall 
from  his  lips.  As  he  spoke  of  the  spirit  manifested  by  these 
men,  made  mad  b}-  theological  hostility,  he  characterized  it  as 
exhibiting  the  basest  elements  in  human  nature,  and  as  truly 
diabolical. 

"  I  will  give  one  more  example  to  illustrate  his  habitual  generos- 
ity toward  opponents.  A  clerg3-man  from  a  distant  part  of  the 
State  preached  some  sermons  in  Boston,  in  1817,  in  which  he 
severely  criticised,  and  indeed  actuall}'  vilified,  the  character  of 
the  Liberal  clergy  in  the  most  wholesale  manner.  I,  in  company 
with  several  acquaintances,  was  present.  In  the  evening  the  dis- 
course became  naturally  the  topic  of  conversation  among  us.  Much 
indignation  was  expressed.  But  m}-  brother  directed  all  his  re- 
marks to  softening  the  feelings  of  those  who  were  aggrieved  b^-  the 
abuse  of  honored  friends.  '  I  cannot  blame  this  stranger  so 
severely,'  said  he  ;  '  these  harsh  judgments  never  originated  from 
himself;  he  was  led  b^-  others  into  false  impressions.  How  sad  is 
controversy,  that  it  should  thus  tempt  our  opponents  to  misrep- 
resent men  whom  they  might  and  should  know  better ! '  Thus 
did  he  endeavor  to  find  extenuating  circumstances  whereby  to 
explain,  if  not  excuse,  the  conduct  of  his  adversaries.  These 
slight  recollections  are  of  worth  onl}-  as  proving  the  essential  dis- 
position and  uniform  behavior  of  the  man.  He  was  thoroughly 
magnanimous  and  just." 

The  view  thus  given  of  Mr.  Channing's  character,  by  one  who 


1814-1822.] 


THEOLOGICAL  OPINIONS.  273 


was  an  eyewitness  of  his  course,  will  be  confirmed  by  the  following 
extracts  from  his  letters. 

1820.  "  I  have  read  enough  of  Dr.  Carpenter's  work  to  learn  its 
object,  and  I  lament  that  the  state  of  things  among  you  has  laid  on 
him  the  duty  of  exposing  so  much  at  length  the  misrepresentations 

of  Bishop  kagee I  am  too  far  from  you  to  judge  what 

is  best,  and  since  this  work  has  been  thought  necessary,  I  cannot 
but  rejoice  that  it  has  been  undertaken  by  a  man  so  imbued  with 
the  Christian  spirit  as  Dr.  Carpenter.  The  time  has  been,  when  it 
would  have  been  thought  good  policy  to  oppose  to  the  Bishop  a 
controversial  bully,  able  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground  and  to 
fight  him  with  his  own  weapons,  and  as  little  scrupulous  about  the 
m^eans  of  humbling  an  adversary.  But  I  trust  the  times  of  this 
ignorance  are  past,  and  that  we  have  learned  the  wisdom  as  well 
a's  virtue  of  defending  truth  with  moderation  and  benevolence. 
That  party,  especially,  which  makes  its  appeal  to  reason,  and  looks 
for  success  to  the  extension  of  deliberate  and  impartial  inquiry,  has 
an  interest  in  banishing  passion  and  violence  from  controversy,  and 
giving  the  example  of  forbearance  and  candor." 

1821.  "  The  death  of  Dr.  Worcester  aff'ected  me  not  a  little,  for 
you  remember  that  he  was  one  of  my  opponents  in  the  Unitarian 
controversy,  and  certainly  not  the  most  forbearing.  I  trust  that  I 
learned  from  that  experience  a  new  lesson  of  tenderness  and  charity 
towards  those  who  differ  from  me,  and  who  may  seem  to  be  injuri- 
ous. When  I  see  how  fast  my  theological  adversaries  and  myself 
are  passing  -away,  and  how  soon  our  motives  are  to  be  laid  open  at 
a  higher  tribunal,  I  cannot  but  hope,  as  I  look  back  to  the  time  of 
our  controversy,  that  I  have  cherished  towards  them  no  unchristian 

feelings. 

"  I  have  understood  that  Dr.  Worcester  fell  a  victim  to  his  zeal 
in  the  cause  of  missions,  and  for  this  every  Christian  will  honor 
his  memory." 

Of  the  three  grand  classes  into  which  Christians  may  be  grouped, 
the  Trinitarians,  the  Naturalists,  and  the  Mediatorialists,  Mr. 
Chanuing  undoubtedly  belonged  at  this  period  to  the  last.  He  did 
not  look  upon  man  as  utterly  corrupt  in  sin,  and  see  in  Christ  the 
incarnate  God,  descended  upon  earth  to  bear  the  burden  of  our 
guilt  and  woe,  and  by  self-inflicted  penalty  to  provide  the  means  of 
our  justification  and  pardon.  But  neither  did  he  regard  man  as  in 
a  normal  state,  advancing  by  natural  progress,  and  see  in  Jesus 
only  a  person  of  religious  genius,  who,  under  the  impulse  of  a  fine 
temperament,  and  the  stimulant  of  enthusiasm  in  his  nation,  had 

18 


V 


274  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

attained  to  a  union  with  God  which  was  equall}'  accessible  to  every 
human  being.  Undoubted!}'  he  recognized  a  portion  of  tmth  in 
each  of  these  S3'stems,  although  dissenting  from  both.  But  he 
agreed  rather  with  those,  scattered  among  all  sects,  and  forming, 
probabl}',  in  all  ages,  the  majorit}'  of  believers,  who  consider  man- 
kind neither  totally  depraved,  nor  yet  merely  undeveloped,  but 
actual!}-  degenerate,  through  an  abuse  of  free  will.  And  in  Jesus 
Christ  he  reverently  acknowledged  a  sublime  being,  who,  b}'  his 
coming  upon  earth,  had  brought  about  a  crisis  in  the  condition  of 
humanit}',  had  touched  with  healing  power  the  vital  springs  of 
goodness  in  our  race,  and  had  opened  the  heavens  through  which 
evermore  flow  in  full  influxes  of  spiritual  life.  With  no  impatience 
to  invent  satisfactory  answers  to  mysteries  which  he  saw  to  be 
unsolved,  and  especially'  anxious  not  to  divert  men's  regards  from 
the  goodness  of  God's  beloved  Sou  b}-  speculations  upon  his  rank 
in  the  scale  of  being,  he  yet  for  himself  was  inchned  to  believe  in 
Christ's  pre-existence,  and  his  continued  mediatorial  power  over 
\/  human  aflTairs.  In  a  word,  he  was  then  an  Arian.  And  any  one 
who  has  read  the  extracts  already  given  from  his  sermons  will  have 
perceived  that  passages  in  his  published  writings,  which  have  often 
been  interpreted  as  merely  eloquent  rhetoric,  were  reall}-  the  calm 
suggestion  of  thoughts,  which,  though  lie  forced  them  upon  none, 
he  j-et  inwardly  cherished  as  of  profoundest  interest. 

Hereafter,  perhaps,  more  than  at  present,  it  will  be  recognized 
as  Mr.  Channing's  distinguishing  peculiarity,  that  he  blended  so 
harmoniously  in  his  theology  views  of  Christianit}-  which  are  usually 
held  as  irreconcilable.  Then,  possibl}',  the  deliberateness  with 
which  he  kept  l)efore  his  mind,  as  open  questions,  doctrines  which 
those  around  him  on  all  sides  dogmaticall}^  settled,  may  be  con- 
sidered a  higlior  title  to  honor  than  the  decision  with  which  he 
stepped  forward  to  uphold  the  right  of  free  thought  and  speech. 
However  this  may  prove  to  be,  the  fact  undeniabl}-  was,  that,  while 
he  formed  the  most  free  and  generous  estimate  of  human  nature, 
he  held  opinions  in  regard  to  the  Divine  government,  spiritual  in- 
fluences, a  mediator,  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  which  by  most 
Liberal  Christians  would  be  considered  rather  mystical  than  rational. 
Has  it  been  observed  how  closety  he  connected  his  confidence  in 
the  essential  dignity  of  man,  his  aspirations  after  perfect  union  of 
the  human  will  with  the  Divine,  his  hope  for  the  future  greatness 
of  mankind,  with  the  fact  of  the  life  of  Josus  Christ?  In  this  com- 
plex theology  of  ls\\.  Channing  shall  Ave  fmd  a  proof  that  he  was  a 
man  of  imagination  and  sentiment  more  than  a  philosopher,  or 
shall  we  rather  admire  the  wisdom  which,  while  it  made  him  bold 


1814-1822.]  SYMPATHY  WITH  WORDSWORTH.  275 

and  frank  where  he  was  convuiced,  kept  him  humbly  guarded  before 
the  unveiled  wonders  of  the  eternal  world  ? 

It  certainly  was  not  owing  to  unwillingness  to  abandon  wonted 
habits  of  thought,  to  sluggish  indifference,  or  to  any  form  of  selfish 
fear,  that  Mr.  Channing  chose  to  occupy  the  middle  ground  in 
theology ;  for  nothing  characterized  him  more  than  the  youthful 
eagerness  with  which  he  greeted  the  advent  of  every  newly  dis- 
covered truth.  He  was  "  not  a  watcher  by  the  tomb,  but  a  man  of 
the  resurrection."  He  lived  in  the  mountain  air  of  hope.  And  at 
this  period  of  his  life  he  was  breathing  in  the  freshness  with  which 
the  whole  intellect  of  Christendom  seemed  inspired,  as  it  pressed 
onward  across  the  wide  prairie  which  the  science,  philosoph}^,  po- 
etry, and  revolutionar}'  tendencies  of  the  age  had  opened.  It  was 
with  intense  delight  that  he  made  acquaintance  with  the  master 
minds  of  Germany,  through  the  medium,  first,  of  Madame  de  Stael, 
and  afterward  of  Coleridge.  He  recognized  in  them  his  leaders. 
In  Kant's  doctrine  of  the  Reason  he  found  confirmation  of  the  views 
which,  in  early  3ears  received  from  Price,  had  quickened  him  to  ever 
deeper  reverence  of  the  essential  powers  of  man.  To  Schelling's 
sublime  intimations  of  the  Divine  Life  everywhere  manifested 
through  nature  and  humanit}',  his  heart,  devoutl}-  conscious  of  the 
universal  agenc}-  of  God,  gladly  responded.  But  above  all  did  the 
heroic  stoicism  of  Fichte  charm  him  bj'  its  full  assertion  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  human  will.  Without  adopting  the  systems  of 
either  of  these  philosophers,  and,  fortunately^  perhaps  for  him,  with- 
out being  full}'  acquainted  with  these  systems,  he  3'et  received 
from  their  example  the  most  animating  incentives  to  follow  out  the 
paths  of  speculation  into  which  his  own  mind  had  entered.  In  the 
extracts  given  from  his  sermons,  there  is  nothing  more  striking  than 
his  increasing  spirituahty,  his  high  ideal  of  human  nature,  his  lofty 
enthusiasm,  and  glowing  hope.  In  thought,  act,  speech,  he  was 
a  poet,  though  his  chosen  position  was  the  pulpit,  and  the  sermon 
his  chief  medium  of  expression. 

But  it  was  to  an  English  writer  that  he  was  indebted  for  yet 
higher  pleasure,  and  perhaps  as  efficient  aid.  This  was  Words- 
worth, of  whom  he  always  spoke  with  the  most  respectful  affection, 
as  of  a  benefactor  by  whom  he  felt  that  his  heart  and  mind  had 
been  equally  enriched.  Shortly  after  the  "Excursion"  appeared, 
he  obtained  a  copy  of  it,  which  was  sent  over  by  a  London  house 
to  a  publisher  who  knew  httle  of  its  worth.  It  had  been  heralded 
by  the  ridicule  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  which  then  was  a  dic- 
tator to  the  literary  world  of  America  yet  more  than  of  Great  Brit- 
ain.    But  to  Mr.  Channing  it  came  like  a  revelation.     He  kept  it 


276  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY,  [^x.  34-42. 

constant!}'  by  him;  and,  as  he  once  said,  had  "never  read  any- 
thing but  Shakespeare  more."  He  saw  a  beaut}"  even  in  its  prosaic 
passages,  admired  the  rare  felicit}'  of  its  language,  and  was  inclined 
to  consider  it  the  most  elaborate  and  finished  production  of  the  age. 
But  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  man,  rather  than  the  skill  of  the  author, 
that  attracted  him.  Wordsworth's  mingled  reverence  and  freedom, 
loyalty  and  independence,  manly  simplicit}'  and  heroism,  —  his  piety, 
trust,  lumiility,  profound  conscience,  and  earnest  aspiration, — his 
respectful,  tender,  appreciative  love  of  man,  recognizing  greatness 
luider  lowliest  disguises,  and  spreading  sweet  sanctions  around 
every  charity  of  social  life,  —  his  intense  love  of  beaut},  all-vivifying 
imagination,  and  mystical  adoration  of  the  Universe  as  the  shadow 
of  the  Infinite  Being, — his  subjective  habits  of  thought,  metnphysi- 
cally  refined  mode  of  observation,  power  of  looking  beneath  all 
surfaces  to  the  life,  and  beneath  all  forms  to  the  spirit,  —  his  high 
idealism,  humanity,  and  hearty  naturalness,  in  a  word,  combined  to 
form  a  chai'acter  with  which  Mr.  Channing's  was  in  full  harmony. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Cappe  illustrates  at 
once  the  influence  of  Wordsworth  over  his  mind,  and  indicates  the 
direction  which  his  thoughts  were  taking. 

1820.  "  I  occasionally  see  the  Monthly  Repository,  and  among 
the  rational,  sensible,  and  matter-of-fact  communications  which  fill 
that  work  I  have  met  now  and  then  with  pieces  from  a  writer  who 
seems  to  have  made  the  discovery  that  Unitarianism  and  imagina- 
tion and  poetry  are  not  irreconcilable  foes.  The  author  is  one  of 
Wordsworth's  school.  When  I  tell  you  that  I  incline  to  the  heresy 
of  this  writer,  and  that  I  wish  to  see  among  Unitarians  a  develop- 
ment of  imagination  and  poetical  enthusiasm,  as  well  as  of  the 
rational  and  critical  power,  you  will  not  wonder  at  my  curiosity  in 
wishing  to  learn  who  this  writer  is.  I  have  before  told  you  how 
much  I  think  Unitarianism  has  suflfered  from  union  with  a  heart- 
withering  philosophy.  I  will  now  add,  that  it  has  suffered  also 
from  a  too  exc^lusive  application  of  its  advocates  to  biblical  criticism 
and  theological  controversy,  in  other  words,  from  a  too  partial 
culture  of  the  mind.  I  fear  that  we  must  look  to  other  schools  for 
the  thoughts  which  thrill  us,  which  touch  the  most  inward  springs, 
and  disclose  to  us  the  depths  of  our  own  souls.  Pardon  me  for 
finding  so  much  fault.  It  is  not  owing,  I  hope,  to  censoriousness. 
I  only  wish  that  tiuth  may  be  so  presented  as  to  be  friendly  to  our 
whole  nature  ;  that  it  may  develop,  not  chill,  those  powers  which 
have  always  exercised  the  mightiest  sway  among  men,  and  which 
seem  most  akiu  to  inspiration." 


1814-1822.]  THE   SOLEMN  FESTIVAL.  "  277 

The  mood  in  which  Wordsworth  looked  upon  nature,  man,  and 
the  course  of  Divine  Providence,  was  for  the  most  part  quite  con- 
genial to  Mr.  Channing.  But,  from  temperament  and  position, 
lie  was  inclined  to  take  a  far  more  active  part  in  the  stirring  scenes 
of  the  time  than  the  poet  seemed  to  encourage.  To  a  great  extent, 
indeed,  their  views  of  the  P^rench  Revolution,  and  of  Napoleon's 
career,  were  the  same.  Together  they  had  stood  upon  the  mountain 
peaks  of  rehgious  faitli,  while  the  tornado  of  atheism,  charged  with 
the  red  lightnings  of  militar}'^  power,  and  the  destructive  hail  of 
radicalism,  had  swept  across  the  civilized  world  ;  together  thej'  had 
seen  the  storm  subside  beneath  the  mild  airs  of  humanity,  and  had 
looked  down  over  valleys  and  lowlands  serenely  smiling  in  the  sun- 
shine of  Divine  love.  But  the  lesson  which  Mr.  Channing  had 
learned  from  this  tremendous  experience  was  a  conviction  of  the 
need  and  opportunity  of  peaceful  reform.  His  gaze  was  bent  upon 
tlie  future,  not  the  past.  In  full  justice  practically  rendered  to  the 
nature  of  man, — in  opportunities  for  culture,  refinement,  social 
position,  wealth,  and  free  intercourse  opened  to  all  classes  equally, 
—  in  a  spirit  of  brotherhood  embodied  in  honorable  and  humane 
rehitions,  —  he  foresaw  the  means,  the  only  means,  of  re-establish- 
ing reverence,  loyalty,  courtesy,  and  contentment.  Thus  are  we 
brought  to  consider  the  position  whicli  he  held  in  political  and 
philanthropic  movements.  And  we  shall  find  that  the  earnest  liu- 
nianitj'  of  his  youth  and  early  manliood  had  not  wasted  itself,  but 
rather  gained  de[)th  and  volume  in  its  onward  course. 

Hxtracts  alread}'  given  from  his  sermons  have  sufficiently  in- 
dicated Mr.  Channing's  feelings  in  regard  to  tlie  military  despot- 
ism of  FVance  under  the  stern  sway  of  Bonaparte.  We  are  now 
to  witness  the  J03-  and  hope  with  wliich  he  greeted  the  news  of  the 
overthrow  of  the  man  whom  he  then,  and  through  life,  regarded  as 
an  atrocious  tyrant.  On  the  8th  of  June,  1814,  a  number  of  the 
citizens  of  Boston  and  Massachusetts  assembled  at  the  house  of  the 
Hon.  William  Phillips,  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  State,  — 

"  To  consult  upon  the  propriet}^  of  noticing  the  event  of  the  entire 
subversion  of  the  military  despotism  which  had  so  long  desolated 
the  Christian  and  civilized  world,  in  a  manner  suited  to  its  character 
and  importance,  and  to  the  sentiments  whicli  it  was  calculated  to 
inspire.  Deeply  impressed  with  the  magnitude  and  the  beneficial 
and  lasting  influences  of  this  revolution  upon  the  best  and  dearest 
interests  of  society,  the}^  had  no  hesitation  in  recommending  to 
their  fellow-citizens  the  observance  of  a  solemn  religious  festival,  in 
commemoration  of  the  goodness  of  God  in  humbling  unprincipled 
ambition,  in  crushing  wicked  and  unjust  power,  in  delivering  the 


278  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34-42. 

world  from  cruel  and  disgraceful  bondage,  in  restoring  to  mankind 
the  enjoyment  of  their  just  riglits  under  the  protection  of  legitimate 
government,  and  in  giving  to  nations  the  cheering  prospect  of  per- 
manent tranquillity.  For  that  purpose  a  large  and  respectable 
committee  was  chosen  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements,  com- 
posed of  the  following  gentlemen  :  — 

Hon.  C.  Gore,  Hon.  T.  H.  Perkins, 

"  George  Cabot,  "      E.  H.  Mills, 

"  John  Warren,  "      John  Lowell, 

"  B.  I'lCKMAN,  Jr.,  "       Samuel  Putnam, 

"  George  Bllss,  "      Wm.  Sullivan, 

"  John  Phillips,  Kev.   Wm.  E.  Channing, 

"  H.  G.  Otis,  "      Joshua  Huntington." i 

Mr.  Channing  was  elected  to  deliver  the  sermon.  On  the  15th 
of  June,  the  day  appointed,  a  large  assembl}-,  composed  of  the 
most  intelligent  and  influential  persons  in  the  community*,  filled  the 
Stone  Chapel.  Never  since  the  time  of  the  adoption  of  the  Con- 
stitution had  there  been  in  that  city  a  meeting  of  a  political  charac- 
ter animated  with  a  deeper  joy  ;  and  no  speaker  could  have  been 
better  fitted  to  give  voice  to  the  latent  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd. 
On  no  public  occasion  of  his  life  was  he  so  carried  awa}'  by  sym- 
pathy with  the  profound  and  passionate  emotions  which  swelled  in 
the  popular  mind.  He  gave  full  vent  to  his  feelings, — with  free 
and  bold  strokes  jiainted  the  past  degradation  of  Europe,  — poured 
out  the  vial  of  indignant  censure  upon  the  ambitious  despot  who 
had  made  Christendom  his  prey,  —  reawakened  the  memory  of  the 
awful  ai)prchensions  with  which  men  had  watched  his  destructive 
career,  —  and  when  the  audience  were  swept  along  in  prospect  to 
the  verge  of  ruin,  then  he  drew  aside  the  dark  cloud-curtain,  and 
showed  the  benignant  promises  of  peace  spread  out  in  mere}'  before 
the  exhausted  nations.  As  he  uttered  the  words,  "The  oppressor 
is  fallen  and  the  world  is  free,"  the  pent-up  feelings  of  the  assem- 
bly burst  forth  in  acclamation.  It  is  said  that  the  preacher  paused, 
and  calmly  reminded  his  hearers  that  they  were  in  the  presence  of 
God,  to  whose  providential  aid  their  humble  gratitude  was  due. 

This  sermon  was  rather  an  extenii)oraneous  overflow,  than  a  stud- 
ied address  ;  but  it  may  be  desirable  to  extract  a  few  sentences. 
They  prove  that  Mr.  Channing  drew  encouragement  from  scenes 
which  had  turned  many  a  fervent  reformer  into  a  timid  conservative, 
and  that  he  looked  forward  with  confiding  hope  to  better  times. 

'  Ajipcndix  to  a  Discourse  dclivi'ied  in  Boston  at  tlie  Solemn  Festival  in  Com- 
inoinoration  of  the  Goodness  of  God  in  delivering  the  Christian  World  from 
Military  Despotism,  June  15,  1814. 


1814-1822.]  THE   NEW   ERA.  279 

"  From  the  events  which  we  this  clay  celebrate,  we  are  especiall}' 
to  learn  that  most  important  lesson,  to  hold  fast  our  confidence  in 
God,  and  never  to  despair  of  the  cause  of  human  nature,  however 
gloom}'  and  threatening  VQ.a,y  he  the  prospects  which  spread  before 
us.  How  many  of  us  have  yielded  to  criminal  despondency  !  .  .  .  . 
But  now  we  are  taught,  as  men,  perhaps,  never  were  taught  before, 
to  place  an  unwavering  ti'ust  in  Providence,  to  hope  well  for  the 
world,  to  hold  fast  our  principles,  to  cling  to  the  cause  of  justice, 
truth,  humanity,  and  to  frown  on  guilt  and  oppression,  however 
dark  are  the  scenes  around  us,  and  however  dangerous  or  deserted 
may  seem  the  path  of  duty 

"  A  most  solemn  experiment  has  been  making  on  societ}'.  The 
nations  of  Europe,  which  had  all  in  a  measure  been  corrupted  by 
infidel  principles,  have  been  called  to  witness  the  effect  of  those 
principles  on  the  character  and  happiness  of  nations  and  individu- 
als. The  experiment  is  now  completed,  and  Europe  and  the  world 
are  satisfied.  Never,  I  believe,  was  there  a  deeper  conviction  than 
at  the  present  moment,  that  Christianity  is  most  friendly  to  the 
peace,  order,  liberty,  and  prosperity  of  mankind,  and  that  its  sub- 
version would  be  the  ruin  of  whatever  secures,  adorns,  and  blesses 
social  life.  Europe,  mangled,  desolated  Europe,  now  exclaims  with 
one  voice  against  the  rule  of  atheism  and  infidelity,  and  flies  for 
shelter  and  peace  to  the  pure  and  mild  principles  of  Christianit}'. 
Already  the  marks  of  an  improved  state  of  public  sentiment  may 
be  discerned.  We  are  at  length  permitted  to  anticipate  the  long 
lost  and  long  desired  blessing  of  general  and  permanent  peace.  A 
new  era  seems  opening  on  the  world.  It  is  our  hope  that  the 
storm  which  has  shaken  so  many  thrones  will  teach  wisdom  to 
rulers,  will  correct  the  arrogance  of  power,  will  awaken  the  great 
from  selfish  and  sensual  indolence,  and  give  stability  to  govern- 
ments by  giving  elevation  of  sentiment  to  those  who  administer 
them.  It  is  our  hope,  that  calamities  so  awful,  deliverances  so 
stupendous,  will  direct  the  minds  of  men  to  an  almighty  and  right- 
eous Providence,  and  inspire  seriousness  and  gratitude,  and  a 
deeper  attachment  to  the  religion  of  Christ,  that  only  refuge  in 
calamity,  that  only  sure  pledge  of  unchanging  felicity.  Am  I  told 
that  these  anticipations  are  too  ardent?  Perhaps  I  have  indulged 
the  hopes  of  philanthropj^  where  experienced  wisdom  would  have 
dictated  melancholy  predictions.  I  am  not  forgetful  of  the  solemn 
uncertaint}'  of  futurity.  But  amidst  all  uncertainties  which  sur- 
round us,  one  truth  we  know,  that  God  governs,  and  that  his  most 
holy  and  benevolent  purposes  will  be  accomplished."  ^ 

1  Discourse  at  the  Solemn  Festival,  &c.,  pp.  11-15. 


280  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34-42. 

The  joy  of  this  festival  was  sobered,  however,  b}'  the  reflection, 
that,  tliough  peace  had  settled  upon  Europe,  the  United  States  and 
Great  Britain  were  still  at  war.  New  England  was  at  this  period 
utterl}'  prostrated,  her  commerce  paralyzed,  her  people  bowed 
down  witli  taxation,  and  to  such  an  extent  had  dissatisfaction  with 
the  measiues  of  the  general  government  spread,  that  in  December, 
1814,  delegates  selected  from  her  most  eminent  citizens  assembled 
in  convention  at  Hartford,  Connecticut,  with  the  view  of  securing 
their  endangered  lights,  and  consulting  upon  measures  suitable  to 
the  exigencies  of  the  time.  Doubtless  there  were  some  who,  in 
their  disgust  at  the  war,  were  inclined  to  urge  a  separation  of  the 
New  England  States  from  the  Union  ;  but  it  is  now  well  understood 
that  the  object  of  that  Convention  was  to  open  a  vent  to  the  popu- 
lar excitement,  to  allay  passion,  to  give  a  safe  direction  to  the  in- 
dignation of  the  community,  and  thus  to  avert  the  threatening 
danger  of  secession.  Mr.  Channing  was  among  those  who  thought 
that  everything  should  be  sacrificed,  except  essential  principles,  for 
the  preservation  of  the  Nation.  Then,  as  through  life,  he  was 
devotedly  attached  to  the  Union,  and  though,  as  we  have  seen, 
opposed  to  the  war  with  his  whole  soul,  as  utterl}^  unjustifiable  and 
inexpedient,  he  yet  never  allowed  himself  to  despair.  He  would 
not  abandon  the  hope,  that  the  promise  given  to  the  world  in  this 
republic  should  be  fulfilled.  His  views  are  well  shown  by  a  few 
extracts  from  a  sermon  preached  to  his  people  immediately'  after 
the  news  of  the  Treaty  of  Ghent  arrived,  and  repeated  on  the  day 
of  thanksgiving  for  the  peace. 

"  I  have  said,  that  the  single  consideration  that  war  is  at  an  end 
is  enough  to  fill  our  hearts  with  gratitude.  But  how  should  this 
gratitude  be  heightened,  when  we  consider  the  state  from  which 
peace  has  rescued  our  country  !  The  continuance  of  the  war  must, 
I  fear,  have  destroyed  us  as  a  people.  We  had  poured  out  our 
resources  with  a  profusion  which  had  emptied  the  treasury  of  the 
nation,  and  destroyed  the  credit  of  the  government.  Increasing 
taxes,  imposed  on  an  impoverished  people,  would  have  fomented 
discontent  and  insurrection.  In  this  broken  state  of  society,  our 
best  institutions  would  have  been  shaken  to  the  foundation  and 
subverted.  The  obligation  of  contracts  would  have  been  violated. 
General  bankruptcy  would  have  spread  general  distress,  and  de- 
stroyed the  moral  jjrinciples  of  the  community.  A  spirit  of  in- 
subordination, intlamed  by  hopeless  suflf'ering,  would  have  anni- 
hilated tlie  authority  of  law.  The  bonds  of  society  would  have 
been   dissolved.      These,   at   least,   were  the  solemn   forebodings 


1814-1822.]  THE  BLESSINGS  OF  PEACE.  281 

of  our  most  reflecting  men.  Peace  has  saved  us  from  these  convul- 
sions  

"  Peace  is  snatching  us,  too,  from  the  brink  of  civil  dissensions. 
We  seemed  to  be  approaching  a  solemn  crisis.  To  the  evils  of  a 
foreign,  might  soon  liave  been  added  the  sorer  evils  of  internal  war. 
Thank  God  !  the  union  of  these  States  will  at  least  be  prolonged. 
The  day  which  is  to  witness  the  dissolution  of  our  political  fabric  is 
at  least  deferred.  May  we  not  trust  that  its  great  ends  will  in  a 
measure  be  accomplished  ?  Peace  has  placed  the  present  rulers  of 
this  nation  on  a  new  ground.  Without  endangering  their  power, 
they  may  now  consult  the  good  of  the  whole  countrj".  Ever}'  motive 
incites  them  to  encourage  industry',  enterprise,  the  development  of 
resources,  in  every  division  of  our  wide  land.  Let  everj'  aid  be 
given  them  in  the  establishment  of  a  generous  polic}'.  It  is  very 
unimportant  in  whose  hands  is  the  power  of  the  state,  if  it  be  but 
honorably  and  wisely'  emplo3'ed.  Most  ardentl}'  do  I  hope  that  the 
men  who  have  plunged  this  country  into  ruin  may  expiate  their 
error  b}'  embracing,  at  this  auspicious  moment,  a  magnanimous 
course,  and  that  their  success  may  find  its  reward  in  the  support 
of  all  parties  into  which  we  are  unhappily  divided.  Prosperity 
such  as  our  nation  never  yet  experienced  is  brought  within  our 
reach.  Nothing  now  is  wanting  but  an  impartial  administration  of 
the  government,  and  a  spirit  of  mutual  forbearance  among  our 
citizens,  to  fulfil  the  bright  anticipations  which  patriots  of  better 
days  cherished  for  this  favored  people. 

"  May  we  not  hope  that  the  lessons  of  experience  will  not  be 
lost,  that  a  better  spirit  will  pervade  our  communities,  that  we 
shall  learrt  the  value  of  a  broad  scheme  of  action,  embracing  at 
once  the  interests  of  all  sections  of  this  extended  republic?  May 
we  not  hope  that  the  spirit  of  enterprise  and  improvement  will  now 
be  unchecked,  that  new  cities  and  towns  will  ever3'where  arise  on 
our  shores  and  in  the  wilderness,  that  arts  and  science  will  be 
widely  diffused,  that  institutions  sacred  to  humanity'  and  virtue 
will  meliorate  the  tone  of  social  relations,  that  civil  and  religious 
liberty  will  be  guarded  and  cherished  as  our  best  possession  and 
most  honorable  distinction  ?  Let  us  rejoice  that  we  are  once  more 
to  be  bound  in  amity  and  profitable  intercourse  to  every  nation 
under  heaven.  God  grant  us  perpetual  peace  !  God  grant  us  the 
honor  of  contributing  b}'  our  commerce,  by  the  light  of  our  intelli- 
gence, by  the  example  of  a  free,  virtuous,  and  contented  people,  to 
the  happiness  and  advancement  of  the  human  race  !  " 

Thus  liberal  and  magnanimous  were  Mr.  Channing's   political 


282  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

sentiments  at  the  close  of  the  troubled  j^ears  through  which  the 
humanit}'  of  Europe  and  America  had  been  called  to  pass.  But 
the  sermon  whence  the  above  extracts  have  been  made  is  interest- 
ing also  as  manifesting  his  views  in  relation  to  peace.  The  hor- 
rible cruelties  b}'  which  Christendom  had  been  blasted,  as  b}' 
lava-floods  and  ashes  from  the  open  crater  of  hell,  had  taught  him, 
in  common  with  thousands  in  all  lands,  to  look  upon  war  as  the 
most  awful  and  wasteful  crime  of  which  nations  and  men  can  be 
guilty.  And  he  takes  this  occasion  to  deepen  in  his  people's  minds 
a  conviction  of  the  honorableness  and  blessedness  of  peace. 

"I  rejoice  with  j'ou  that  the  groans  of  the  wounded  and  d3ing 
are  no  more  to  be  heard  on  our  shores,  that  the  ocean  is  no  longer 
to  be  stained  with  our  own  or  hostile  blood,  that  the  skies  are  not 
again  to  grow  red  with  the  portentous  glare  of  flaming  towns,  that 
we  are  no  more  to  swell  the  crowd  of  widows  and  orphans,  whose 
hopes  have  perished  on  the  field  of  battle.  I  rejoice  with  3'ou  that 
the  soldier  is  to  return  to  his  home  from  the  depraving  influences 
of  a  camp,  and  to  earn  subsistence  b}'  better  means  than  slaughter 
and  plunder.  I  rejoice  with  you  that  the  resources  of  our  country 
are  no  longer  to  be  exhausted  in  carrying  fire  and  death  to  neigh- 
boring provinces,  that  we  are  no  longer  to  cast  away  our  own  bless- 
ings by  attempting  to  destroy*  the  blessings  which  God  bestows  on 
our  bretln-en,  no  longer  to  ruin  ourselves  bj'  seeking  the  ruin  of 
another  civilized  and  Christian  nation.  I  know  that  to  many  war 
is  a  matter  of  course,  that  it  seems  to  them  a  trifling  aflTair  to  shed 
man's  l)lood,  to  desolate  fruitful  regions,  to  scatter  terror,  want, 
and  misery  over  once  happy  lands.  But,  thank  God  !  I  speak  to 
some  not  thus  liardened  by  savage  customs  and  the  calculations  of 
inhuman  polic}',  and  who  regard  an  unjust  and  unnecessary''  war  as 
concentrating  the  guilt  of  multiplied  murders.  For  one,  I  do  re- 
joice that  this  war  is  to  be  terminated  without  the  erection  of  a 
single  monument  of  triumph  upon  the  soil  of  this  Commonwealth. 
What  compensation  could  have  been  found  in  the  most  splendid 
victor}'  for  the  loss  of  distinguished  citizens,  of  men  made  noble  by 
character  and  intellect,  for  the  anguish  of  parents,  widows,  chil- 
dren, mourning  the  slain,  for  the  wretchedness  of  bereaved,  dis- 
persed, imi)ovorislicd  families?  It  is  not  Christianity,  certainl}', 
that  would  teach  us  to  forget  the  loss  of  friends  in  brutal  exul- 
tation over  the  slaughter  of  enemies,  —  enemies  who  yet  are 
men  of  ihe  same  nature  with  ourselves,  children  of  the  same 
Heavenly  Father,  commended  by  the  same  Redeemer  to  our  good- 
will  


1814-1822.]  DEFENSIVE   WAR.  283 

"  With  what  jo}'  ma\-  we  look  on  our  venerable  metropolis,  — 
jo3'  heightened  b}^  the  solicitude  with  which  we  have  watched  the 
decline  of  her  prosperity !  Had  the  war  been  but  for  a  few  3-ears 
protracted,  its  ancient  honors  must  have  been  humbled  ;  its  inhab- 
itants would  have  been  dispersed,  its  schools  shut  up,  its  churches 
deserted,  its  institutions  of  piety  and  benevolence  struck  with  de- 
ca}'.  But  now  the  fetters  which  have  bound  our  energies  are 
broken.  Our  silent  streets  are  once  more  sounding  with  the  roll 
and  hum  of  business.  Our  grass-grown  wharves  once  more  are  to 
swarm  with  loaded  dra3-s,  and  to  be  filled  with  heaps  of  merchan- 
dise. Our  dismantled  ships  once  again  are  to  spread  their  wings, 
and  bind  us  by  ties  of  harmonious  intercourse  with  every  region  of 
the  earth.  Once  more  our  beloved  metropolis  is  to  become  the 
home  of  honorable  usefulness,  the  nursery  of  public  spirit,  knowl- 
edge, charity,  and  ever}'  institution  which  embelhshes  and  exalts 
human  nature.  "Wealth  is  again  to  flow  in  upon  us  through  all  the 
circulations  of  industry',  not  to  feed  luxurious  indolence,  but  to 
give  employment  to  the  poor,  to  quicken  ingenuity,  to  awaken  the 
spirit  of  beneficence,  to  encourage  science  and  the  elegant  arts,  to 
nurture  genius,  to  endow  seats  of  learning,  and,  above  all,  to  dif- 
fuse the  knowledge  and  power  of  Christianit3\  My  friends,  I  re- 
joice with  j-ou  in  these  cheering  prospects.  Enter  again  on  the  labors 
which  make  the  true  glory  of  nations.     God  send  j'ou  success  !  " 

Thus  earnesth'  bent  was  Mr.  Channing  to  discourage  the  infernal 
custom  of  war,  and  especially  to  alia}'  "  the  proud,  vaunting,  irri- 
table, contentious,  aspiring  temper,  more  disposed  to  honor  cour- 
age than  humanit}',  more  restless  the  more  it  is  successful,  more 
devoted  to  part}-  than  to  public  weal,  more  open  to  the  influence  of 
parasites  and  intriguers  than  of  wise  and  impartial  men,"  which  he 
pronounces  to  be  the  bane  of  republics.  But  while  thus  longing 
for  the  era  which  he  believed  Christ  had  come  to  introduce,  and 
which  he  was  assured  would  in  the  fulness  of  time  knit  our  long- 
sundered  race  into  one,  he  was  not  then  prepared  to  take  the 
ground  of  condemning  defensive  war.  Whether  it  is  to  be  traced 
to  natural  temperament,  to  earl}'  training,  to  historical  studies,  to 
the  habits  of  thought  of  the  age,  or  to  principle,  it  is  certain  that 
he  had  the  spirit  which,  though  frail  in  ph3-sical  structure,  and  de- 
voted to  his  pastoral  office,  would  have  prompted  him  to  fight  in 
defence  of  his  country  in  an  extreme  emergenc3\  Incapable  of 
personal  fear,  chivalric  in  the  tone  of  his  character,  and  predis- 
posed to  the  love  of  heroic  deeds,  he  was  nowise  disposed  to  aban- 
don the  freedom  of  his  native  land  to  the  mercies  of  an  invading  foe 


284  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

without  a  struggle.  Throughout  this  period,  in  private  and  from 
the  pulpit,  he  maintained  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  citizen  to  die,  if 
need  be,  in  protecting  the  religious  and  civil  institutions  of  his 
nation  and  the  inviolability  of  home.  In  this  very  discourse  on 
Peace  we  find  him  saying  :  — 

"We  feared  that  the  approaching  spring  would  invite  hostility 
to  our  very  doors,  that  our  families  would  be  dispersed,  and  that 
the  stillness  of  suspended  business  would  be  broken  by  the  tumult 
of  battle.  Had  this  lot  befallen  us,  I  trust  that  we  should  have 
done  our  dut}'.  We  should  have  fought  for  the  city  of  our  fathers, 
for  our  altars  and  our  firesides,  with  the  spirit  of  freemen  and  of 
Christians,  relying  on  the  justice  of  the  right  of  self-defence.  But 
how  should  we  bless  God,  that  we  have  been  saved  from  this  sad 
necessity !  "  ^ 

In  unreserved  adherence  to  the  cause  of  peace,  Mr.  Channing 
was  surpassed  by  his  honored  friend,  the  Rev.  Noah  AVorcester, 
who  was  at  this  time  residing  in  the  neighborhood  of  Boston,  and 
editing  the  Christian  Disciple,  and  who  may  justly  be  called  the 
father  of  the  Peace  movement  in  this  country,  by  his  "  Solemn 
Review  of  the  Custom  of  War."  From  the  first,  however,  Mr. 
Channing  gave  him  the  support  of  respectful  sympath}-  and  active 
co-oi)eration.  In  the  spring  of  1816,  he  preached  a  discourse  on 
War  before  the  Convention  of  the  Congregational  Ministers  of 
Massachusetts,^  which  was  immediately  printed  and  widely  circu- 
lated, deepening  in  many  minds  the  convictions  already  taught  by 
the  terrible  history  of  the  times.  This  discourse  prepared  the  wa}' 
for  the  formation  of  the  Peace  Society  of  Massachusetts,  the  first 
meeting  of  which  was  held  in  his  study  in  the  parsonage-house  of 
the  parish.  From  this  society  sprang  all  the  kindred  ones  in  our 
country,  and  its  influence  was  felt  abroad.  Mr.  AVorcester  was  its 
corresponding  secretary,  and  the  editor  of  its  periodical;  but  he 
relied  in  all  his  measures  ui)on  the  advice  of  Mr.  Channing,  who 
was  one  of  the  society's  ccjunsellors,  and,  according  to  the  au- 
thority of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Pierce,  "  its  life  and  soul."  For  years 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  work  of  extending  its  influence  with  un- 
wavering zeal,  as  many  of  his  papers  of  that  period  attest ;  and 
from  among  these  we  select  two,  as  bearing  upon  important  pub- 
lic (lucstions.  The  first  is  the  following  memorial,  which  was  pre- 
pared by  him. 

'  Sec  also  "  Duties  of  tlie  Citizen  in  Times  of  Trial  and  Danger,"  Works, 
Vol.  V.  pj).  411-42'2.     One  Volume  Kdition,  pp.  G70-688 

■^  Works,  Vol.  ill.  pp.  2y-58.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  6-12-653. 


1814-1822.]  PEACE   MEMORIAL.  285 

"  To  the  Honorable  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  of  the 
United  States  in  Congress  assembled.  The  memorial  of  the 
members  of  the  Peace  Society  of  Massachusetts  respectfully 
represents,  — 

"  That  the  society  which  now  solicits  the  attention  of  our  national 
rulers  was  instituted  for  the  single  purpose  of  diffusing  pacific  and 
benevolent  sentiments  through  this  countrj- ,  and  through  the  world. 
Impressed  with  a  deep  and  sorrowful  conviction  that  the  spirit  of 
Christianit}',  which  is  a  spirit  of  mercy,  peace,  and  kind  affection, 
is  imperfectl}^  understood  ;  afflicted  by  the  accumulated  miseries 
and  extensive  desolations  which  war  has  lately  spread  over  the 
fairest,  most  fruitful,  and  most  enlightened  regions  of  the  earth  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  encouraged  by  many  decisive  proofs  of  the 
revival  of  purer  and  more  benevolent  principles  among  Christian 
nations ;  your  memorialists  have  formed  this  association  with  the 
solemn  and  deliberate  purpose  of  co-operating  with  the  philanthro- 
pists of  ever}'  country  in  promoting  the  cause  of  peace  and  charit}^, 
in  stripping  war  of  its  false  glory,  and  in  uniting  different  com- 
munities in  the  bonds  of  amitj'  and  mutual  good-will.  "We  are 
sensible,  that,  from  the  nature  of  our  object,  it  is  chiefly  to  be  ac- 
complished by  a  silent  and  gradual  influence  on  the  minds  of  men, 
and  accordingly  we  have  limited  our  operations  to  the  circulation 
of  useful  treatises,  in  which  the  pacific  spirit  of  our  rehgion  has  been 
exhibited  with  clearness,  and  we  hope  with  success.  We  believe, 
however,  that  the  present  moment  demands  a  departure  from  our 
usual  course,  and  we  cherish  the  hope,  that,  by  an  application  to  the 
government  under  which  we  live,  important  service  ma}'  be  rendered 
to  the  cause  of  humanity,  in  which  we  are  engaged. 

"  The  present  memorial  is  founded  on  two  occurrences,  which  we 
hail  as  auspicious  to  the  pacification  of  the  world.  The  first  occur- 
rence to  which  we  refer  is  the  well-known  and  unprecedented  union 
of  several  of  the  most  illustrious  powers  of  Europe,  in  declaring 
before  '  the  universe  their  unwavering  determination  to  adopt  for 
the  onl}'  rule  of  their  conduct,  both  in  the  administration  of  their 
respective  states,  and  in  their  political  relations  with  ever}^  other 
government,  the  precepts  of  Christianit}',  the  precepts  of  justice,  of 
charit}',  and  of  peace.' 

"The  second  occurrence  to  which  we  refer  is  the  decided  ex- 
pression of  pacific  sentiments  and  anticipations  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  late  message  of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  in  which 
his  parting  wishes  for  his  countrj'  are  expressed  with  tenderness  and 
power.  In  this  remarkable  passage,  worthy  the  chief  magistrate 
of  a  Christian  community,   he  expresses  his  conviction,  that  the 


286  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34^2. 

'  destined  career  of  his  country  will  exhibit  a  government  which, 
whilst  it  refines  its  domestic  code  from  every  ingredient  not  conge- 
nial with  the  precepts  of  an  enlightened  age,  and  the  sentiments  of 
a  virtuous  people,  Avill  seek  b}'  appeals  to  reason,  and  b}-  its  liberal 
examples,  to  infuse  into  the  law  which  governs  the  civilized  world  a 
spirit  which  ma}'  diminish  the  frequency,  or  circumscribe  the  calam- 
ities of  war,  and  meliorate  the  social  and  benevolent  relations  of 
peace  ;  a  government,  in  a  word,  which  may  bespeak  the  noblest  of 
all  ambitions,  that  of  promoting  peace  on  earth  and  good- will  to  man.' 

"On  the  occurrences  now  stated  your  memorialists  respectfully 
beg  leave  to  found  the  following  suggestions  and  solicitations. 

"  First.  We  respectfuU}-  solicit,  if  it  be  consistent  with  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  constitution,  that  the  solemn  profession  of  pacific 
principles,  lately  made  by  several  distinguished  sovereigns  of  Eu- 
rope, ma}'  be  met  b}'  corresponding  professions  on  the  part  of  our 
own  government.  Whilst  we  are  sensible  that  a  melancholy  dis- 
cordance has  often  existed  between  the  language  and  the  conduct 
of  rulers,  we  still  believe  that  the  solemn  assertion  of  great  and  im- 
portant principles,  by  men  of  distinguished  rank  and  influence,  has 
a  beneficial  operation  on  society,  by  giving  to  these  principles  an 
increased  authority  over  the  consciences  of  those  b}'  whom  the}'  are 
professed  ;  by  reviving  and  diffusing  a  reverence  for  them  in  the 
community ;  and  by  thus  exalting  the  standard  of  public  opinion, 
that  invisible  sovereign,  to  whose  power  the  most  absolute  prince  is 
often  compelled  to  bow,  and  to  which  the  measures  of  a  free  govern- 
ment are  entirely  subjected.  When  we  consider  the  support  which 
is  now  derived  to  war  from  the  perversion  of  public  sentiment,  we 
are  desirous  that  our  government  should  unite  with  the  governments 
of  Europe  in  a  distinct  and  religious  acknowledgment  of  those 
principles  of  peace  and  charity  on  which  the  prosperity  of  states 
and  the  happiness  of  families  and  individuals  are  alike  suspended. 

"  Secondly.  We  respectfully  solicit  that  Congress  will  institute  a 
deliberate  inquiry,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  methods  by 
which  this  government  may  exert  on  human  affairs  that  hapj)}'  in- 
fluence which  is  anticipated  by  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
the  mefhods  by  which  it '  may  infuse  into  the  law  which  governs  the 
civilized  world  a  pacific  spirit,'  '  may  diminish  the  frequency  or  cir- 
cumscribe the  calamities  of  war,'  and  may  express  the  '  most  noble 
of  all  ambitions,  that  of  promoting  peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to 
man.'  We  are  [)ersuaded  that  a  government  sincerely  disposed  to 
sustain  the  august  and  sublime  character  which  is  here  described, 
of  the  pacificator  of  the  world,  will  not  want  means  of  promoting 
its  ends.     AVe  trust,  that,  under  the  persevering  and  well-directed 


1814-1822.J  THE   SEMINOLE  WAR.  287 

efforts  of  such  a  government,  milder  principles  would  be  introduced 
into  the  conduct  of  national  hostilities  ;  that  the  reference  of  na- 
tional controversies  to  an  impartial  umpire  would  gradually  be  es- 
tablished as  the  law  of  the  Christian  world  ;  and  that  national 
compacts  would  be  formed,  for  the  express  purpose  of  reducing 
the  enormous  and  ruinous  extent  of  military  establishments,  and 
of  abolishing  that  outward  splendor  which  has  so  long  been  thrown 
around  war,  and  wliich  has  contributed  so  largely  to  corrupt  the 
moral  sentiments  of  mankind. 

"When  we  represent  to  ourselves  a  Christian  government  sus- 
taining this  beneficent  relation  to  the  world,  mediating  between 
contending  states,  recommending  peaceful  methods  of  deciding  the 
jarring  claims  of  nations,  laboring  to  strip  war  of  its  pernicious 
glare,  and  to  diminish  the  number  of  those  who  are  interested  in  its 
support,  diffusing  new  and  generous  sentiments  in  regard  to  the 
mutual  duties  and  oliligations  of  different  communities,  and  incul- 
cating by  its  own  example  a  frank  and  benevolent  polic}',  and  a 
sincere  regard  to  the  interests  of  the  world,  —  when  we  represent  to 
ourselves  such  a  government,  we  want  language  to  express  our  con- 
ceptions of  the  happ3'  and  magnificent  results  of  its  operations.  It 
would  form  a  new  and  illustrious  era  in  human  affairs,  whilst,  by  the 
blessings  which  it  would  spread,  and  by  the  honor  and  confidence 
which  it  would  enjoy,  it  would  obtain  a  moral  empire  more  enviable 
than  the  widest  dominion  ever  founded  on  violence  and  crime. 

"■Loving  our  country  with  tenderness  and  zeal,  accustomed  to 
regard  her  as  destined  to  an  exalted  rank  and  to  great  purposes, 
and  desirous  to  behold  in  her  institutions  and  polic}'  increasing 
claims  tO'Our  reverence  and  affection,  we  are  solicitous  that  she 
should  enter  first  on  the  career  of  glor^'  which  has  now  been  de- 
scribed, and  that  all  her  connections  with  foreign  states  should  be 
employed  to  diffuse  the  spirit  of  philanthropy,  and  to  diminish  the 
occasions  and  miseries  of  war.  Of  such  a  country  we  shall  exult  to 
be  the  children,  and  we  pledge  to  it  an  attachment,  veneration,  and 
support  which  can  be  accorded  onlj'  to  a  virtuous  communit}'." 

The  second  paper  is  a  letter  to  Mr.  "Worcester,  in  which  he  refers 
to  the  war  against  the  Seminoles, — a  war  that,  undertaken,  as  it 
was,  by  a  strong  and  professedl}'  Christian  and  civilized  nation 
against  a  scattered  remnant  of  Indians,  because  the}^  offered  a  re- 
treat to  slaves  who  had  escaped  from  our  oppression,  and  with  an 
ulterior  desire  of  robbing  them  of  their  lands,  was  certainly  a  con- 
centration of  all  mean  cruelties. 

"  The  Seminole  business  has  been  disposed  of  bj-  Congress,  and 


288  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

I  liave  no  wish  that  our  societ}'  should  enter  the  hsts  with  govern- 
ment. But  may  not  the  subject  be  treated  usefully  in  this  way? 
Let  us  allow,  for  the  sake  of  the  argument,  that  the  majority  are 
right  in  construing  the  laws  of  war.  Let  us  then  state  distinctly, 
and  without  an}'  exaggeration,  the  acts  of  General  Jackson,  which 
the}'  sa}'  are  justified  b}'  these  laws.  May  we  not  then  bring  home 
to  men's  minds  the  question,  whether  the  time  has  not  come  for 
repealing  such  horrible  laws.  If  war  demands  such  regulations  or 
outrages  to  accomplish  its  ends,  can  war  too  soon  be  abolished? 
We  may  say,  that  Congress  have  authorized  all  future  commanders 
to  exercise  the  same  dreadful  discretion  in  war.  If  so,  is  it  not 
time  to  exert  ourselves  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  this  infernal 
state  of  things?  It  seems  to  me,  you  ma}'  turn  to  good  account  the 
decision  in  Congress,  without  combating  it.  I  wish  this  occasion  to 
be  made  use  of.  The  recital  of  the  transactions  of  this  '  justifiable 
war,'  and  comments  upon  it,  may  furnish  matter  for  the  number,  — 
and  I  believe  the  public  have  not  these  facts  before  them  in  a  con- 
nected series." 

We  have  already  seen  the  strong  detestation  with  which  Mr. 
Channing  regarded  one  of  the  basest  outrages  of  war,  —  if,  indeed, 
any  degree  of  more  or  less  can  be  found  in  the  guilt  of  its  inhuman 
practices,  —  namely,  privateering.  But  so  much  had  he  at  heart  the 
extinction  of  this  barbarous  custom,  that  it  is  but  just  to  him,  by  a 
yet  further  quotation,  to  make  his  sentiments  known.  In  the  ser- 
mon on  the  peace,  from  which  extracts  have  been  given,  he  thus 
speaks  :  — 

"  Ma}'  we  not  hope  that  mercantile  transactions  will  no  longer  fly 
the  day,  and  that  the  lip  of  perjury  will  be  closed  ?  Let  us  espe- 
cially bless  God  that  peace  will  sweep  the  legalized  plunderer  from 
the  ocean,  that  privateering  will  no  longer  violate  all  the  better 
feelings  of  our  nature,  that  the  ocean  will  be  the  pathway  of  upright 
and  honorable  enterprise  instead  of  depraving  warfare,  and  that  we 
shall  bear  our  part  in  dispensing  over  the  earth  the  bounties  of 
Providence." 

In  addition  to  the  promotion  of  peace  and  a  reform  in  peni- 
tentiary discipline  and  i)unishments,  other  philanthopic  move- 
ments also  engaged  INIr.  Chnnning's  sympathy  and  aid.  As  early 
as  1810,  he  preached  a  discourse  upon  Temperance,  which  his 
society  urgently  requested  him  to  print  as  a  tract  for  general  cir- 
culation. In  the  missionary  enterprise,  too,  he  was  much  inter- 
ested, and  brought  the  demands  of  this  cause  impressively  before 
his  people.     Indeed,  so  much  did  he  feel  the  importance  of  this 


1814-1822.]  BIBLE   SOCIETY.  289 

sublime  effort  to  link  the  race  of  man  into  one  whole,  of  which 
Christendom  should  be  the  heart,  —  b}^  streams  of  piety,  intelli- 
gence, and  love  sent  out  to  circulate  through  the  bodj^  of  material 
intercourse  which  commerce  was  forming,  —  that,  according  to  a 
declaration  once  made  to  a  friend,  he  was  on  the  point  of  breaking 
all  his  social  ties  and  devoting  himself  to  the  work.  Infirm  health, 
however,  and  the  pressure  of  the  immediate  duties  in  which  he  was 
engaged  forbade.  But  through  life  he  cherished  a  strong  conviction 
of  the  high  claims  of  missionary  labors,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
was  ever  becoming  more  earnest  to  cleanse  the  fountain,  by  mak- 
ing the  whole  life  of  Christendom,  national,  commercial,  domestic, 
individual,  more  trul}'  Christian. 

This  desire  of  evangelizing  mankind  was  closel}'  connected 
with  another  movement,  just  rising  into  notice,  which  we  now  pro- 
ceed to  mention.  The  era  of  peace  then  dawning  on  the  world 
interested  Mr.  Channing,  b}'  the  opportunitj-  which  it  afforded  for 
uniting  Christians  more  closeh'  in  common  labors  of  beneficence. 
He  saw  everywhere,  as  he  thought,  the  signs  of  a  revival  of  a  life 
of  holiness  and  love.  In  his  sermon  at  the  •'  Solemn  Festival "  he 
had  said  :  — 

' '  This  reaction  in  favor  of  religion  and  virtue  will,  we  trust, 
continue  and  increase.  Amidst  the  sufferings  and  privations  of 
war,  a  generous  spirit  for  the  diffusion  of  the  Scripticres  has  broken 
forth ;  and  at  this  moment  that  sacred  volume,  which  infidelity 
hoped  to  bury  in  forgetfulness  with  the  mouldering  records  of  an- 
cient superstition,  is  more  widel}^  opened  than  in  an}'  former  age  to 
the  nations  of  the  earth." 

Thus  are  we  brought  to  consider  his  connection  with  the  world- 
wide movement  for  the  distribution  of  the  Bible.  In  1811  he  had 
deli\-ered  the  first  anniversary  address  before  the  Bible  Society  of 
Massachusetts,  and  from  1812  to  1820  he  filled  the  most  important 
office  in  the  societ}-,  that  of  Chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee. 
The  annual  reports  prepared  by  him  were  ample.  The}^  were  reg- 
ularly printed,  and  became  an  important  auxiliarj'  in  promoting 
the  objects  of  the  societ}-.  A  few  extracts  from  these  reports  will 
show  the  position  which  this  movement  occupied  in  his  regards. 

1813.  "  No  sincere  Christian  can  need  arguments  to  convince 
him  that  he  is  bound  to  contribute  to  the  diffusion  of  Christianity 
through  the  world.  This  is  a  religion  designed  for  all  nations. 
Jesus  Christ  commanded  his  disciples  to  preach  it  to  ever}'  creature 
under  heaven,  and  shall  we  do  nothing  in  aid  of  this  great  design? 
Is  the  gospel  the  appointed  instrument  of  God  for  restoring  the 

19 


290  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

world  to  pui-ity  and  peace?  Has  the  Son  of  God  died  to  impart 
this  iiivahiable  blessing  to  our  race  ?  Have  holy  men  of  all  ages 
toiled  and  suffered  to  spread  it  tln-ough  the  earth,  and  to  perpetuate 
it  to  unborn  generations  ;  and  shall  we  do  nothing  to  extend  the 
knowledge  and  power  of  the  word  of  eternal  life  ?  .   .   .   . 

"  In  the  present  convulsed  and  disordered  state  of  the  world,  it 
is  most  consoling  and  cheering  to  see  so  man}'  Christians,  of 
different  countries  and  different  denominations,  forgetting  their 
divisions,  and  uniting  in  one  great  effort  for  making  known  the 
Scriptures  to  every  nation  under  heaven.  Like  the  rainbow  in 
a  dark  and  storm}'  sky,  this  is  a  promise  of  a  brighter  and  happier 
da}'.  It  is  suited  to  carry  forward  our  thoughts  to  that  predicted 
period,  when  the  knowledge  of  God  shall  fill  the  earth,  and  all 
nations  be  joined  in  love  to  their  common  Father  and  Redeemer, 
and  to  one  another.  We  should  rejoice  that  it  is  the  design  of 
Providence  to  effect  this  revolution  by  the  instrumentality  of 
Christians,  and  we  should  esteem  it  our  privilege  and  happiness 
that  we  may  bear  a  part  in  this  inexpressibly  sublime  and  merciful 
work  of  God." 

1815.  "  Another  cause  of  congi'atulation  remains  to  be  men- 
tioned. We  refer  to  the  encouraging  intelligence  from  so  many 
parts  of  this  country  and  of  Europe,  of  the  multiplication,  activity, 
and  success  of  institutions  for  the  distribution  of  the  Scriptures. 
The  spirit  of  Christian  charity  seems  to  gather  strength  from  ex- 
ertion. Never,  perhaps,  since  the  first  age  of  Christianity,  has  a 
holier  zeal  existed  than  at  the  present  moment  for  the  moral  and 
religious  improvement  of  mankind.  The  British  and  Foreign  Bible 
Society,  that  full  and  living  fountain,  is  still  sending  forth  its 
streams  of  truth  and  consolation  ;  and  distant  nations,  whom  once 
no  bond  but  interest  connected,  are  now  uniting  in  prayers  and 
labors  for  the  connnunication  of  the  gospel  to  every  creature  under 
heaven. 

"At  such  a  period  the  excitements  to  Christian  exertion  are 
peculiarly  strong.  A  voice  seems  to  reach  us  from  every  part  of 
Christendom,  calling  us  to  strengthen  the  hands  and  to  share  the 
honor  of  our  brethren  in  extending  that  truth  which  has  been  the 
object  of  affection  and  hope  to  the  pious  and  benevolent  of  past 
ages,  and  which  we  are  assured  is  appointed  to  have  free  course  and 
to  be  glorified,  until  it  shall  fill  the  earth,  and  all  flesh  shall  see 
the  salvation  of  (^od." 

1(S1G.  "Never  before  was  so  generous  an  impulse  communi- 
cated to  so  many  hearts.     Never,  since  the  first  promulgation  of 


1814-1822.] 


THEOLOGICAL   SCHOOL.  291 


Christianity,  has  so  sublime  a  spectacle  been  exhibited  as  that 
which  we  now  witness  of  Christians  in  both  hemispheres,  separated 
by  language,  climate,  manners,  and  oceans,  forgetting  their  dis- 
tinctions, and  conspiring  as  brethren  in  the  work  of  Uluminating 
the  world.  Perhaps  human  history  affords  no  example  of  such 
extensive  co-operation  for  the  good  of  mankind. 

"From  such  institutions,  founded  by  the  most  illustrious  men, 
patronized  by  sovereigns,  endowed  by  opulence,  and  inspired  and 
sanctified  by  ardent  love  of  God  and  mankind,  are  we  not  author- 
ized to  hope  a  melioration  of  the  moral  and  religious  condition 
of  society  ?  May  we  not  anticipate  a  more  wide  and  glorious  mani- 
festation" of  the  power  of  Christianity  on  the  hearts  of  men?  May 
we  not  especially  hope,  that  Christian  nations,  being  thus  united 
under  the  peaceful  standard  of  the  cross,  and  laboring  and  triumph- 
ing together  in  the  cause  of  their  common  Lord,  will  drink  more 
laro-ely  into  his  spirit,  will  exchange  their  animosities  for  love,  and 
wilt  shrink  with  horror  from  the  thought  of  devoting  each  other 
to  slaughter  and  desolation  ?  " 

Mr.   Channing  was  interested,   not  only  in  extending  the  cir- 
culation of  the  Bible,  but  in  promoting  a  rational  and  consistent 
interpretation  of  it.     During  this  and  the  later  portion  of  his  life 
he  gave  much  time  and  thought  to  the  elevation  of  theological 
learning.     This  will  appear  more  fully  hereafter ;  but  a  few  hints 
come  liere  in  place,  which  may  indicate  his  progressive  career  of 
thought,  and  show  his  ready  faithfulness  to  every  call  upon  his  ener- 
gies.°  Immediately  after  the  death  of  Buckminster,  who  for  his  age 
was  undoubtedly  the  best  read  and  most  accomplished  theological 
scholar  in  the  country,  and  who  had  been  chosen  the  first  lecturer  on 
the  Dexter  Foundation  in  the  Divinity  School  at  Cambridge,  Mr. 
Channing  was  selected  to  fill  that  office.     This  was  in  1812.     He 
accepted'' the   appointment,  bought  a  portion  of  the  very  valuable 
library  which  his  lamented  friend  had  with  great  care  and  expense 
collected,  sent  abroad  for  various  books  from  Germany  and  Eng- 
land, and  began  to  make  preparations  for  these  new  and  difficult 
duties.     He   was   pleased   with   the    prospect    of  usefulness   thus 
opened,  though  diffident  of  his  fitness  for  the  work.     But  he  soon 
found  that  his  health  was  entirely  inadequate  for  the  efforts  to 
which  he  saw  that  a  conscientious  professor  was  summoned,  who 
in  the  unsettled  state  of  theological  science  undertook  to  be  a 
guide,   and  in   1813  he  resigned  his  trust.     He  retained  a  close 
relation,   however,   to  the  Divinity   School,  and   became    thence- 
forward one  of  its  most  active  guardians,  as  is  conclusively  shown 


292  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [TEt.  34-42. 

in  man}-  letters  and  manuscripts.  The  careful  meditation  which  he 
habitually  turned  upon  an  institution  so  important  in  ever}'  view  to 
the  well-being  of  the  churches  will  appear  by  a  few  extracts  from 
his  private  papers.^ 

"  It  is  essential  to  a  good  institution  that  one  spirit  should  per- 
vade it,  and  that  all  its  parts  should  harmonize.  The  balance 
between  the  intellect  and  the  affections,  or  rather  their  joint  action, 
should  be  most  sedulously  provided  for.  The  Christian  character, 
the  spirit  of  Christ,  as  the  ultimate  in  religion^  should  be  presented 
in  all  its  brightness.  Whatever  draws  the  mind  from  this  is  inju- 
rious. Zeal,  self-denial,  devotion  to  God  and  Humanity  is  lUe 
essential.  The  general  course  of  instruction  should  tend  to  i)i()diice 
these.  Speculations  awakening  scepticism,  or  undue  exercise  of 
intellect,  should  be  avoided.  Great  principles.,  on  which  religious 
sentiment  and  practice  rest,  should  be  strongl}-,  frequently  offered 
to  attention.  The  mind  needs  progress.  Difficult}'  is  its  stimulus. 
But  should  it  not  be  active  chiefl}-  in  analyzing  the  true,  in  working 
on  what  is  substantial,  in  building  on  a  foundation,  in  develop- 
ing the  causes  and  connections  of  what  is  known  to  be  real  ?  To 
determine  what  proportion  of  time  should  be  given  to  points  which 
have  mocked  the  efforts  of  the  wisest  men  in  all  ages,  and  which 
are  3'et  agitated. and  under  debate,  requires  great  judgment." 

"■  The  eno?  of  the  ministr}'  should  be  set  before  them  with  great 
plainness,  the  vastness  of  the  change  which  it  is  intended  to  work  in 
society  and  individuals.  They  should  be  affected  deeply  with  the 
condition  of  society,  with  the  conviction  that  its  state  is  exceed- 
ingly remote  from  that  which  Christianity  is  designed  to  bring  in. 
Their  minds  should  be  quickened  by  the  faith  that  a  great  change  is 
practicable.  Tameness  grows  from  the  thought  of  going  on  for- 
ever in  the  steps  of  the  past.  The  attention  of  theological  students 
should  be  turned  more  on  the  state  of  the  world,  less  on  abstract 
subjects  ;  a  lively  interest  in  its  progress  should  be  aroused.  They 
should  feel  as  men  set  apart  to  produce  a  reform  in  the  moral 
condition  of  mankind.  The  miseries  of  the  mass  of  men.,  their  toils, 
ignorance,  sufferings,  temptations,  should  touch  them.  Study 
should  be  seen  to  be  a  means  onl}'.  How  can  a  theological  insti- 
tution be  made  to  give  to  its  students  the  advantage,  which  students 
in  law  and  medicine  have,  of  seeing  the  actual  application  of  prin- 
ciples, the  profession  illustrated  in  practice  ?  Study  conducted  under 
the  influence  of  sympathy  with  men  would  be  vastly  more  cflicient." 

1  See  also  the  Tract  "  On  Increasing  the  Means  of  Theological  Education," 
&c.,  1816,  Works,  Vol.  V.  pp.  363-371.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  279-282. 


1814-1822.]  HARVARD   UNIVERSITY.  293 

"  The  present  course  of  training  is  too  technical.  It  does  not 
communicate  a  Uving  spirit.  A  tone  of  feeling  should  pervade 
tlie  institution,  so  tliat  new  students  ma}'  at  once  imbibe  it.  Fer- 
vor should  be  a  primary  object.  The  intellect  would  gain  force  and 
largeness  from  such  spiritual  excitement.  The  first  lesson  to  the 
students  should  be,  that,  in  order  to  communicate,  the}'  must  receive 
and  be  filled  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  Living  Christianity 
should  be  the  end.  It  is  true  that  this  spirit  cannot  be  poured 
into  them.  They  must  be  excited  to  seek  it  for  themselves.  But 
this  must  be  presented  as  their  most  indispensable  acquisition. 
The  understanding  of  religion  is  exceedingly  important ;  but  moral 
and  religious  truth  is  best  understood  by  the  moral  and  religious 
culture  of  the  soul.  The  true  spirit  of  study  is  needed,  an  earnest 
desire  to  look  into  the  deep  things  of  religion  from  accordance  of 
heart  with  its  sublime  realities." 

"Fixed  meditation  must  be  encouraged,  —  a  deep  pervading 
sense  of  the  presence  and  perfection  of  God,  —  a  wakeful  spirit 
of  prayer,  —  a  strong  conviction  of  the  reality  of  the  future  life,  — 
a  devotion  to  the  cause  of  Christ,  identification  of  all  their  plans, 
purposes,  and  hopes  with  it,  and  a  sense  of  the  infinite  importance 
of  Christianity,  —  a  reverence  for  the  human  soul,  its  greatness, 
worth,  perils,  prospects, — a  vivid  perception  of  the  high  spiritual 
purpose  of  our  religion,  —  a  distinct  conception  of  the  celestial 
virtue  which  it  is  designed  to  cherish,  —  a  love  deep  and  disin- 
terested for  elevation  of  soul  and  the  zeal  which  personal  expe- 
rience of  the  power  of  religion  gives, — courage,  hardihood,  and  a 
martyr's  patience,  —  a  correspondence  to  the  most  earnest  spirit  of 
the  age  ; ' —  these  habits  of  mind  and  heart  will  form  men  of  the 
sacred  character  which  we  need,  and  fit  them  to  be  sources  of 
spiritual  life  to  society." 

But  it  was  not  alone  by  his  desire  to  give  a  pure,  large,  and 
practical  tone  to  theological  studies,  that  Mr.  Channing  was 
brought  into  active  co-operation  with  the  educational  movements 
of  the  day.  In  1813,  he  had  been  chosen  a  member  of  the  Cor- 
poration of  Harvard  University,  the  duties  of  which  office  he  con- 
tinued to  discliarge  for  thirteen  years.  During  this  period  he 
took  an  efficient  part  in  all  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  course 
of  instruction  and  discipline  in  the  college.  Voluminous  notes 
remain  to  prove  with  what  comprehensive  and  minute  attention  he 
made  himself  acquainted  with  the  condition,  wants,  dangers,  oppor- 
tunities of  the  students,  and  with  what  discriminating  sympathy  he 
lent  his  aid  to  every  proposed  reform.  An  extract  from  these 
papers  may  be  of  interest,  as  showing  his  general  views. 


294  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

"Cannot  religious  and  moral  means  of  influence  be  made  to 
enter  more  largelj'  into  the  college  system,  and  give  it  character? 
Religion  should  be  professedly  and  conspicuously  a  main  end  of 
education.  Piet}^  should  be  held  forth  as  an  essential  element  of 
high  character  in  ever}'  3'oiing  man.  Literary'  emulation  cannot 
supply  sufficient  motive.  We  corrupt  the  young,  and  weaken  their 
best  })rinciples,  by  exclusive  use  of  so  low  a  principle.  Knowledge 
should  always  be  presented  as  valuable  only  when  inspired  with 
and  controlled  by  high  principle.  The  mind  should  be  turned  to 
God  as  the  fountain  of  intelligence,  and  all  growth  in  wisdom  should 
be  seen  to  be  an  approach  toward  him,  and  a  preparation  for  the 
fulfilment  of  his  designs  of  good.  Religion  must  be  exhibited  as 
the  glory  of  our  nature.  An  ingenuous,  magnanimous,  heroic 
form  of  piety  must  be  inculcated,  such  as  is  fitted  to  win  the  gener- 
ous hearts  of  youth.  Religion  still  has  a  monkish,  gloom}',  formal, 
superstitious  air.  It  is  made  a  master,  not  a  friend,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young.  It  is  presented  to  them  in  the  aspect  of  debasing 
terror,  not  of  elevating  and  enlarging  hope.  They  should  be  made 
to  feel  that  it  is  the  source  of  all  lofty,  honorable,  manly  sentiment. 
Its  connection  should  be  shown  with  harmonious  and  balanced 
character,  with  noble  aspiration,  self-devotedness,  grand  endeavor, 
courage,  independence.  There  should  be  a  religious  teacher,  who 
can  present  broad  and  generous  views  of  religion  in  accordance 
with  our  whole  nature,  who  can  converse  freely  with  the  young- 
men,  visit  them,  attract  them  to  him,  and  meet  the  deep  wants 
which  spring  up  in  some  minds  at  this  season  of  life 

"  Religious  character,  profound  moral  feelings,  a  strong  spirit  of 
Christian  piety  and  love,  are  all-important  qualifications  in  the 
governors  and  instructors  of  college,  so  that  they  may  be  per- 
vaded l»y  an  earnest  conviction  of  the  supreme  importance  of  culti- 
vating religion  and  virtue  in  their  pupils,  and  may  constantly  show 
that  religion  is  not  a  mechanical  thing  with  them,  not  a  means  of 
discipline,  but  a  grand  and  living  reality.  Without  this,  intellect 
will  be  too  exclusively  the  object,  and  the  great  end  of  intellectual 
power  and  wealth  will  not  be  sulFieiently  brought  into  view.  Virtue 
should  be  seen  by  the  students  to  be  the  paramount  object.  No 
amount  of  talent  or  acquisition  should  be  allowed  to  be  a  substitute 
for  want  of  morality.  Character  should  be  regarded  as  the  primary 
interest.  There  should  be  a  kind  but  inflexible  demand  for  purity 
and  goodness.  A  student  should  be  made  to  feel  that  every  moral 
taint  is  disgraceful,  base,  abhorrent." 

The  sympathy  thus  forever  radiating  to  the  interests  of  society 
at  laro-e  did  not  exhaust  Mr.   Channing's  love,  which  shone  only 


1814-1822.]  BENEVOLENCE.  295 

brighter  and  warmer,  the  nearer  the  sphere  of  its  action  to  its 
central  source.  He  was  still  a  practical  philanthropist.  Physical 
debility  had  gradually  warned  him,  it  is  true,  to  confine  his  per- 
sonal activit}'  within  narrower  limits  than  he  had  marked  out  in 
his  earlier  ministr}',  and  the  whole  tendency  of  events  had  been  to 
teach  him,  that  his  more  peculiar  and  appropriate  function  was  to 
be  a  discoverer  and  announcer  of  spiritual  principles.  But  proof 
enough  remains,  that  the  benevolence  which  we  have  noticed  in  his 
spring-time  had  become  the  confirmed  and  unconscious  habit  of  his 
summer.     Thus  writes  a  recipient  of  his  bounty  :  — 

' '  I  ought  to  see  the  good  hand  of  God  continually  stretched  out, 
but  some  such  special  providences  strike  my  mind  with  peculiar 
power.  Were  I  to  tell  3'ou  ni}'  situation,  your  conviction  would 
brighten,  that  the  hearts  of  all  men  are  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord. 
For  a  number  of  days  previous  to  receiving  your  letter,  our  barrel 
of  meal  and  cruse  were  reduced  to  nothing,  and  I  had  called  on  a 
number  for  help,  but  could  not  obtain  it.  I  borrowed  a  horse,  and 
set  out  with  a  determination  to  procure  some  necessaries  for  my 
famil}',  even  if  by  increasing  my  debts.  On  looking  into  my  desk, 
I  found  only  three  cents,  which  I  took  with  me.  In  passing 
through  the  town,  I  stopped  at  the  post-oflSce  to  put  in  a  letter, 
when  the  postmaster  informed  me  that  there  was  a  letter  there  for 
me.  I  thought  within  myself,  '  How  shall  I  pay  for  it  with  three 
cents?'  when,  lo !  a  letter  is  handed  me  post-paid.  'Generous 
friend  ! '  said  I.  I  opened  it,  and  was  at  first  surprised  by  the  bill. 
But  after  reflection,  I  said  to  my  companion,  '  See  what  the  Lord 
can  do  !  '•  Though  the  money  gave  us  jo}',  when  thinking  of  the 
unknown  benefactor,  whom  God  had  enabled  and  disposed  thus 
to  contribute  to  unworthy  strangers,  yet  the  matter  of  the  letter, 
distilled  from  the  heart  of  the  writer,  gave  us  much  higher  joy. 
When  paying  m}'  debts,  which  I  was  thus  enabled  to  do,  and  pro- 
curing some  necessaries,  we  could  not  refrain  from  mentioning 
this  kind  providence.  I  hope  there  was  nothing  wrong  in  this,  as 
we  read  that  what  a  certain  woman  did  for  Christ  was  to  be  told  as 
a  memorial  of  her." 

To  ever}'  form  of  public  charity  Mr.  Channing  lent  his  ready 
counsel  and  encouragement ;  but  it  was  chiefl}'  within  his  own  con- 
gregation that  he  was  earnest  to  secure  efficient  union  for  purposes 
of  mutual  culture  and  co-operative  usefulness.  With  this  view,  he, 
in  1817,  addressed  the  following  letter  to  the  Committee  of  the 
Society  in  Federal  Street. 

"  Gentlemen:  —  It  has  pleased  a  kind  Providence  to  smile  on 


296  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

the  religious  society  with  which  we  are  connected.  The  present 
ought  to  be  gratefull}'  acknowledged  b}'  us  as  a  period  of  pros- 
perity, and  it  seems  to  me  a  peculiarly'  proper  one  for  accomplishing 
some  valuable  objects,  b}'  which  both  we  and  our  children  may  be 
improved. 

"I  have  for  some  time  thought  that  a  vestrj'-hall,  or  small 
building  belonging  to  the  society,  and  placed  as  near  the  church  as 
may  be,  would  be  a  great  accommodation  and  benefit.  The  uses 
of  it  are  as  follows  :  — 

"  1 .  It  would  be  a  convenient  place  for  catechising  and  instruct- 
ing the  children  of  the  society,  —  a  service  for  which  the  church 
furnishes  ver}'  poor  accommodations,  especially  in  winter. 

"2.  It  would  give  us  a  place  for  a  singing -school^  which  is  very 
much  needed.  Though  our  singing  is  ver^-  much  improved,  we  all 
of  us  feel  that  it  might  be  rendered  a  more  intei-esting  part  of 
public  worship.  If  we  had  a  vestry  attached  to  the  church,  I 
think  that  several  persons  might  meet  in  it  to  receive  instruc- 
tion, who  would  not  attend  a  public  school.  Besides,  there  might 
be  weekl}'  or  monthly  meetings  of  those  of  the  societj'  who  are 
acquainted  with  singing,  for  purposes  of  improvement  and  gratifi- 
cation. 

"3.  It  is  known  to  the  committee,  I  presume,  that  a  charity 
school  has  been  supported  by  contributions  from  our  society  and 
the  New  South  Church,  an  admirable  institution,  and  conducted  in 
part  by  .young  ladies  of  our  church.  I  am  very  desirous  of  giving 
perpetuity  to  this  truly  Christian  establishment,  and  I  conceive  that 
this  will  be  effected,  if  we  provide  a  building  in  which  the  school 
may  be  kept. 

"  4.  There  is  also  a  Sunday  school,  }\xsi  commenced,  for  which  a 
vestry  would  be  highly  desirable. 

"5.  If  this  plan  is  adopted,  a  place  will  be  provided  for  meetings 
of  the  church,  or  of  other  parts  of  the  society,  for  which  the  com- 
mon place  of  worship  is  too  large.  The  young  ladies  of  the  society 
have  been  accustomed  to  meet  for  the  purpose  of  being  instructed 
by  their  pastor.  I  should  wish,  if  a  suitable  place  were  provided, 
to  meet  the  young  men  also  for  the  same  purpose. 

"  6.  I  have  a  strong  impression  that  a  collection  of  the  most  ap- 
proved booh  on  moral  and  religious  subjects  would  be  a  great  and 
lasting  benefit  to  our  societ}'.  Such  books,  it  is  well  known,  have 
an  important  influence  on  the  character,  especially  of  the  young, 
and  yet  they  are  far  from  being  common  among  us.  Perhai)s  the 
extent  of  the  deficiency  would  surprise  you.  There  are  some  fami- 
lies of  our  number,   in  which   individuals  may  be  found  with  a 


1814-1822.]  BERRY-STREET   VESTRY.  297 

strong  taste  for  reading,  but  who  cannot  afford  to  purchase  any  but 
the  most  necessar}'  books.  In  the  families  of  the  opulent,  too, 
there  are  often  but  few  books  suited  to  illustrate  the  Scriptures,  and 
to  furnish  religious  instruction,  and  these  few  are  often  far  from 
being  the  best.  This  deficiency  is  not  to  be  supplied  by  circulating 
libraries,  for  the}^  contain  hardl}'  anything  but  works  of  an  amusing 
nature.  Even  where  a  disposition  exists  to  purchase  useful  publi- 
cations on  moral  and  religious  subjects,  the  wish  is  sometimes 
frustrated,  either  by  mistakes  as  to  the  merits  of  books,  or  by  the 
inability  of  obtaining  the  best  in  this  country.  Some  of  the  most 
valuable  works  must  be  sent  for  to  Europe,  because  the  demand  is 
not  sufficient  to  justify  booksellers  in  importing  or  reprinting  them. 
These  considerations  persuade  me  that  we  cannot  easily  render 
greater  service  to  the  society  than  by  laying  the  foundation  of  a 
library  to  which  all  classes  shall  have  access.  I  believe  that  read- 
ing on  religious  subjects  will  be  very  much  increased  by  it ;  that  the 
attention  of  the  young,  which  is  now  too  often  wasted  on  unprofit- 
able books,  will  be  drawn  to  the  best  authors  ;  that  a  spirit  of  inquiry 
will  be  excited  ;  that  the  Scriptures  will  be  much  better  understood  ; 
that  the  minds  of  many  will  be  enlarged ;  that  Sunday  will  be  spent 
with  greater  pleasure  and  profit ;  and  that  the  instructions  of  the 
pulpit,  aided  by  books  which  the  preacher  will  recommend,  will  be 
more  efficacious. 

"  These  are  important  benefits,  but  these  are  not  all.  I  would 
recommend,  as  a  part  of  the  plan,  that  the  minister  should  be  the 
Hbrarian.  The  consequence  of  this  will  be,  that  his  intercourse 
with  all  classes  and  ages  of  the  society  will  be  increased,  and  his 
knowledge  of  the  books  which  they  are  reading  will  furnish  useful 
topics  of  conversation  and  advice.  This  effect,  a  closer  union  be- 
tween the  minister  and  people,  seems  to  me  very  valuable.  I  beUeve, 
too,  that  a  valuable  collection  of  books,  to  which  all  the  members  of 
the  society  may  repair,  as  to  a  common  fountain  of  instruction, 
will  increase  their  interest  in  the  society  and  be  a  bond  of  union 
to  each  other.  May  I  add,  that  to  the  present,  and  especially  to 
future  ministers,  this  collection  will  be  of  great  use.  Our  salaries 
do  not  permit  us  to  furnish  ourselves,  but  very  imperfectly,  with 
books  ;  and  the  liberty  of  using  freely  such  a  library  as  I  propose 
will  enable  us  to  unfold  many  subjects  more  fully  than  at  present 
to  our  hearers. 

"  Your  friend  and  pastor." 

In  this  project  he  had  the  cordial  support  of  his  wise  and  warm- 
hearted friend,  the  Hon.  Judge  Davis,  who  for  so  many  years  was 


298  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34-42. 

the  deacon  of  his  society  and  his  invaluable  counsellor,  and  the 
society  liberally  contributed  to  fulfil  the  plan.  The  building  was 
finished  and  opened  in  the  autumn  of  1818,  on  which  occasion  he 
made  an  address,  from  which  a  few  sentences  may  be  selected. 

"  This  building  has  already  done  good  by  the  exercise  which  it 
has  given  to  j-our  liberality  and  to  many  pure  sentiments.  It  is 
now  doing  good  ;  for  it  is  bringing  us  together  as  brethren,  as 
members  of  the  same  Christian  community.  Yet  more  is  it,  we 
trust,  to  do  good ;  for  we  have  reared  it  for  the  advancement  of 
Christianity,  a  religion  which  meets  all  our  wants,  sorrows,  guilt, 
and  fear,  —  which  opens  its  arms  to  infancy,  and  directs  the  ardent 
miud  of  youth  to  its  Creator,  which  furnishes  to  our  riper  years 
moti\es  to  uprightness,  which  goes  with  us  to  the  grave,  and 
strengthens  the  sight  to  discern  a  brighter  world  beyond. 

"  One  leading  object  of  this  building  was,  to  provide  for  the  re- 
ligious instruction  of  children.  I  need  not  observe  to  you,  that  in 
our  i)ublic  services  our  children  hear  much  which  they  cannot  under- 
stand, and  that  they  need  more  simple  and  direct  instruction.  If 
strength  shall  be  given  me,  I  shall  engage  in  this  work,  I  hope, 
with  more  earnestness  than  I  have  been  able  to  do,  though  not  with- 
out diffidence.  The  task  is  not  as  eas}'  a  one  as  many  suppose.  It 
is  easier  to  convey-  knowledge  to  minds  as  ripe  as  our  own,  than  to 
adapt  ourselves  to  an  age  of  which  we  preserve  only  indistinct 
recollections.  There  is,  indeed,  no  labor  in  teaching  children  to 
repeat  words  ;  but  to  proportion  our  communications  to  their  ca- 
pacities, to  bring  the  invisible  God  near  to  them,  to  excite  them  to 
thought,  to  touch  their  hearts,  —  these  are  objects  which  have  not 
sufficiently  been  proposed  in  education,  and  we  must  advance  to- 
wards them  by  a  path  of  our  own  discover}'.  In  this  part  of  m\- 
duty,  I  hope  that  some  of  you  will  have  the  leisure  and  disposition 
to  assist.  I  could  wish  that  we  might  consider  the  religious  educa- 
tion of  the  children  of  the  society  a  common  end,  to  be  talked  of 
when  we  meet,  and  to  be  advanced  by  each  other's  observations 
and  experiments.  I  dare  not  pledge  myself  for  great  exertion,  but, 
if  health  permit.  I  should  delight  in  making  the  trial,  how  far  i)aro- 
chial  may  aid  domestic  instruction,  in  saving  children  from  tempta- 
tions, imbuing  them  with  Christian  principle,  and,  while  they  are 
yet  tender  and  unfettered  bj'  habit,  confirming  their  choice  of  a 
pious  and  virtuous  life. 

"  It  is  also  my  hope  to  meet  here  the  ladies  of  the  society  whom 
I  have  been  accustomed  to  assemble  for  the  stud}'  of  the  Scriptures  ; 
and  nothing  would  gratify  me  more  than  to  meet  occasionally  the 


1814-1822. 


GROWING  CELEBRITY.  299 


young  men  for  free  conversation,  or  more  regular  instruction,  on 
the  subject  of  religion." 

The  meetings  of  ladies  which  are  here  referred  to  had  been  held 
by  Mr.  Chaniiing  for  many  years.  One  who  was  at  this  period  his 
parishioner,  and  thenceforward  to  the  end  of  his  life  an  intimate 
and  valued  friend,  Mrs.  George  Lee,^  thus  records  her  recollections 
of  them :  — 

"  These  meetings  were  usually  held  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Codman. 
They  were  intended  for  religious  instruction  and  for  awakening  a 
just  comprehension  of  religious  duty.  Mr.  Channing  opened  the 
services  by  reading  portions  of  the  New  Testament,  which  he  com- 
mented upon  in  his  lucid  manner,  throwing  light  upon  obscure  pas- 
sages, and  rousing  his  hearers'  minds  to  their  highest  capacity  of 
retiection.  His  observations  were  eminently  fitted  to  inspire  a  de- 
votional feeling,  and  shed  abroad  a  spirit  of  prayer.  The  subjects 
selected  were  those  which  the  whole  tenor  of  his  Ufe  and  preaching 
inculcated,  —unreserved  love  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  uncompro- 
mising obedience  to  his  will,  the  surrender  of  the  whole  soul  to  his 
servicfe,  the  unspeakable  benefits  received  through  the  mission  of 
his  Son,  the  wisdom  as  well  as  beauty  of  holiness.  It  was  by  his 
fervent  and  exalted  manner,  that  he  prepared  his  auditors  for  the 
closing  prayer  ;  and  when  he  arose,  —  for  he  addressed  us  seated,  — 
and  said  with  his  solemn  and  impressive  voice,  '  Let  us  pray,'  I  am 
sure  there  was  not  a  wandering  heart  amongst  us. 

^^The  meeting  might  be  called  one  for  social  worship,  a  gather- 
ing round  a  domestic  altar.  The  eff^ect  could  not  but  be  salutary. 
A^few  hours  were  redeemed  from  the  cares  and  anxieties,  the 
frivolities  and  conventional  forms  of  hfe,  and  the  mind  called  home 
and  directed  to  its  highest  destination.  The  number  of  worshippers 
varied ;  but  I  should^think  there  were  usually  fifty  or  more  present. 
The  meeting  was  designed  for  the  females  of  his  own  society, 
though  otheT-s  often  requested  the  privilege  of  attending.  I  am 
happy  to  recall  those  pleasant  days,  and  cannot  be  grateful  enough 
that  to  the  last  I  enjoyed  the  conversation  of  our  beloved  friend, 
and  felt  the  influence  of  his  Ufe.  Can  I  ever  forget  his  calm,  im- 
pressive tone?" 

Thus  it  appears  that  Mr.  Channing  was  still  an  active  pastor. 
But  it  was  chiefly  through  his  sermons  that  he  exerted  influence. 
His  power  in  the  pulpit  had  from  the  first  been  constantly  increas- 
ing, and  his  full  congregation  was  now  often  crowded  by  strangers, 

1  Author  of  "  Three  Experiments  of  Living,"  "  The  Huguenots  in  France 
and  America,"  &c. 


300  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

who  gathered  from  various  motives  to  hear  one  who  was  everywhere 
recognized  as  the  most  eloquent  and  effective  preacher  in  Boston. 
His  discourses  occasioned  bj'  the  great  pohtical  crisis  through  whicli 
the  country  had  been  called  to  pass,  from  1812  onwards, — the 
bold,  original,  and  discriminating  address  on  war  in  1816, — his 
able  publications  in  the  Unitarian  controversy',  and  especiallj'  his 
Baltimore  sermon,  delivered  in  1819,  of  which  several  editions  were 
at  once  printed,  and  which  was  circulated  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land,  —  and,  finall}-,  the  masterly  Dudleian  Lecture 
in  1821,  in  which  so  succinctl^^  and  glowingly  he  presented  the 
evidences  of  Revealed  Religion,  —  had  gradually'  established  his 
position  in  the  very  first  rank  of  the  thinkers  and  scholars  of  the 
country  ;  and  at  this  time  he  was  experiencing  the  incentives  and 
temptations  of  celebrity'.  That  he  was  painfull}'  conscious  of  the 
ensnaring  power  of  the  ambition  which  a  position  of  such  eminence 
naturally  engenders,  appears  from  the  care  with  which  in  his  jour- 
nals he  guards  himself  against  its  charms  and  strives  to  maintain 
the  purest  singleness  of  purpose.  His  private  papers  of  this  whole 
period  are  most  affecting  from  their  moral  beaut}' ;  but  the  reader 
turns  his  e3'e  awa}'  from  secrets  which  a  mortal  scarcel}'  whispers 
to  his  own  heart,  and  a  feeling  comes  over  him  of  the  awful  sanctity 
of  that  temple  of  the  soul  whereinto  God's  guardian  angels  only 
have  befitting  innocence  to  enter.  It  is  enough  to  sa}',  that  con- 
science sat  ever  vigilant  at  the  portal  of  his  heart,  like  a  father 
confessor  listening  to  hear  the  faintest  breathings  of  remorse,  to 
prescribe  the  needed  penance,  to  give  the  blessed  sign  and  word  of 
absolution. 

Yet  from  the  piles  of  these  documents,  in  which  the  writer's 
Inmost  experience  is  laid  bare,  as  if  he  stood  transparent  in  the 
very  light  of  the  all-penetrating  eye,  it  seems  but  right  to  select  a 
few  of  the  less  personal  expressions  of  feeling  and  thought ;  for 
there  is  no  other  wa}'  of  showing  the  essential  character  of  the 
man.  The  most  striking  intellectual  peculiarity  of  these  papers  is 
their  minute  exhauHive  analysis,  —  their  spirit  is  devoutness.  The 
writer  takes  up  some  disposition  of  which  lie  is  conscious,  some 
branch  of  dut}',  some  relation  in  life,  some  grand  principle,  some 
reality,  and,  holding  it  tenaciously  before  him,  not  onl}-  for  a  day 
or  week,  but,  as  dates  clearly  prove,  for  months  and  years,  slowly 
elaborates  a  consistent  and  complete  view.  It  is  very  interesting 
to  compare  the  hints  scattered  in  these  loose  sheets  with  the  com- 
pact, finished  form  in  which  many  of  the  thoughts  finally  appeared 
in  the  author's  published  works.  One  gains  thereby  some  insight 
of  the  mode  whereby  in  the  moral  as  in  the  natural  world  gems  are 


1814-1822.]  CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.  301 

formed,  and  precious  metals  deposited  in  the  rocks.  The  pro- 
found conscientiousness,  patience,  earnest  soleranit}',  concentrated 
strength,  unity,  of  this  good  man  thus  become  apparent ;  it  is  seen 
how  weight}'  to  his  own  mind  was  the  meaning  of  his  words,  how 
sedulously  he  simphfied  the  statement  of  his  opinions,  how  through 
much  struggle  he  attained  to  calm,  even,  equable  utterance,  how 
carefull}'  he  reserved  what  was  most  fresh,  brilliant,  novel,  until 
assured  of  its  substantial  truth,  —  from  what  depth  of  experience 
he  drew.  From  beginning  to  end,  the}'  mark  the  progress  by  which 
an  earth-born  creature  is  through  willing  faith  transfigured  into  an 
image,  faint  though  it  be,  of  divine  disinterestedness.  In  the  frag- 
ments which  we  select,  suggestions  as  to  the  ministerial  profession, 
the  special  calls  of  the  times,  his  relations  to  his  people,  and  his 
own  peculiar  duties,  are  so  intermingled,  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  attempt  to  cast  them  anew  into  anj-  formal  mould.  Evidently, 
to  his  own  mind,  his  outward  life  and  his  inward  thoughts  were 
one. 

' '  I  should  desire  that  knowledge  which  will  conduce  most  to  the 
salvation  of  my  people.  This  sentiment  is  most  favorable  to  en- 
larged views,  and  free  and  vigorous  action  of  mind.  A  general 
loftiness  of  sentiment,  independence  on  men,  consciousness  of  good 
intentions,  self-oblivion  in  great  objects,  clear  views  of  futuritj', 
thoughts  of  the  blessed  companionship  with  saints  and  angels,  trust 
in  God,  as  the  friend  of  truth  and  virtue,  —  these  are  the  states  of 
mind  in  which  I  should  live." 

"  Let  me  be  verj^  definite  in  the  ends  which  I  propose,  when 
I  converse,  write,  or  preach,  and  let  me  keep  them  in  view,  and 
press  forward  to  them.  Let  me  appeal  to  God  for  the  truth  and 
importance  of  ever}-  sentiment,  and  for  m}'  own  sincere  conviction, 
and  my  desire  to  impress  it.  Let  me  write  with  praj'er,  as  on  my 
knees,  sensible  of  m}'  dependence  on  the  Divine  Spirit  for  every 
good  exercise,  every  right  aim,  ever}'  disinterested  affection.  Let 
me  be  satisfied  with  plain,  serious,  important  truth,  expressed  per- 
spicuously." 

"  Let  me  purpose,  before  I  begin  to  write,  some  definite,  serious 
impression  which  I  wish  to  make,  and  pray  for  direction  and 
sincerit}'.  Let  me  lead  a  whole  life  of  religion,  humility,  faith, 
devotion ;  for  unless  there  be  this  general  frame  of  character,  no 
particular  acts  will  be  religious  in  spirit.  The  heart  is  alwaj's 
active,  and  builds  up  unawares  the  discourse  of  the  speaker,  turns 
his  thoughts,  fashions  his  expression.  Let  me  in  writing  and  re- 
viewing hold  intercourse  with  God,  refer  every  word  to  his  appro- 
bation, and  consider  whether  I  bear  his  message." 


302  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34-42. 

"  Let  me  cultivate  love,  be  continually  setting  before  ni}-  mind 
views  which  will  lead  to  disinterestedness,  be  continually-  engaged 
in  some  definite  benevolent  object.  Let  me  labor  through  the  week 
to  keep  alive  a  devotional  sentiment,  which  may  thus  show  itself 
unforced,  and  communicate  itself  to  others  on  the  Sabbath." 

"Is  m}' preaching  attended  with  encouraging  results?  Do  m}^ 
people  come  to  hear  me  to  be  pleased,  or  to  be  made  better?  Are 
they  not  rather  attached  to  the  man,  than  to  the  cause?  Let  me 
be  more  plain,  urgent,  importunate,  tender.  I  am  more  and  more 
sensible  to  the  importance  of  an  earnest,  unaffected  manner.  I 
should  lead  my  hearers  home  to  their  own  hearts  and  lives,  and 
preach  searching  sermons.  I  am  not  plain  and  forcible  enough. 
I  appeal  too  much  to  the  ingenuous  feelings.  Men  need  also  sol- 
emn, stern  warnings.  Religion  must  be  presented  to  them  as  the 
end  of  life,  the  grand  realit}'.  Let  me  begin  to  write  early  enough 
in  the  week,  so  that  I  may  throw  m^'  whole  soul  into  the  close  of 
my  sermons.  M3'  work  should  be  all  in  all.  I  should  visit  my 
people  more  freelj',  become  a  member  of  their  families,  know  them, 
be  known  by  them,  win  their  confidence.  The  sight  of  every 
parishioner,  and  indeed  of  every  human  being,  should  be  accom- 
panied with  the  thought  of  the  grandeur  of  a  human  soul,  of  the 
beaut}',  excellence,  happiness,  to  which  ever}'  soul  may  attain,  and 
the  degradation  and  misery  into  which  it  may  fall." 

"A  minister  should  feel  that  he  is  dispensing  the  truths  of  a 
religion  introduced  by  a  long  line  of  pro[)hets,  sealed  by  the  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ,  designed  to  conduct  men  to  all  glor}'  and  excellence, 
to  introduce  a  stupendous  change  in  human  affairs,  to  fill  earth 
with  the  happiness  of  heaven.  The  idea  of  this  grand  change 
should  be  ever  present  to  him.  Nothing  low  should  content  him. 
To  inspire  elevated,  disinterested  piety  should  be  his  aim.  He 
should _yt/^  his  mind  with  the  thought  that  man  is  destined  to  be- 
come the  glorious  image  of  God.  He  should  live  in  a  region  of 
hope,  he  is  to  be  distinguished  b}'  grandeur  of  aim,  he  should  rise 
above  human  opinion  and  ever}'  influence  which  now  bows  down 
the  faculties  with  solicitude,  despondency,  agitation,  fear.  Zeal 
to  advance  the  great  felicity  to  which  Christ  came  to  raise  all  men 
should  animate  him  forever.  He  should  never  think  of  rest,  till 
this  sublime  end  is  accomplished.  His  whole  intercourse  should 
tend  to  exalt  and  animate  men's  conceptions  and  desires.  All  his 
influence  should  terminate  in  this  central  point,  —  that  Christ  came 
to  call  us  to  a  true  regeneration,  to  a  celestial  virtue  ;  that  much, 
very  much,  is  to  be  sought,  is  to  be  gained.  A  diffusive  philan- 
thropy should  be  his  habitual  temper.     He  should  view  his  people 


1814-1822.J  PULPIT  ELOQUENCE.  303 

as  a  part  of  mankind  speciall}'  intrusted  to  liim,  whom  he  is  to 
arouse  to  oo-operation  in  the  great  common  work  of  promoting 
holiness  and  liappiness  througliout  the  eartli.  He  must  be  warm, 
bold,  efficient.     The  ends  before  him  are  infinite." 

"Good  preaching  never  enraptures  an  audience  b}- beauties  of 
st^^le,  elocution,  or  gesture.  An  eas}',  unbalanced,  unlabored  st3'le 
should  be  the  common  mode  of  expression.  This  will  give  relief 
and  prominence  to  more  important  parts,  and  insure  A'ariety. 
Composition  should  resemble  nature.  DazzUng  objects  soon  fatigue 
the  eye.  Simple  truth,  in  plain,  perspicuous  words,  should  form 
the  bod}-  of  the  discourse,  and  all  appeals  of  peculiarl}-  solemnizing, 
melting,  invigorating  character  should  be  introduced  in  the  waj'  of 
transition.  B}'  simple  truth,  staleness  and  tameness  are  not  meant, 
for  there  should  alwaj^s  be  richness  of  thought.  A  sermon  should 
never  be  a  barren  sand-level  of  commonplaces,  but  a  fresh,  fertile 
field,  verdant  and  well  watered.  In  style,  as  in  music,  there  should 
be  a  key,  which  should  change  with  the  topic.  Let  clearness,  dig- 
nit}-,  unstrained  vigor,  elevation  without  turgidness,  purity  without 
primness,  pathos  without  whining,  characterize  m_y  style.  Let  me 
stud}-  to  be  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  truth  I  am  to  utter,  and  I 
shall  speak  as  I  ought.  A  slow,  distinct,  and  rather  low  enuncia- 
tion should  form  the  ground  of  deliver}'.  It  is  better  to  require 
exertion  on  the  part  of  the  hearer,  than  to  stun  him  with  clamor." 

"That  is  the  best  preaching,  which  leads  the  audience  to  lose 
sight  of  the  speaker  in  the  sublimit}-  of  his  themes,  when  the  words 
and  tones  are  forgotten,  and  the  minds  of  all  are  awakened  to  the 
contemplation  of  grand  realities.  I  wish  to  bring  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  near  to  men,  to  persuade  them  to  lead  devoted,  pure,  loving 
lives.  How  shall  I  thus  persuade  them?  Not  by  violence,  irrita- 
tion, self-exaltation,  enthusiasm,  excess, — not  by  prejudicing  my 
hearers  against  me  as  a  fanatic,  and  exciting  their  opposition, — 
but  by  manifesting  a  calm,  kind,  humble,  sincere,  dispassionate 
state  of  heart,  with  clear  views  and  direct  purposes.  Let  me  preach 
the  whole  truth  plainly,  earnestly,  tenderly,  but  with  self-posses- 
sion. We  should  labor  to  undeceive  men,  Avho  are  deluded  by 
self-love  and  by  fashion,  satisfied  by  a  hollow  outside,  decency  of 
manners,  ensnared  by  subtle  temptations,  and  make  them  feel  to 
the  quick  the  need  of  a  radical  change,  of  nitegrity,  purity,  heavenly- 
mindedness.  To  do  this,  we  must  have  the  power  to  search  the 
heart.  We  must  be  at  once  full  of  feeling,  argumentative,  com- 
prehensive, particular.  I  ought  to  make  every  sermon  practical  by 
applying  it  to  my  own  state  in  a  continuous  process  of  self-exami- 
nation.    Permanent  impression  is  the  test  of  good  preaching.     Hence 


304  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [iEx.  34-42. 

individualit}',  united  with  large  principles,  is  an  essential  requisite 
in  a  good  sermon.  Every  hearer  should  feel  that  he  is  immediateh' 
interested  in  the  truths  which  are  taught,  that  then  and  there  the}' 
appl}-  directly  to  him." 

"  That  which  is  often  called  pulpit  eloquence  is  a  mode  of  address 
calculated  chiefly  to  warm  the  imagination  and  agitate  the  passions. 
But  in  preaching,  the  true  end  is  not  so  much  to  produce  some  sud- 
den effect,  as  to  make  impressions  which  will  abide  through  life,  to 
plant  seeds  which  shall  grow  and  ripen  forever.  An  impulse  com- 
municated to  a  popular  assembly  is  short-lived.  No  change  of  char- 
acter is  produced  by  it.  A  preacher  who  habituall}^  adopts  this 
so-called  eloquent  manner  ma}'  be  a  boast  to  his  people  and  a 
wonder  to  strangers,  but  his  real  influence  will  be  constantly  les- 
sening. He  will  be  heard,  admired,  criticised,  as  an  actor  is,  for 
the  excitement  he  causes.  And  as  he  has  not  the  advantage  of  a 
political  declaimer,  who  can  find  read}'  stimulants  for  his  audience 
in  the  national  and  local  topic  of  the  day,  he  will  be  forced  to  seek 
his  charm  in  brilliant  ornament  and  striking  delivery,  and  will 
finally  fall  into  verboseness,  afl!ectation,  puerility,  mysticism,  ex- 
travagance. On  the  other  hand,  a  preacher  who  wishes  to  interest 
his  people  for  life  must  attract  and  fasten  their  regards  upon  the 
sacred  subjects  which  he  brings  before  them,  and  not  upon  his 
manner.  He  must  awaken  in  them  a  love  of  truth,  of  religious 
instruction,  of  spiritual  improvement,  of  holiness.  Then  will  their 
attention  be  unwearied  and  ever  deepening.  A  minister  who  is 
listened  to,  at  the  very  time  when  he  has  conspicuous  defects  in 
style  and  elocution,  has  a  much  fairer  prospect  of  usefulness  than 
many  a  brilliant  orator,  whom  a  congregation  first  hear  with  rap- 
ture, and  then  grow  cold  to.  Attention,  deep  attention,  is  what 
is  wanted  in  an  audience  ;  and  the  mode  to  excite  it  and  keep  it 
alive  is  to  present  great  truths  which  fill  their  minds,  and  motives 
which  inwardly  prompt  them  to  vigorous  and  constant  action.  A 
minister  must  himself,  then,  be  engaged,  alive,  absorbed  in  great 
interests,  profoundly  convinced  of  the  infinite  importance  of  receiv- 
ing Divine  truth,  and  manifesting  it  in  his  whole  life." 

"  I  must  urge  that  repentance  wliich  consists  in  realizing  the 
entire  obligation  of  the  law  of  right,  in  feeling  bound  to  render 
perfect  obedience,  in  regarding  all  sin  as  inexcusable,  in  longing 
for  a  total  deliverance  from  evil.  Men  must  be  made  to  abhor 
their  sins,  to  be  prostrated  before  the  long-suffering  benignity  of 
God,  to  be  humbled,  melted,  filled  with  shame  at  the  thought  of 
disobeying  such  an  infinitely  wise  as  well  as  merciful  Being.  It  is 
important  to  set  forth  the  law  of  God  in  all  its  sanctity,  largeness, 


1814-1822.]  TRUE  ELOQUENCE  305 

strictness,  beaut}',  glory.  It  must  be  shown  that  the  only  satis- 
faction, peace,  jo}',  is  in  being  conformed  by  Divine  love  to  the 
image  of  God.  This  must  be  urged  until  men  see  and  feel  that  all 
selfishness  is  a  miserable,  hopeless  exile,  till  they  love  spiritual  life 
as  it  is  in  God  and  angels,  as  the  highest  good,  to  be  joyfully 
chosen  above  all  things." 

"  When  I  propose  a  subject  for  a  discourse,  the  question  should 
be,  How  can  I  bring  my  mind  into  the  state  most  favorable  to 
clear  understanding,  deep  impression,  strong  representation  of  it? 
But  I  should  not  labor  while  I  write,  nor  work  myself  up  into  a 
fever  inconsistent  with  calm,  humble  dependence  upon  the  Divine 
Spirit,  and  thoughtful,  affectionate  regard  for  those  whom  I  am  to 
address.  There  should  be  nothing  strained  or  excessive,  while 
seeking  to  place  a  subject  in  a  light  which  will  bring  out  new  con- 
nections, and  array  it  in  attractive  beauty.  My  whole  mode  of  life 
should  be  a  preparation  for  treating  interesting  themes  in  a  fresh 
and  animating  way.  In  choosing  a  topic,  I  should  first  view  it  in 
its  connections,  relations,  position,  as  compared  with  other  truths. 
I  should  then  let  it  expand  fulh'  in  my  mind  into  all  its  branches 
and  applications.  From  among  these  I  should  select  the  views 
most  suited  to  the  special  end  I  have  before  me.  Next,  I  should 
consider  careful!}'  the  best  method  of  arrangement ;  and  in  treating 
every  head,  my  mind  should  be  active  to  unfold  the  general  thoughts 
involved  in  it  in  their  relations  to  the  main  subject  of  the  discourse. 
Every  passage  should  be  tested  by  its  tendency  to  advance  the  end 
proposed.  During  the  whole  composition,  I  should  be  elevated  by 
the  greatness  of  truth,  an  ardent  love  of  excellence,  an  active  desire 
for  the  purity  and  salvation  of  man,  a  glowing  piety,  a  conscious 
communion  with  God." 

"  In  the  regular  course  of  the  ministry,  we  have  most  to  fear  from 
mechanical  sluggishness.  Monotonous  lameness  is  the  sand-bar  on 
which  so  many  are  stranded.  The  safety  is  in  keeping  the  heart 
ever  alive.  The  preacher  must  draw  from  his  own  full  experience ; 
he  must  never  write  as  if  writing  was  his  business.  The  wish  to 
be  correct  and  elegant  should  never  enter  his  thoughts.  He  has  to 
penetrate  men  with  great  convictions.  The  Greeks  wrote  well,  be- 
cause the  whole  world  of  thought  lay  fresh  and  untouched  before 
them.  This  should  teach  us  not  to  form  ourselves  on  models,  not 
to  use  materials  furnished  by  others,  but  to  be  enterprising  in  the 
exercise  of  our  own  minds,  and  in  exploring  the  great  sources  of 
truth,  —  nature,  man,  revelation.  There  is  a  free,  bold,  vigorous 
tone  of  thought,  the  easy  action  of  a  generous  spirit,  which  is  most 
desirable  for  every  one  to  attain.     All  timidity  of  character,  exces- 

20 


306  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^Et.  34-42. 

sive  accuracy,  anxious  observance  of  rules,  desire  to  finish  minute 
parts,  love  of  glitter  and  polish,  fondness  of  conceits,  is  fatal  to  this 
freedom.  It  is  the  natural  movement  of  a  sincere,  ardent,  inde- 
pendent mind.  The  preacher  should  never  give  his  hearers  leisure 
to  admire  ;  he  should  never  permit  them  to  doze.  He  should  write 
with  the  ardor  of  strong  conviction,  trust  himself  to  the  flow  of 
thoughts,  and  be  unconstrained  and  unreserved." 

"  True  eloquence  springs  from  living  perception  of  the  truth,  and 
from  intimate  communion  with  the  hearts  of  men.  We  must  not 
lean  on  opinion,  must  not  fear  the  judgment  of  hearers.  Depend- 
ence upon  an  audience  is  a  charmed  circle,  which  represses  all 
generous  thought.  Love  of  truth  sets  the  writer  free.  The  vigor- 
ous character  of  composition  depends  on  the  decision  with  which 
the  mind  grasps  a  truth.  Eloquence  is  to  be  attained  b}'  the  full 
culture,  the  general  enriching,  of  the  heart  and  mind.  An  enlarged 
spirit,  which  has  reached  grand  convictions,  will  utter  itself  with  a 
commanding  st3'le.  There  is  never  true  eloquence,  except  when 
great  principles  and  sentiments  have  entered  into  the  substance  of 
the  soul,  and  become  incorporated  with  the  whole  being.  The  way 
to  be  eloquent  is  to  be  possessed  with  truth.  Good  writing,  good 
speaking,  is  that  which  grows  directl}'  from  the  heart,  when  expres- 
sion becomes  necessary  from  the  fulness  of  the  soul,  when  religion 
is  a  living  principle  within  us,  and  the  discourse  is  the  spontaneous 
putting  forth  of  this  germinating  seed.  What  is  wanted  is  genuine 
feeling,  inward  life." 

"  M}^  object  should  be,  to  contribute  to  that  great  work  which 
God  is  promoting  in  the  world.  Every  faithful  effort  has  its  influ- 
ence. Let  me  never  despair.  Local,  temporar}'  objects  should  be 
comparatively  unimportant.  An  expanded  interest  in  humanity 
should  govern  me.  I  am  connected  with  the  church  universal, 
with  all  future  ages  ;  and  let  no  devotion  to  a  party  lead  me  for  an 
instant  to  overlook  its  defects,  or  to  forget  the  high  claims  of  truth 
and  right.  The  religion  which  is  to  open  heaven  in  the  human 
heart  is  as  far  away  from  heated  bigotry,  as  from  the  lowness  of  a 
worldly  temper.  To  breathe  warmth  into  the  cold,  generous  piet}^ 
into  the  abject  and  servile,  honorable  views  of  God  and  man  into 
the  dejected,  timid,  and  superstitious,  should  be  my  end.  Let  me 
live  to  exhibit  the  paternal  character  of  God,  the  quickening  influ- 
ence of  his  spirit,  his  willingness  to  raise  us  to  perfection,  the  glori- 
ous capacities  and  destination  of  man,  the  filial  nature  of  religion, 
the  beauty  of  benevolence,  of  self-denial  and  suffering  in  a  generous 
cause,  the  union  formed  by  a  spirit  of  humanit^y  between  God  and 
the  soul,  the  joy  of  high  moral  sentiment,  the  possibility  of  attain- 


1814-1822.J  THE  END   OF  THE   MINISTRY.  307 

ing  to  sublime  greatness  of  character  and  habitual  largeness  of  sen- 
timent and  action.  Men  are  to  be  regenerated,  not  so  much  by  a 
sense  of  the  blessedness  of  goodness  in  the  abstract,  as  by  coming 
to  understand  that  disinterestedness,  that  union  with  God  and  his 
whole  spiritual  family,  in  whicli  goodness  consists.  The  glory  and 
nobleness  of  a  soul  self-surrendered  to  God,  joined  to  him  in  pur- 
poses of  beneficence,  swallowed  up  in  a  pure,  overflowing  love, 
must  be  made  manifest." 

"  It  is  essential  in  a  minister,  that  his  mind  should  be  habitually 
under  religious  influences,  so  that  his  whole  character  and  life  shall 
diffuse  an  animating  spiritual  power.  All  should  feel  that  his  soul 
is  in  communion  with  God,  that  he  lives  under  the  guidance  of  His 
w///,  and  by  His  spiritual  influences.  He  should  unite  with  devo- 
tional fervor  an  harmonious,  full  development  of  human  nature. 
His  end  is  to  flash  upon  the  dormant  minds  of  men  a  consciousness 
of  the  Divine  life,  to  touch  the  spring  of  spiritual  affection.  He 
should  enable  them  to  see  how  religion  works  within  his  own  soul, 
he  should  make  his  own  mind  visible,  and  show  religious  truth,  not 
abstractly,  but  warm  and  living,  clothed  with  the  light  and  glow  of 
his  own  conscious  experience.  Let  the  perfection  of  the  Christian 
life,  its  high,  holy,  humane  spirit,  its  communion  with  God,  its  ele- 
vation, disinterestedness,  hope,  jo}-,  be  my  habitual  state,  so  that 
in  all  ray  thoughts,  actions,  studies,  I  may  be  a  guide  to  my 
Dcople."' 

"Unit}'  of  impression  should  be  an  object  to  a  minister.     He 

'1  not  undo  one  da}'  the  work  of  another.     All  his  instructions 

-lave  a  common  bearing,  and  this  implies  enlarged  views  of 

jn.    >He  must  not  waste  the  zeal  of  men  on  points  of  second- 

,  importance.  His  efforts  should  be  systematic,  not  desultory, 
and  be  governed,  not  by  sudden  impressions,  but  by  extensive 
plans.  His  whole  life  and  influence  should  have  one  tendenc3\ 
Nothing  demands  such  lucidness,  breadth,  depth,  completeness, 
harmon\-  of  exposition,  as  the  religious  life.  Foundations  must  be 
planted  firml}'.  Seeds  of  great,  enduring,  ever-growing  principles 
must  be  sown.  People  are  injured  and  made  dull  and  dispropor- 
tioned  by  laying  excessive  stress  upon  every  point.  Preaching 
should  call  into  action  the  whole  spiritual  being  of  hearers.  It 
should  not  address  one  faculty  onl}',  but  manifest  religion  to  the 
reason,  conscience,  imagination,  heart.  A  minister  should  strive  to 
unfold  harmoniousl}'  the  souls  of  his  people,  just  as  he  sees  Provi- 
dence unfold  the  bod}'  in  a  plant  or  animal.  His  whole  inward  life 
should  be  brought  into  activity.  His  preaching  and  intercourse 
with  men  should  be  the  result  of  a  joint  and  vigorous  co-operation 


308  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

of  all  his  spiritual  powers,  quickened  bj-  a  Divine  influence.  To 
excite  to  universal  groivth  should  be  his  end." 

"  In  proportion  to  the  difficult}'  of  the  times  should  be  m}-  desire 
to  exhibit  solemn  and  ennobling  views.  The  long  religious  torpor 
which  has  rested  on  the  world  has  prepared  men  for  an  opposite 
excess.  Religious  sensibility  is  an  essential  element  in  man,  and, 
however  smothered  for  a  time,  it  must  and  will  break  forth  again 
with  power.  Is  it  not  the  error  of  those  who  oppose  the  prevalent 
S3'stems  of  Orthodox}^,  that  they  do  not  substitute  interesting  views 
for  those  which  the}'  would  remove?  They  insist  that  Christ  came 
to  restore  human  nature,  that  moral  good  is  his  end.  But  do  tliey 
present  this  end  in  its  dignity  and  grandeur?  Must  we  not  stiongly 
conceive  and  represent  the  glorious  change  which  he  came  to  bring 
in  men  and  nations?  A  divine  life^  a  heavenly  life^  this  is  the  end 
for  which  he  came.  In  exhil^iting  religion  as  this  universal  regen- 
eration of  all  human  interests^  tlie  present  degradation  of  societ}'^  must 
be  exposed.  Here  is  the  need  of  earnest  remonstrance.  Great  ex- 
plicitness,  fearlessness,  is  demanded.  Jesus  Christ  must  be  taken 
as  the  standard  and  rule  ;  the  highest,  purest  principles  of  his  re- 
ligion must  be  plainly  proposed  as  the  guide  to  individual  and  social 
practice.  The  world  waits  for  a  new  exhibition  of  Christianity  in 
all  its  sublime  encouragements,  its  solemn  warnings,  its  glorious 
assurances.  With  what  entire  devotedness  should  I  consecrate  ni}'- 
self  to  this  great  end  ! " 

"  Let  it  be  m}'  ol)ject  to  conceive  and  express  the  gospel  worthily^ 
in  life  and  word  to  exhibit  the  religion  of  Christ  in  its  purity,  its 
sublimity,  its  divine  beaut}'.  Let  it  be  my  desire  to  raise  men's 
thoughts  to  the  great  end  of  the  being  and  mission  of  Christ,  to  show 
the  exalted,  perfected,  heavenly  state  of  man  which  he  came  to  in- 
troduce, to  exhibit  the  glorious  relations  into  which  he  desires  to 
bring  us.  Let  it  be  my  aim  to  raise  to  this  lofty  height  the  moral 
sensibility,  the  ambition,  the  aspirations,  the  generosity  of  men,  to 
animate  them  to  see  brightly  and  vividly  this  grand  destiny  which 
opens  before  them,  to  carry  their  thoughts  forward  to  the  future 
greatness  of  virtuous  humanity,  to  shed  the  light  of  heaven  on  their 
nature  and  present  state.  The  end  to  be  set  before  them  is  a  thirst 
for  nearness  to  God,  love  of  him,  bright  views  of  him,  sympathy 
with  him,  desire  of  his  friendship,  disinterested  self-surrender  to 
his  designs,  heavenl}'  goodness,  heavenly  joy,  conformity  to  the 
spirit  of  his  beloved  Son,  —  a  perfect  oneness,  in  a  word,  with  the 
Heavenly  Father.  May  not  this  exhibition  of  Christianity,  as  an 
all-ennobling  system  of  Divine  influences,  be  the  ojie  great  end  to 
which  my  life  and  labors  may  tend?" 


1814-1822.]  DEVOUTNESS.  309 

"Let  us  not  linger  at  the  threshold  of  Christianity;  conduct 
us  into  its  inmost  depths  of  life.  Help  us  to  break  through  the 
obstacles,  the  doubts,  despondency,  lethargy,  weakness,  which 
hinder  us.  Open  in  us  an  unquenchable  aspiration  for  truth  and 
virtue.  Give  us  a  spirit  of  rational,  filial,  strong,  unreserved,  tri- 
umphant, glad  obedience.  Give  us  perfect  confidence  in  Thee, 
wliose  laws  are  the  dictates  of  fatherly  wisdom  and  love,  and  who 
dost  delight  in  the  purity  and  glory  of  thy  children.  Dispose  us  to 
see  thy  goodness  everywhere,  not  onl}'  when  descending  uj^on  us, 
but  when  diffused  abroad,  so  that  we  may  discern  the  love  which 
pervades  tlie  universe  and  quickens  all  spirits. 

"Make  us  sensible  of  our  inward  wants,  indigence,  destitution, 
weakness.  Lay  open  to  us  our  corrupt  motives.  Expose  to  us  our 
hidden  vices  in  all  tlieir  deformit}'.  Teach  us  to  look  steadily  into 
ourselves,  till  we  shall  see  with  something  of  thine  own  abhorrence 
ever}'  evil  affection.  Lead  us  awa}'  from  false  resources  to  a  sure 
dependence  on  thy  perfect  will,  and  ma}'  this  reign  supreme  within 
us.  Help  us  to  look  through  the  disguises  of  self-love,  to  judge 
ourselves  trul}',  to  anticipate  the  revelations  of  the  last  day ;  and 
let  not  this  knowledge  of  our  deficiencies  and  deformities  fill  us  with 
dejection,  but  rather  endear  to  us  tliy  mere}',  and  lead  us  to  thy 
grace,  while  rousing  us  to  vigilance  and  to  firm  and  faithful  conflict 
with  every  irregular  desire. 

"  Dispose  us  to  a  sincere  sympathy  with  all  men,  not  onl}'  to  see 
extraordinary'  excellence  with  jo}',  but  to  take  pleasure  in  the  hum- 
blest improvements  of  our  fellow-creatures,  in  the  beginning  of 
everlasting  life  within  them.  Incline  us  to  respect  the  feelings  of 
others,  so 'that  we  may  never  wound,  nor  tempt,  nor  depress  a 
human  being.  Maj'  we  understand  the  sublime  heights  of  benevo- 
lence to  which  we  are  called  b}-  the  gospel,  and  aim  at  perfection  in 
all  social  relations.  Assist  us  to  express  with  power  and  unaflfected 
simplicity  the  beauty  of  virtue,  so  that  we  may  attract  all  around  us 
to  the  heavenl}'  life.  Inspire  us  with  an  active,  diffusive  benefi- 
cence, and  ma}'  we  have  the  witnesses  of  our  good-will  in  the  im- 
proved virtues  and  happiness  of  our  friends,  associates,  and  all 
within  the  sphere  of  our  influence.  Affect  our  hearts  with  the  love- 
liness, beauty,  and  joy  of  that  mild,  condescending,  affectionate 
spirit  which  our  Master  breathed,  and  may  we  imbibe  it  till  our  lives 
overflow  with  usefulness  and  bounty.  Assist  us  in  enlarging  our 
benevolence,  in  diffusing  our  affections,  so  that  we  may  embrace  in 
kind  regards  all  beings  capable  of  happiness ;  and  give  us  wisdom 
to  design  and  vigor  to  execute  noble  and  extensive  schemes  of  pub- 
lic and  private  good.     May  we  learn  to  lose  ourselves  in  disinter- 


310  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

estcrl  services  from  generous  ardor,  and  to  delight  in  imitating  Thee, 
and  in  promoting  the  great  ends  of  thy  providence  and  the  blessed- 
ness of  creation. 

"  We  pra}'  for  the  fulness  of  thy  spirit.  We  beseech  Thee  to  ani- 
mate with  new  life  our  languid  affections.  Give  us  the  fervor  of 
devotion,  the  glow  of  philanthrop}'.  Awaken  us  to  a  \\o\y  zeal, 
a  joy  in  thy  service,  a  promptness  to  do  and  to  suffer  whatever  thou 
dost  ai)point.  May  the  labors  of  life  become  acts  of  religion  and 
offerings  to  Thee,  b}-  the  conscientiousness,  purity  of  motive,  and 
devotedness  to  thy  will  of  perfect  good,  from  which  they  are  per- 
formed. Ma}-  our  sense  of  thy  presence  be  ever  more  clear,  our 
conceptions  of  thy  character  more  Ijright,  our  gratitude  more  ten- 
der, our  love  of  exalted  virtue  more  generous,  our  good-will  more 
overflowing.     May  a  Divine  life  be  ever  growing  within  us," 

This  series  of  autobiographical  papers  cannot  be  more  satisfacto- 
rily closed  than  by  the  following  extracts  from  a  discourse,  in  which 
he  thus  sums  up  the  results  of  his  ministerial  experience. 

May  26,  1822.  "  In  reviewing  my  preaching,  I  cannot  hope  that 
I  have  taught  you  truth  unmixed  with  error,  but  I  have  a  calm  and 
cheerful  conviction  that  I  have  taught  the  great  and  essential  prin- 
ciples of  our  religion.  I  have  particularly  labored  to  set  before  you 
a  just  view  of  God's  all-benignant  character,  as  the  spring  and  mo- 
tive of  filial  love  and  affectionate  obedience.  In  regard  to  Jesus 
Christ,  I  have  continuall}'  labored  to  impress  j-ou  with  the  proofs  of 
his  Divine  mission,  the  venerableness  and  loveliness  of  his  spirit, 
the  excellence  of  his  religion,  the  benevolent  purposes  of  his  life 
and  death,  and  your  personal  need  of  the  aids  which  his  gospel  of 
grace  and  mercy  gives 

"  In  regard  to  the  person  or  rank  of  Christ,  you  well  know  that 
a  controversy-  has  pre^-ailed  during  my  ministry,  in  which  every 
minister  has  been  compelled  to  take  a  part.  My  views  on  this 
subject  have  varied  but  little  since  my  first  connection  with  j-ou, 
and  have  been  made  known  to  you  with  entire  frankness.  The 
great  fundamental  principle  of  Christian  belief  is,  that  Jesus  Christ 
was  anointed,  sent,  commissioned  by  God,  that  he  derived  all  his 
authority  and  offices  and  power  from  God,  so  that  (iod  who  sent 
him  is  always  to  be  adored  as  the  first  cause,  the  original,  of  what- 
ever Christ  communicates,  and  is  to  be  our  ultimate  hope  and 
confidence.  I  know  nothing  which  appears  to  be  more  plainly  a 
departure  from  this  fundamental  principle  of  Christian  belief  than 
the  doctrine  that  Christ  is  God  himself,  equally  entitled  with  the 
Father  who  sent  him  to  the  glory  of  originating  our  redemption, 


1814-1822.J 


REVIEW   OF   HIS   MINISTRY.  311 


equally  saving  us  by  his  own  underived,  infinite  power.  To  teach 
this  is  to  resist  the  current  of  Scripture  language  and  Scripture  pre- 
cepts, to  withstand  Christ's  great  purpose,  which  was  to  glorify  his 
Father,  and  to  shake  the  fundamental  principle  of  natural  as  well 
as  revealed  religion,  the  Unity  of  God. 

"My  ministry  on   this   point  I  look  back  upon  with   unmixed 
pleasure  ;   nor  have  I  any  consciousness  of  having  thus  degraded 
Jesus  Christ.     His  glory  consists  in  the  love  with  which  God  re- 
garded him,  in  the  offices  with  which  God  has  invested  him,  in  the 
likeness  which  he  bears  to  God's  purity  and  goodness,  —  not  in 
being  God  himself;  and  they  are  the  last  to  consult  Christ's  glory, 
whor  instead  of  making  him  the  brightest  representative  and  the 
most  exalted  minister  of  his  Father,  throw  a  mist  and  doubtfulness 
over  his  whole  nature,  by  making  him  the  same  being  with  his  Fa- 
ther.    I  make  these  remarks  with  no  disposition  to  bring  reproach 
on  any  class  of  Christians ;   for  I  would  not  breathe  a  single  word 
which  might  even  seem  to  be  unkind.     But  the  circumstances  of 
my  ministi-y  compel  me,  in  reviewing  it,  to  refer  to  the  controversy 
which  has  shaken  this  church,  and  in  which  I  have  been  charged 
with  conducting  my  people  into  ruinous  error.     That  I  have  not 
erred  I  ought  not  to  affirm  with  the  decision  and  confidence  too 
common  in  controversy,  and  therefore  I  would  only  say  that  I  have 
inquired  earnestly,  and  that  inquiry  has  given  me  a  calm,  stable 
conviction  of  the  gi'eat  principle,  that  Jesus  Christ  is  a  distinct 
being  from  God,  a  derived,  dependent  being,  not  the  self-existent 
and  infinite  Creator. 

"  Still,  I  have  not  been  accustomed  to  preach  Christ  as  a  mere 
man.  I  have  spoken  of  him  as  a  peculiar  being.  He  existed  in  a 
state  of  glory  before  his  birth.  Nor  was  his  agency  for  our  salva- 
tion confined  to  his  teaching,  and  example,  and  suffering,  and  res- 
urrection, while  on  the  earth ;  but  he  is  now  a  glorified,  powerful 
ao-ent  in  human  affairs,  our  friend,  benefactor,  intercessor,  and 
strengthener,  and  hereafter  he  will  be  our  judge.  These  views  I 
have  urged,  not  because  the  mere  belief  of  them  is  to  save,  but  be- 
cause they  have  seemed  to  me  fitted  to  create  a  more  earnest,  aflfec- 
tionate,  reverent,  and  obedient  regard  to  Jesus  Christ, — such  a 
regard  as  will  lead  us  to  form  ourselves  upon  the  model  of  his  pre- 
cepts and  example.  This,  this  is  the  essential  point,  and  he  who 
is  faithful  here  has  a  saving  faith,  be  his  views  of  Jesus  whatever 
they  may.  The  greatest  and  most  dangerous  error  of  the  age  is 
the  substitution  of  opinion,  speculation,  controversy,  of  noise  and 
bustle  about  religion,  for  the  practice  of  Christ's  precepts,  especially 
of  those  precepts  which  peculiarly  characterize  his  religion,  —  filial 


312  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

love  towards  God,  and  self-denying,  all-forgiving,  disinterested, 
mild,  humble,  patient  charity  towards  men.  This  love^  this  char- 
ity, —  which  is  the  end  of  the  Christian  commandment,  which  is 
greater  than  faith  and  hope,  which  is  the  ver}^  spirit  of  Christ, 
which  is  God  dwelling  in  us,  —  I  have  made  supreme  in  m^'  minis- 

tr}' ;  and  I  trust  that  I  have  not  labored  wholl}'  in  vain 

"  What  1  deplore  in  the  state  of  this  society  and  of  the  commu- 
nit3'  is  a  languid,  depressed  tone  of  religious  feeling,  and  the  want 
of  decision,  energ}',  strong  purpose,  in  applying  Christianity  to  con- 
duct. Religion  slumbers  under  the  embers,  when  it  should  be  a 
quickening  flame.  It  is  my  consolation,  that  on  this  topic  I  have 
preached  plainl}',  faithfull}',  and  not  without  earnestness,  admon- 
ishing you  of  the  perils  of  a  state  of  society  like  ours,  where  a  par- 
tial Christianity  is  enjoined  b}-  public  sentiment  and  habit,  and  of 
course  is  easily  adopted,  whilst  the  spirit  of  Christiauit}'  is  sadly 
wanting." 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  in  the  private  papers,  from 
which  the  foregoing  extracts  have  been  made,  are  many  passages 
of  deeper  interest  than  an3'  which  we  have  felt  at  liberty'  to  publish  ; 
and  it  is  chiefly  the  number,  variety,  minuteness,  long  continuance, 
of  his  observations  upon  his  duty  and  his  own  character,  which  re- 
veal Mr.  Channing's  conscientiousness.  But  probably  even  these 
specimens  will  serve  to  show  with  what  wakeful  hospitality^  he 
greeted  all  new  suggestions,  which  came  like  strangers  to  his  tent- 
door,  and  how  he  made  them  his  familiar  guests,  conversed  with 
them,  listened  humbly  to  their  message,  and  found  by  glad  experi- 
ence that  he  had  thus  entertained  angels  unawares.  More  and  more 
the  sublime  opportunities  of  the  age  were  opening  upon  him,  and 
he  gave  himself  with  ever  fresher  zeal  to  the  work  of  advancing 
what  he  saw  to  be  a  new  era  of  humanit}'. 

His  usefulness  among  his  own  people,  and  in  his  immediate  com- 
munity, as  well  as  his  wide  celebrit}',  suggested  at  this  time  to  a 
small  compan}^  of  Unitarians  in  New  York  the  thought  of  inviting 
Mr.  Channing  to  remove  to  that  cit}'.  On  his  return  from  Balti- 
more, in  1819,  he  had  preached  to  them,  and  communicated  an 
impulse  which  had  continued  to  grow,  and  now,  having  formed 
themselves  into  the  "First  Congregational  Society  of  the  City  of 
New  York,"  they  wrote  to  him  in  1820,  saying,  "We  are  con- 
vinced that  your  aid  is  indispensabl}'  necessary  to  the  rapid  and 
permanent  success  of  the  cause  of  uneorrupted  Christianity  in  this 
quarter  of  the  Union,"  and  urging  him,  if  possible,  to  enter  upon 
this  new  field  of  labor.  "  The  church  which  yuu  have  so  essentially 
contributed  to  found,"  the}'  conclude,  "  would  be  immediately  built 


1814-1822.]  INVITATION   TO   NEW   YORK.  313 

up,  and  we  confidently  anticipate  that  otlier  societies  would  be 
formed,  united  in  the  same  faith  and  hope."  In  a  letter  to  a  friend 
who  had  consulted  him  in  relation  to  this  project,  he  uses  this  lan- 
guage :  "Were  I  a  young  man,  and  unfettered  by  any  engagements, 
I  should  prefer  the  situation  you  propose  to  any  other  within  my 
hopes."     But  to  the  committee  he  made  the  following  reply  :  — 

"  I  cannot  for  a  moment  hesitate  as  to  the  answer  which  I  should 
give  to  your  application.  I  regard  the  situation  to  which  3'ou  in- 
vite me  as  honorable  and  important.  But  Providence  has  appointed 
me  another  lot.  Public,  domestic,  and  private  considerations, 
which  I  need  not  enlarge  upon,  leave  me  no  liberty  of  forsaking  the 
post  which  I  now  occupy.  Its  duties  and  responsibilities  are,  in- 
deed, above  my  strength,  and  I  believe  that  no  selfish  regards 
attach  me  to  it.  But  I  think  that  I  distinctly  read  in  a  variety  of 
circumstances  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  continue  here  ;  and  un- 
less these  change  in  a  very  unexpected  manner,  I  shall  remain 
whilst  I  have  strength  to  labor." 

Most  fortunate  was  it  for  himself  and  for  others,  that  he  felt  him- 
self thus  bound  by  dut}^  to  the  city  which  had  adopted  him  among 
her  most  honored  sons.  For  no  sphere  in  the  country  could  for  a 
moment  compare  with  Boston  in  its  fitness  to  call  out  all  the  best 
powers  of  head  and  heart  in  a  man  so  constituted.  Its  unit}'  of 
character,  high  moral  and  intellectual  activity',  benevolent  earnest- 
ness, social  compactness,  as  well  as  its  religious,  literary,  and 
philanthropic  institutions,  formed  an  atmosphere  suflflciently  stimu- 
lating, without  dissipating  his  attention  and  wasting  his  energy. 
The  public  considerations  to  which  he  refers  in  the  foregoing  letter, 
as  forbidding  him  to  leave  his  post,  are  sufl3ciently  obvious.  One 
of  the  "  private"  ones  undoubtedl}'  was,  that  he  knew  his  own  pe- 
culiarities thoroughly,  and  was  more  fully  aware  than  any  one  else 
could  be  of  his  unfitness,  at  once  from  native  dispositions  and  from 
confirmed  habits,  to  be  a  polemic  or  a  proselyter.  A  situation  like 
that  to  which  he  was  invited  in  New  York  would  have  demanded 
continual  efforts  of  mind  in  a  controversial  direction,  and  required 
a  zeal  for  Unitarian?sm  quite  foreign  to  his  unsectarian  feelings. 
But  his  "domestic"  ties  also  detained  him  in  Boston,  and  to  a 
notice  of  these  we  now  pass. 

When  we  last  saw  Mr.  Channing  in  his  home,  the  bright  ring  of 
brothers  and  sisters,  clasped  by  a  mother's  love,  was  unbroken  ; 
and  we  purposely  left  untouched  that  image  of  the  happy  family,  of 
which  his  own  pure,  gentle,  heavenl}-  affection  was  the  guardian 
angel.     But  long  before  the  period  at  which  our  narrative  has  now 


314  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [iEx.  34-42. 

ari'ived,  link  after  link  had  been  removed  by  the  various  chances 
and  changes  of  life, — b}'  marriage,  death,  and  inevitable  disper- 
sion. The  eldest  son,  Francis,  had  earl^'  married,  as  we  have 
alread}'  seen  ;  and  the  eldest  daughter,  whose  gentle  heart  was 
from  girlhood  interhnked  in  destinies  with  Washington  Allston, 
had  been  united  to  him  on  his  return  to  America  after  his  studies 
in  Italy,  and  had  gone  to  P^ngland  to  share  the  uncertain  fortunes 
of  an  artist  and  a  man  of  genius  ;  the  third  sister  had  also  removed 
with  her  husband  to  New  York.  Of  the  four  younger  brothers,  two 
had  entered  into  the  learned  professions,  two  into  mercantile  pur- 
suits ;  and  thus  the  once  large  household  had  dwindled  away.  In 
relation  to  his  sister  Ann's  marriage,  he  had  thus  written  to  his 
grandfather  EUer^' :  — 

"A  few  hours  ago,  Washington  and  Ann,  after  their  long  and 
patient  courtship,  were  united  in  marriage.  We  consider  this  a 
happy  event ;  but  Ann  is  too  important  a  member  of  our  familj-  to 
be  resigned  without  sometliing  like  sorrow.  The  ceremou}'  made 
us  rather  solemn.  I  do  not  wonder  at  this  effect.  The  obligations 
of  the  marriage  covenant  are  so  extensive,  and  the  consequences  of 
the  union  so  vast  and  uncertain,  that  I  should  pronounce  a  person 
thoughtless  in  the  extreme,  who  should  exhibit  no  seriousness  on 
such  an  occasion. 

"Your  granddaughter  has  found,  I  believe,  an  excellent  hus- 
band, one  who,  from  principle  and  affection,  will  make  her  happi- 
ness his  constant  object.  1  hope  that  she  will  settle  at  no  great 
distance  from  us  ;  but  we  have  not  yet  sufficient  taste  for.  the  arts 
to  give  Mr.  Allston  the  encouragement  he  deserves.  We  have, 
indeed,  money  enough  to  spend  on  cumbrous  furniture,  which 
another  generation  will  throw  into  the  garret  as  antiquated  and  ab- 
surd, but  we  cannot  afford  to  adorn  our  walls  with  the  productions 
of  genius,  which  delineate  the  unchanging  beauties  of  nature  or  the 
grandeur  of  man,  and  to  which  the  lapse  of  time  will  impart  only 
new  value." 

But  sadder  separations  followed.  In  the  spring  of  1810,  Fran- 
cis, from  the  effects  of  fatigue  while  engaged  in  the  laborious 
discharge  of  his  duties  as  a  lawyer,  was  seized  with  violent  hemor- 
rhage, and  sank  rapidly  into  a  decline.  He  retired  to  Newport, 
where  he  lingered  for  a  time  amid  the  beautiful  scener}-  of  his 
native  island,  receiving  every  kindness  which  the  assiduous  care 
of  anxious  friends  could  lavish,  and  in  the  autumn  sailed  with  his 
wife  and  a  favorite  cousin  for  Rio  Janeiro,  with  the  hope  of  finding 
benefit  in  a  change  of  climate.     But  his  strength  had  been  too 


1814-1822.]  DEATH  OF  HIS  BROTHER.  315 

much  exhausted,  and  on  the  nineteenth  day  of  the  voyage  he  died. 
Months  passed  over,  and  the  spring  had  opened  before  tlie  intelli- 
gence reached  Boston.  It  was  on  a  Sunday,  between  the  morning 
and  the  afternoon  services,  that  a  friend  called  to  bear  tlie  tidings 
to  those  in  whose  hearts  hope  and  anxiety  had  so  long  alternated. 
Mr.  Channing  was  alone  as  he  entered,  and  instantly  read  in  his 
countenance  a  confirmation  of  their  worst  forebodings.  He  silent- 
I3'  pressed  his  hand,  requested  him  to  mention  it  to  no  one  else, 
and  then  retired  to  his  study,  to  gain  in  prayer  the  calmness  which 
he  felt  he  needed,  before  he  could  tell  his  mother  that  her  first-born 
had  first  entered  into  the  spiritual  world.  But  when  at  last  he 
summoned  the  family,  his  own  face  was  a.s*  serene  as  if  he  had  been 
a  messenger  of  jo}'.  The  next  week  was  one  of  prolbundest  mourn- 
ing, not  merely  because  death  had  for  the  first  time,  after  so  long  a 
period,  entered  their  circle,  nor  merely  because  he  who  was  taken 
had  been  a  second  father,  but  because  they  had  parted  from  one 
who  had  made  life  rich  b}'  sweetness,  affection,  cheerful  wisdom, 
incorruptible  honor,  high  hope,  and  confiding  piet}'.  To  William 
this  l)ereavement  caused  a  grief  as  deep  and  poignant  as  a  disci- 
plined spirit,  devoted  to  ends  of  universal  good,  could  feel,  for 
Francis  was  his  bosom  friend.  But  on  the  Sunday  following  he 
preached  two  appropriate  discourses,  in  which,  while  not  attempt- 
ing to  hide  the  sense  of  his  own  loss,  he  showed  his  people  that  an 
ascended  angel  had  opened  to  him  bright  glimpses  of  heaven.  A 
few  broken  sentences,  given  as  the}^  stand  in  his  journals,  will  best 
show  his  state  of  feeling. 

"A  brother,  —  a  friend,  —  a  nurse  in  sickness,  —  a  counsellor. 
One  who  so  often  and  so  tenderl}^  thought  of  me,  —  of  us  all, — 
who  was  a  guardian  of  our  happiness.  One  who  grew  up  with  n\e. 
One  who  has  engaged  so  man3-  of  m}^  thoughts  and  feeUngs.  The 
first-born,  the  staj'  of  his  famil}' 

"The  first  of  our  number  taken  from  a  circle  which  before  was 
complete,  —  how  grateful  should  we  be  that  so  many  of  us  have 
been  so  long  spared  to  each  other,  so  large  a  family  and  so  few 
breaches!  —  taken  from  the  midst  of  us,  never  again  to  be  seen 
and  embraced  on  earth 

"God  has  made  a  melancholy  breach  in  our  number.  May  we 
feel  that  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  bereavement.  Let  us  love 
each  other  more,  and  live  prepared  to  resign  each  other.  Let  this 
separation  be  to  survivors  a  bond  of  tender  union 

"Taken  at  a  distance  from  us,  bejond  the  reach  of  our  kind 
offices.  liis  remains  committed  to  the  deep,  never  to  be  collected 
by  us 


316  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [/Et.  34-42. 

**  Taken  in  the  midst  of  life,  —  a  son,  —  a  husband,  —  a  father. 
In  the  full  vigor  of  his  powers,  when  most  able  to  bless  and  to  do 
good 

"  Let  me  prize  more  highl}'  the  character  of  m}'  friends,  be  sen- 
sible to  their  excellences,  be  grateful  to  them,  and  labor  to  improve 
them.  Let  me  with  frankness  and  mildness  reprove  their  faults 
and  errors.  Let  me  consider  the  excellence  for  which  they  were 
made,  and  be  animated  from  God's  love  to  seek  their  welfare. 
Have  1  done  them  justice?  The  duties  of  my  dear  brother  have 
now  devolved  whoUj-  upon  me.  Let  this  awaken  me  to  all  m}^ 
social  relations 

"  '  Thou  Shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart.'  Do  I 
understand  this?  Let  affliction  lead  me  to  this  divine  intercourse, 
to  this  fixed  thought  upon  God.  He  has  taken  awa}'  one  object 
of  hope  and  love,  and  thus  taught  us  our  dependence.  Let  us  look 
to  Him,  live  upon  Him,  live  for  Him.  He  is  our  Father,  and  loves 
us.  It  is  to  refine  us,  to  bring  us  together  again  in  happier  cir- 
cumstances, that  he  thus  afflicts  us.  Let  every  feeling  like  selfish- 
ness be  extinguished.     This  separates  me  from  God 

"God  has  wide  connections  in  this  affliction.  He  made  our 
friend  not  for  us  onlj',  but  for  the  creation,  —  for  himself.  His 
infinite  purposes  deserve  our  disinterested  reverence.  Let  us  sub- 
rait.  We  are  not  overlooked.  God  loves  us.  We  must  not  im- 
agine that  God  thinks  only  of  us  or  our  family.  We  must  view 
him  in  his  relations  to  the  infinity  of  beings.  There  are  infinite 
beings,  dearer  and  purer,  who  deserve  far  more  of  his  regards.  He 
seeks  the  universal  interests  of  all  his  creatures.  Abba  !  Father ! 
how  slowly,  how  faintly,  do  we  realize  this  relation  !  How  happy 
should  we  be  that  His  will  is  done !  It  is  our  privilege  to  acqui- 
esce  

"This  dear  sister,  these  dear  children,  are  left  to  us  as  a  legacy, 
—  and  our  kindness  and  care  for  them  must  never  be  remitted. 
How  do  they  call  for  all  our  attachment !  These  children  require 
from  me  more  than  affection, — much  watchfulness,  forethought, 
study  of  their  characters  and  propensiti(!S  ;  —  I  must  help  to  form 
them.  What  a  new  motive  for  self-improvement,  disinterested- 
ness, clearness  of  mind,  temperance  !  " 

The  laf.t  of  these  extracts  indicates  the  generous  feelings  of  their 
writer,  bi.t  onl^-  they  who  exi)erienced  the  faithfulness  with  which, 
through  every  after  year,  he  fulfilled  the  trust  which  he  thus  ac- 
knowledged, can  appreciate  the  depth  and  delicacy  of  his  affection. 
Thencefortli  he  was  like  a  lather  to  his  brother's  orphans,  an  ever- 
wise  and  ready  counsellor  to  their  widowed  mother.     Immediately 


1814-1822.]  HIS   SISTER'S  DEATH.  317 

after  his  sister's  return  from  South  America,  he  took  her  and  her 
children  home  to  hve  for  a  time  with  his  mother  at  the  parsonage, 
and  a  few  Unes,  written  b}'  her  to  a  friend,  will  show,  more  brightly 
than  an}'  second-hand  picture  could,  how  he  then  appeared  in  his 
family. 

"While  I  am  cheered  and  consoled  by  AVilliam's  presence  and 
conversation,  I  can  bear  everything  cheerfully.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible to  give  you  a  full  impression  of  the  happy  influence  which  he 
exerts.  At  his  approach,  all  trials  and  perplexities  disappear, 
every  feeling  but  that  of  kindness  vanishes,  nothing  is  seen  but 
smiles,  nothing  heard  but  conciliating  and  loving  words.  We  not 
only  seem,  but  feel,  as  human  beings  should ;  and  I  verily  believe 
that,  if  I  was  always  in  his  presence,  I  should  never  say  or  do  or 
think  anything  inconsistent  with  the  purest  principles  of  Christian- 
ity, lie  is  constantly  occupied ;  but  his  few  leisure  moments  are 
devoted  to  us,  and  you  would  be  pleased  to  see  how  the  children 
love  him.  They  are  fond  of  all  their  uncles,  but  William  is  the 
decided  favorite.  They  run  to  him  the  moment  he  opens  the  door, 
and  he  can  seldom  get  away  except  by  stealth.  Their  highest 
reward  for  good  conduct  is  a  visit  to  his  study,  and  their  great- 
est punishment  the  denial  of  a  game  of  romps  or  of  a  story  from 
Uncle  William." 

But  another  of  the  family  was  now  to  be  summoned  to  join  Fran- 
cis in  the  "Father's  house."  Under  date  of  May  6th,  1815,  are 
entered  in  Mr.  Channing's  journal  the  following  brief  fragments, 
which  record  his  high  sense  of  his  sister's  character,  and  his  warm 
affection  for  one,  who  until  her  marriage  had  been  his  confidante. 

"Yesterday  brought  us  the  sad  tidings  of  Ann's  death.  She  is 
gone,  —  that  beloved  and  excellent  sister,  — removed  after  so  long 
an  absence.  We  were  not  permitted  to  minister  to  her  last  suffer- 
ings. The  hands  of  strangers  closed  her  eyes,  —  a  foreign  land 
holds  her  remains."     [She  had  died  in  London,  Feb.  2,  1815.] 

"How  tender  she  was! — how  unwearied  her  kindness!  Asa 
child,  how  faithful !  As  a  wife,  how  constant !  In  friendship  how 
unalterable !  .   .   .   . 

"Can  I  ever  forget  the  offices  of  a  nurse  which  she  proffered 
with  so  much  affection  in  my  last  sickness  ?  Can  I  ever  forget  her, 
the  last  by  my  bedside  at  night,  the  first  in  the  morning,  giving 
me  her  strength,  watching  over  me  as  a  parent?  .... 

"  She  lived  to  be  useful.  At  home  she  toiled  without  weariness, 
and  sacrificed  herself  without  a  complaint 

"  How  silent,  unostentatious,  were  her  virtues  I     As  a  Christian, 


318  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

her  principles  were  strong,  her  sense  of  duty  deep,  her  heart  hum- 
ble, her  professions  sincere.  She  seemed  to  have  acquired  in  early 
life  the  consideration  of  mature  3-ears.  Cheerful  and  animated,  she 
was  still  governed  b}-  the  most  delicate  sense  of  propriety.  How 
beloved  she  was  by  all  who  knew  her !  —  she  could  not  have  had 
an  enemy.  Home  was  her  sphere,  her  happiness.  Bound  to  it  by 
strong  affection,  she  sighed  for  no  pleasures  beyond  it.  She  was 
a  stranger  to  the  world 

"Her  character  particularly  inspired  confidence.  Her  heart 
spoke  in  her  actions 

"  Her  singular  disinterestedness  !  In  her  sufferings  abroad,  what 
cheerfulness  did  her  letters  express  !  She  was  too  kind  to  draw  on 
our  sympath}'.  God  gave  her  man}-  blessings ;  and  now  he  has 
taken  her  to  himself.   .... 

"  How  she  comes  to  me  in  her  affectionateness  !  How  kind  she 
was  to  all  around  her !  How  silent  were  her  careful  assiduities ! 
Under  her  calm  exterior  what  deep,  strong  love  !  How  did  she 
bless  us,  even  when  least  happy  herself !  .... 

"  God  multiplies  bereavements.  Our  family  is  falling  to  pieces. 
Is  there  no  bond  of  union?  Are  we  to  be  lost  to  each  other?  Let 
not  dear  Ann  depart,  without  bearing  me  with  her  into  futurit}'. 
Let  us  think  only  of  following  our  friends.  Let  them  lead  us  to 
heaven.  Let  the  dead  be  in  our  hearts.  Let  us  think  and  talk 
more  as  immortals 

"  She  is  gone,  not  lost.  Let  me  rejoice  in  her  joy.  Is  she  not 
mindful  of  us  ?  Did  God  form  such  ties  that  they  might  be  broken? 
She  may  be  near  me.  Let  her  witness  in  me  only  sincere  affection 
and  piet}' 

"My  mother  is  more  than  ever  to  be  my  care.  I  am  now  her 
oldest  child  ;  she  leans  on  me 

"Let  her  humility  and  disinterestedness  be  my  pattern.  Let 
me  live  to  be  more  useful  to  m}-  family,  friends,  people.  Let  m}' 
heart  be  the  seat  of  every  humane  and  devout  affection.  Let  me 
be  always  emplo3ed  in  doing  good  to  others,  in  denying  myself,  in 
rendering  offices  of  kindness,  especiall}'  of  spiritual  kindness." 

The  following  extract  from   a  letter  to  a  friend  will  serve  yet 

furtlier  to  show  how  deep  and  tender  was  his  affection  lor  this  most 

gentle  and  loving  woman. 
i 
'^Boston,  M(ty  9,  1815.     You  can  easily  conceive  the   feelings 

which  tins  intelligence  has  awakened.     Ann  was  no  common  friend. 

Her  heart,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  most  constant  in  its  affections 

that  I  have  ever  known,  clung  to  her  family  with  peculiar  tender- 


1814-1822.]  HIS  MARRIAGE.  319 

ness.  The  circumstances  of  her  earl}'  life,  particularly  her  attach- 
ment to  Mr.  Allston,  separated  her  from  the  world,  and  seemed  to 
extinguish  all  relish  for  its  ordinary  pleasures  ;  and  her  whole  life 
was  given  to  her  family.  In  her  domestic  relations  I  have  hardly 
known  one  so  faithful ;  and  the  impression  she  has  left  on  our 
hearts  is  one  which  time  will  never  obliterate.  One  of  her  last  acts, 
before  leaving  this  countiy,  was  to  unite  herself  to  our  church,  an 
act  which  nothing  but  the  diffidence  and  humility  of  her  character 
had  led  her  to  defer  so  long.  Since  leaving  us,  we  have  not  been 
able  to  observe  her  course,  but  the  singular  consistency  and  uni- 
formity of  her  character  is  a  pledge  that  she  was  found  walking 
humbly  in  the  path  of  her  duty,  and  that  her  end  was  peace. 

"  I  find  that  events  of  this  kind  disturb  my  mind  much  less  than 
formerl}'.  My  increasing  conviction  of  the  perfect  goodness  of  God, 
of  his  paternal  character,  of  his  minute  and  tender  care,  and  of  the 
riches  of  his  mercy  in  Jesus  Christ,  the  last  truth  in  religion  which  V 
men  trul}'  believe  and  feel,  enables  me  more  cheerfull}'  to  resign  all 
things  to  his  disposal.  The  thought,  that  God  has  made  our  souls 
immortal,  with  capacities  of  angelic  purity-  and  glory,  and  for  the 
ver}'  end  that  we  should  ascend  to  heaven,  to  the  society  of  angels, 
to  moral  perfection,  to  the  most  intimate  union  with  Himself  and 
his  Son,  —  this  thought,  when  it  is  felt  by  us,  gives  a  new  aspect 
to  nature,  to  society,  to  all  our  present  relations  and  connections. 
I  have  found  m^'self  of  late  inclined  to  regard  the  future  state  of 
the  blessed  iii  a  more  affecting,  and  I  think  attractive,  light  than 
formerly,  as  a  state  of  mutual  dependence,  of  useful  services,  of 
the  teijderest  affections.  Our  friends,  in  leaving  the  bod}',  do  not 
put  off  humanit}',  they  do  not  lose  their  affection  for  those  the}"- 
leave  behind ;  and  I  would  ask.  Do  they  lose  their  concern,  their 
pity?  Are  those  sympathies  which  are  so  virtuous  in  our  friends 
on  earth,  which  Jesus  felt,  unworthy  of  heaven?  An  unfeeling 
heaven,  a  heaven  where  the  good  forget  their  friends,  or  are  for- 
bidden to  feel  deeply  for  them,  is  certainl}'  not  very  interesting. 
Have  you  never  felt,  in  listening  to  some  descriptions  of  heaven, 
that  they  wanted  sensibility?  Can  we  bear  that  tliis  bond  of  union 
between  us  sufferers  on  earth  and  the  good  in  heaven  should  be 
dissolved  ?  " 

But  this  faithful  son  and  brother  was  now  himself  to  leave  the 
roof  which  his  own  generous  devotedness  had  made  his  mother's. 
In  the  summer  of  1814,  he  had  married  his  cousin,  Ruth  Gibbs, 
and,  after  passing  the  winter  in  the  parsonage,  he  was,  by  the  earnest 
request  of  Mrs.  Gibbs,  to  become  for  a  time  a  member  of  her  family. 
Here  opened  upon  him  a  life  most  rich  in  gentle  happiness  and 


320  MIDDLE-AGE   MINISTRY.  [Mr.  34-42. 

beautiful  affection.  His  mother-in-law,  who  was  the  sister  of  his 
father,  had  much  of  the  character  of  her  brother,  and  nothing  could 
have  been  more  benignant  than  her  whole  aspect  and  manner. 
Diffidence  blended  with  dignity  surrounded  her  with  an  atmos- 
phere of  sweet  refinement,  and,  self-forgetful  as  a  child,  she  found 
her  joy  in  making  all  about  her  bright  and  content.  The  ample 
means  which  her  husband  had  left  enabled  her  also  to  gratif}-  every 
hospitable  impulse  and  elegant  taste.  In  relation  to  his  marriage, 
one  of  Mr.  Channing's  sisters  thus  writes  :  — 

"  You  need  not  that  I  should  tell  you  of  the  respect  and  tender- 
ness which  he  always  felt  for  woman  ;  but  you,  perhaps,  are  not 
aware,  that,  with  all  his  admiration  of  the  gentler  sex,  he  lived  to 
the  age  of  thirt3-four  or  five,  ignorant  of  the  warmest  affection  of 
the  heart.  He  had  a  great  respect  for  woman's  rights  ;  and  one 
of  my  last  conversations  with  him  was  on  the  necessity  of  a  law  to 
secure  to  a  married  woman  her  property,  the  interest  of  which  he 
thought  should  be  always  paid  to  her,  without  her  husband's  having 
any  claim  to  control  her  in  its  expenditure." 

It  may  be  said,  in  a  word,  that  the  principle  here  expressed  was 
the  one  by  which  Mr.  Channing  governed  himself,  with  the  most 
scrupulous  delicacy  and  fastidious  honor,  throughout  his  married 
life. 

We  must  leave  the  reader  to  infer,  from  the  ever-widening  cheer- 
fulness of  his  later  years,  the  fitness  of  this  union.  Inwardly  and 
outwardly  his  lot  henceforth  was  singularly  serene.  From  about 
this  time  commenced,  too,  his  summer  visits  to  Rhode  Island, 
where  Mrs.  Gibbs,  who  resided  in  Boston  during  the  winter,  re- 
tained a  country-seat;  and  how  much  the  few  months  annually 
passed  amid  the  quiet  charms  of  "Oakland"  attuned  and  harmon- 
ized his  spirit  will  hereafter  abundantly  appear. 

In  this  connection  it  may  be  agreeable  to  those  who  desire  to 
form  a  full  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Channing,  to  learn  his  views  of 
the  marriage  relation.  They  are  thus  presented  in  a  sermon  to  his 
people  in  1816. 

"In  this  country,  perhaps,  the  state  of  woman,  the  modes  of 
life,  and  the  moral  sentiments  which  pervade  the  community,  are 
more  favorable  to  conjugal  and  domestic  happiness  than  in  any 
other  part  of  the  world.  The  culture  which  is  bestowed  on  the 
female  mind,  and  which  distinguishes  modern  times  from  the  most 
refined  periods  of  antiquity, — the  respect  which  is  accorded  to 
woman,  and  which  Christianity  has  done  so  much  to  inspire, — the 
reverence  which  prevails  for  the  marriage  vow,  and  the  indignation 


1814-1822.1  VIEWS  OF  MARRIAGE.  321 

TvliicU  falls  on  conjugal  infidelit}-, — the  habit  b}-  which  we  are 
marked,  of  looking  to  our  homes  for  the  greatest  part  of  our  happi- 
ness, and  the  mixture  of  freedom  and  duUcacy  with  wliich  our  gen- 
eral intercourse  is  conducted,  —  all  contribute  to  elevate  among  us 
the  female  character,  to  render  woman  the  associate  of  man's  most 
refined  pleasures  and  pursuits,  and  to  confer  on  the  conjugal 
connection  a  tenderness  and  dignity  which  have  rarely  distin- 
guished it. 

"Women!  in  proportion  as  3-ou  contemplate  the  condition  of 
3-our  sex  in  other  countries  and  other  ages,  whether  in  the  rude 
scenes  of  savage  life,  or  in  the  confinements  of  Eastern  voluptuous- 
ness, whether  in  the  ages  of  Grecian  and  Roman  splendor,  when 
female  culture  extended  but  little  bej'ond  the  distaflJ'or  the  loom,  or 
even  in  the  highest  ranks  of  life  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
—  I  am  persuaded  that  you  will  find  reason  to  bless  that  Providence 
which  has  appointed  you  this  goodly  heritage ;  and  I  would  call 
npon  you  to  express  your  gratitude  to  God,  and  to  vindicate  the 
female  character 

"The  indissolubleness  of  marriage  should  be  distinctly  and  seri- 
ously weighed  by  those  who  have  to  form  this  connection.  Let 
not  the  most  solemn  engagement  of  life  be  an  act  of  rashness  and 
unreflecting  passion.  Let  the  heart  take  counsel  of  the  understand- 
ing. Let  the  future  as  well  as  the  present  be  brought  into  the 
account.  Let  not  the  eye  or  the  imagination  be  trusted.  Let  the 
young  man  or  the  young  woman  inquire,  Is  this  a  friend  with  whom 
I  would  wish  to  spend,  not  only  my  youth,  but  my  age,  not  only 
my  health,  but  my  sickness,  on  whom  I  can  lean  in  my  griefs,  to 
whom  I  can  confide  my  trials,  to  whom  I  am  willing  to  resign  my 
character,  —  who,  if  reverses  should  befall  me,  would  help  me  to 
sustani  hardship  and  distress,  who  will  reciprocate  my  best  feelings, 
who  will  walk  with  me  to  heaven  ?  .   .   .  . 

"The  different  qualities  by  which  man  and  woman  are  distin- 
guished and  contrasted  prepare  them  for  a  peculiarly  tender  and 
beneficial  union,— prepare  them  to  supply  each  other's  deficiencies, 
to  perfect  each  other's  character,  and  to  bear  distinct,  yet  equally 
necessary,  parts  in  that  most  important  work  of  the  present  state, 
the  support  and  rearing  of  a  family.  Marriage,  then,  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  instituted  for  a  very  noble  end,  —  to  awaken  the  heart, 
to  exercise  and  strengthen  its  sensibilities  and  charities,  to  train  it 
to  the  perfection  of  social  virtue,  to  confer  the  highest  enjoyments 
of  friendship,  to  secure  to  each  party  the  benefit  of  the  other's 
strengtli,  intelligence,  and  virtues,  and  to  unite  both  in  forming 
useful  and  virtuous  members  for  the  community. 

21 


822  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

"  Were  our  views  of  the  connection  tluis  elevated,  did  we  alwa3's 
regard  it  as  the  great  refiner  of  the  heart,  with  what  new  cheerful- 
ness would  its  duties  be  performed,  its  sacrifices  be  endured !  Mar- 
riage is  not  viewed  as  it  should  be  ;  the  dignity-  of  its  end  is 
overlooked.  Too  man}'  rush  into  it  without  understanding  its 
proper  happiness  and  design,  and  of  course  without  weighing  its 
obligations.  Can  we  wonder  that  its  duties  are  so  often  neg- 
lected? .... 

"  There  should  be  an  habitual  flow  of  minute  and  kind  attentions. 
There  are  a  thousand  nameless,  indescribable  offices  by  which  the 
heart  expresses  its  interest,  and  which  serve  as  a  continual  nourish- 
ment to  the  aflfections.  There  is  danger  that  the  familiarit}-  of 
constant  intercourse  may  produce  a  negligence  of  manners,  a  want 
of  mutual  respect,  a  carelessness  as  to  pleasing.  It  is  not,  I  fear, 
uncommon  to  see  the  fervor  of  jouthful  affection  cooling  into  indif- 
ference. There  may  be  no  positive  unkindness ;  there  ma}-  be 
enough  of  decorum  ;  but  there  is  nothing  of  that  love  which  over- 
flows in  minute  and  ceaseless  kindness.  Every  day  brings  with  it 
oi)portunities  of  mutual  services,  which  to  a  stranger  may  seem 
imimportant,  but  which  have  their  value  when  prompted  by  the 
heart.  Accustom  yourselves  to  multiply  expressions  of  aff"ection  ; 
aim  to  give  pleasure  ;  abstain  from  what  will  give  pain  ;  make  little 
sacrifices.  The  atmosphere  which  feeds  the  flame  is  an  invisible 
and  silent  agent,  and  in  this  respect  it  is  an  emblem  of  the  minute 
and  gentle  offices  by  which  conjugal  afl"ection  is  sustained. 

"Another  duty  belonging  to  husbands  and  wives,  included  in 
what  I  have  just  stated,  is  this, — they  should  cultivate  each  other's 
society.  Tliey  should  avoid  long  and  unnecessar}'  separations,  for 
these  generate  unconcern  and  produce  an  independence  on  each 
other  which  marks  a  declining  attachment.  As  far  as  is  consistent 
with  their  duties,  they  should  include  each  other  in  all  tlicir  i)lans. 
Tliey  should,  in  particular,  share  the  same  pleasures.  There  should 
be  few  solitary  joys.  The  more  of  couunon  objects,  of  common 
tastes,  of  common  resources  the}'  possess,  the  more  tender  and 
beneficial  will  be  their  union.  They  should  often  read  together  the 
same  books,  view  together  the  same  scenes  of  nature,  enjoy  the 
same  societ}'.  It  is  a  bad  symptom,  when  these  nearest  friends 
seem  weary  of  each  other's  society,  wlicn  their  plans  of  life  seem 
to  have  few  points  of  contact,  when  their  happiness  is  derived  from 
different  springs 

"  Let  me  mention  one  more  dut}*  belonging  to  husbands  and 
wives.  They  should  labor  to  improve  each  other's  characters, 
Tliis  is  the  noblest  puri)ose  and  use  of  the  connection.     They  wlio 


1814-1822.]  VIEWS   OF  CHILDREN.  323 

sustain  this  near  relation,  and  have  consequently  great  power  over 
each  other's  minds,  should  regard  one  another  in  the  light  which 
the  gospel  throws  on  our  nature  as  immortal  beings,  capable  of 
great  improvement,  and  whose  highest  interests  are  in  a  future  state. 
Whilst  mindful  of  each  other's  present  happiness,  their  great  solici- 
tude should  be  that  eternit}'  should  be  secured.  Let  them  watch 
over  each  other's  hearts  and  minds  witli  affectionate  concern, 
mutually  inviting  honest  and  friendly  admonition,  and  aiding  and 

strengthening  religious  and  benevolent  sentiments 

"This  is  the  noblest  use  of  the  conjugal  relation  ;  and  when  mar- 
riage is  thus  employed,  when  it  becomes  a  refiner  of  our  nature, 
uniting  the  mind  with  God,  and  elevating  it  to  heaven,  —  when 
they  wlio  sustain  it  prove  to  each  other  sources  and  cherishers  of 
virtuous  sentiment,  and  see  in  their  present  union  a  preparation  for 
indissoluble  friendship  after  death, — when  marriage  assumes  this 
high  and  holj-  character,  it  is  a  felicity  almost  too  pure  for  earth,  it 
is  a  foretaste  of  the  attachments  of  a  better  world." 

In  Mr.  Channing's  journals,  under  date  of  October,  1816,  is  found 
the  following  affecting  passage,  in  relation  to  his  first-born  child. 
Its  simple  stor}'  needs  no  word  of  explanation. 

"  I  remembered  the  love  of  Jesus  to  little  children.  I  remem- 
bered the  kindness  of  Him  who  has  called  himself  our  Father,  and 
whose  love  must  be  infinitely  purer  than  mine.  Still  my  heart 
clung  to  her ;  and  when  I  saw  the  last  struggle  on  Wednesday 
afternoon,  about  twent3--four  hours  after  her  birth,  I  wept  over  her 
as  if  I  had  been  deprived  of  a  long-possessed  blessing.  After  death 
her  Countenance  became  composed,  and  to  me  seemed  the  most 
beautiful,  soft,  gentle,  and  expressive,  which  I  had  ever  seen  at  so 
earl}'  an  age.  Tlmrsday  afternoon  I  carried  her  to  the  tomb,  in  the 
full  and  certain  hope  of  a  blessed  resurrection.  I  feel  as  if  my 
prayers  for  this  little  one,  and  ni}'  baptismal  and  funeral  services, 
had  formed  a  connection  between  us.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  a  child  in 
a  happier  world,  who  will  know  her  past  history,  who  will  know 
how  earnest  were  my  wishes  to  bless  her,  to  guide  her  to  all  virtue 
and  felicity  ;  and  I  hope  yet  to  meet  her,  and  to  know  that  my 
pra3-ers  were  not  in  vain,  and  to  see  that  my  child  is  more  excellent, 
more  happy,  than  I  could  have  rendered  her." 

But  in  1818  he  had  the  privilege  of  writing  to  his  sister  in  a  hap- 
pier strain,  on  the  occasion  of  the  birth  of  a  daughter. 

"  Had  I  not  learned  so  many  lessons  of  tliis  world's  mutableness, 
I  might  be  in  danger  of  dreaming  of  a  perfect  J03'  on  earth.  But  I 
do  not  forget  where  I  am.     I  hope  to  remember  wh}'  I  am  placed 


324  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^Et.  34-42. 

here,  and  to  consider  my  new  relation  cliiefly  as  an  enlargement  of 
my  means  of  usefulness,  and  as  giving  me  an  object  for  the  heart 
and  for  Christian  care  and  exertion.  I  have  not,  as  3'ou  ma}' readily 
suppose,  thought  much  about  education  as  yet !  I  have  a  general 
persuasion,  however,  that  cliildren  are  educated  chiefly  by  example, 
by  a  continual,  insensible  influence  of  those  around  them,  and  that 
the  surest  way  to  improve  our  children  is  to  improve  ourselves.  I 
do  not  mean  that  this  motive  is  as  poweiful  as  it  should  be.  I  hope, 
however,  tliat  we  shall  in  some  degree  be  governed  by  it,  and  shall 
labor  to  express  no  feeling  or  principle  before  our  little  girl  which 
we  should  not  wish  her  to  adopt." 

A  few  extracts  from  his  papers  will  show  the  feelings  with  which 
he  welcomed  this  young  being  intrusted  to  his  care. 

"What  dignity  Christianity  sheds  round  the  event  of  birth! 
How  unimportant  are  the  rise  and  fall  of  empires,  in  comparison 
with  the  entrance  of  an  immortal  soul  into  existence  !  Here  is  a 
new  agent  introduced  into  the  universe,  —  a  being  now  so  frail,  yet  to 
grow  to  vast,  to  inconceivable  influence,  —  a  lioing  now  so  depend- 
ent, yet  to  sustain  immense,  all-important  relations.  This  child  is 
to  survive  the  changes  of  nature  !  We  think  only  of  the  present. 
God  has  formed  it  for  high  and  unknown  purposes 

"  May  this  child  never  have  cause  to  reproach  us  for  evil  ex- 
ample, neglect,  ruinous  indulgence.  Through  its  whole  everlasting 
being,  may  it  remember  us,  as,  under  God,  its  earliest,  best  friends, 
by  whose  kind  care  it  learned  to  form  itself  upon  the  principles 
which  are  the  foundation  of  eternal  peace.  Here  is  a  mind  to  labor 
for,  which  is  to  live  forever.  Our  influence  on  it  is  to  be  perpetual. 
What  a  claim  this  little  being  brings  with  it !  What  latent  capaci- 
ties !  — yet  not  one  developed.  Here  is  a  being  whom  I  may  taint 
or  raise  to  immortal  glory.  Is  this  child  given  to  us  to  become 
ours?  What  a  possession,  to  keep  the  heart  alive,  not  for  a  day  or 
year,  but  for  life,  for  ages  upon  ages  !  " 

And  to  his  people,  on  the  Sunday  following,  he  said :  — 
"  We  have  heard  of  a  barbarous  nation  where  the  child  was 
received  with  weeping.  But  this  is  not  nature.  There  is  instinc- 
tive, irresistible  joy,  when  we  look  on  the  little  being  brought  into 
a  new  world,  with  a  form  so  perfect,  a  structure  so  delicate,  a  coun- 
tenance so  winning,  —  who  comes  a  stranger  to  all  our  solicitudes, 
who  sinks  so  securely  into  slumber,  as  if  it  were  lodged  in  paradise, 
who  has  no  resource  in  its  own  power  for  all  the  wants  to  which  it  is 
exposed,  but  finds  supply  beyond  its  needs  in  the  affection  that 
welcomes  it 


1814-1822]  VIEWS  OF   CHILDREN.  325 

"We  were  made  to  love.  This  is  the  end  of  God  in  all  social 
relations.  It  is  his  purpose  that  no  man  should  live  for  himself. 
He  has  made  life  to  be  a  succession  of  labors  and  sacrifices  for  the 
happiness  of  others.  It  is  for  tliis  that  children  are  made  so  help- 
less. The}'  are  born  weak,  that  they  should  rest  upon  our  strength. 
Their  limbs  cannot  sustain  their  weight,  that  they  may  be  folded  in 
our  arms  and  warmed  upon  our  breasts.  It  is  for  this  that  God 
gives  them  such  sweetness,  innocence,  beauty.  His  purpose  is  to 
enlaro-e  our  hearts  by  generous  toils  and  self-denials.  The  hardest 
heart°melts  at  the  sight  of  infancy.  In  every  home,  however  rude, 
however  splendid,  one  being  is  embraced  with  sincere  love,  and  that 
is  the  new-born  child.  The  young  woman  of  fashion,  whose  affec- 
tions have  been  dissipated  by  false  pleasures,  becomes  another 
person  as  she  clasps  her  infant  in  her  arms.  New  tenderness  fills 
her  bosom,  new  solicitudes  and  hopes  spring  up.  She  learns  to  live 
in  the  happiness  of  this  little  dependent  creature.  And  in  the  house 
of  the  poor  laborer,  what  overflowing  tenderness  is  poured  out  to 
welcome,  what  toils  are  cheerfully  borne  to  rear,  the  child  whose 
birth  imposes  a  perpetual  burden  !  Children  call  forth  a  tenderness 
which  softens  the  whole  character  in  all  relations.  We  enter  a 
warmer  region,  when  we  approach  a  home  gladdened  by  their  art- 
lessness,  simplicity,  confiding  affection,  playful  gladness.  The 
heart  awakes  to  healthier  action,  and  becomes  more  susceptible  to 
all  good  impressions.  Home  is  the  nursery  of  the  heart ;  children 
are  really  our  teachers,  and  the  lessons  which  they  communicate  are 
love,  self-forgetfulness,  interest  in  the  welfare  of  others,  I  am  per- 
suaded that  just  in  proportion  as  the  domestic  affections  have  oppor- 
tunity to  expand  in  any  community,  is  general  kindness,  sympathy, 

philanthropy  diffused 

"  A  Christian  parent,  on  the  birth  of  a  child,  has  sentiments  like 
these  brouglit  with  power  to  his  mind :  —  '  Here  is  a  being  com- 
mitted to  me  worth  more  than  the  world.  I  am  now  honored  with 
an  infinite  trust.  This  cradle  contains  a  life,  the  issues  of  which 
are  shrouded  in  the  solemn  uncertainties  of  the  everlasting  future. 
Here  is  not  only  a  helpless  being  to  be  loved,  but  a  growing  being 
to  be  trained.  It  is  to  be  influenced  in  its  growth  by  every  one 
around  it.  It  is  to  learn  the  language  Avhicli  falls  upon  its  ear,  to 
catch  the  manners  which  pass  before  its  eye,  to  receive  impressions 
so  easily  made  and  so  indelible  that  they  will  seem  like  nature.  It 
is  to  reflect  not  only  the  countenances,  but  the  characters,  of  those 
who  have  given  it  existence.  It  is  a  creature  of  sympathy  and  im- 
itation, which  will  receive  traces  never  to  be  erased.  What  a  trust ! 
God's  noblest  work  is  put  into  my  hands.     I  may  do  much  to  in- 


326  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [^t.  34-42. 

scribe  God's  image  on  this  immortal  mind.  I  ma}'  do  much  to  form 
a  friend  for  society,  a  source  of  good  for  mankind.  I  may  do  mudi 
to  give  a  new  inliabitant  to  heaven,  a  new  member  to  the  companies 
of  the  blessed.  Thanks  to  thee,  O  God,  for  the  relation  I  sustain  ! 
By  tliy  grace  I  will  fulfil  its  duties.'  .... 

"■  It  is,  indeed,  a  most  merciful  appointment  of  God,  that  children, 
by  needing  so  much  care,  impose  such  responsibility.  Man}',  many 
parents  would  have  wasted  life,  neglected  and  destro3ed  themselves, 
had  not  the  parental  relation  awakened  them  to  reflection.  The 
solemn  thought,  that  the  immortal  mind  intrusted  to  them  might 
perish  through  their  neglect,  has  called  multitudes  home  to  their 
own  hearts  and  to  God.  They  have  been  brought  to  feel  the  im- 
portance of  their  own  future  interests,  in  thinking  of  those  of  their 
children.  The  consideration  that  their  own  characters  would  be 
communicated  to  those  whom  the}'  loved  more  than  themselves, 
that  their  children  would  receive  from  them  principles,  habits,  and 
feelings,  has  induced  a  watchfulness,  a  regularity  of  speech  and 
conduct,  and  an  application  to  duty,  by  which  their  own  souls  have 
been  purified.  Perhaps  we  little  suspect  how  much  of  the  virtue  of 
a  community  is  to  be  traced  to  the  strong  feeling  of  responsibilit}' 
which  is  awakened  in  the  mind  by  the  parental  relation.  I  repeat 
it,  children  are  inestimable  blessings,  b}'  calling  forth  the  con- 
sciences of  their  parents.  The  instructions  we  impart  come  back 
upon  ourselves 

' '  Let  me  add  one  more  thought,  most  familiar,  yet  most  affecting. 
In  a  child  we  gain  a  being  who  can  return  as  well  as  receive  kind- 
ness. The  love  of  a  good  child,  — does  earth  hold  as  rich  a  blessing? 
Its  smiles  and  cheerful  obedience  repay  our  toils  during  its  youth ; 
and  who  can  express  the  value  of  its  affectionate  attentions  as  we 
advance  into  age?  Who  can  smooth  the  pillow  of  sickness  like  the 
hand  of  the  daughter  whose  sensibility  we  nurtured  in  her  tender 
years?  Who  can  sustain  our  infirm  steps  like  the  son  whose  manly 
virtues  we  helped  to  form?  Who  would  not  have  his  eyes  closed, 
ills  remaius  committed  to  the  dust,  by  filial  affection?  A  good  child 
is  a  blessing  through  life,  and  a  blessing  after  death.  I  cannot  think 
that  in  another  world  we  shall  forget  the  kindness  which  guided  and 
watched  over  us  in  this.  If  any  earthly  sentiment  survive  beyond 
the  grave,  surely  it  will  be  the  gratitude  of  the  child  and  the  joy  of 
the  parent,  when  they  meet  in  heaven." 

On  the  occasion  of  the  baptism  of  one  of  his  children,  Mr.  Chan- 
ning  thus  expressed  his  views  of  that  rite,  which  some  of  the  read- 
ers of  this  biography  may  be  glad  to  know. 


1814-1822.] 


HIS  SICKNESS.  327 


"  The  question  is  asked,  'Why  apply  a  religious  institution  to  a 
child  before  he  can  comprehend  or  desire  its  benefits  ? '  Such  a  ques- 
tion overlooks  the  great  fact  of  man's  existence,  tliat  we  are  born  into 
various  human  relations,  that  by  birth  we  enter  into  a  society,  into  a 
religious  community,  as  well  as  into  a  family.  It  is  in  vain  to  say 
that  children  should  be  left  to  choose  a  form  of  religion  for  them- 
selves. They  cannot  escape  the  influence  of  family,  of  country.  If 
Christian  principles  do  not  restrain  and  elevate  them,  other  princi- 
ples will  usurp  control  over  their  susceptible  years.  Such  is  man's 
nature  and  condition.  From  these  considerations  it  follows,  that 
Christianity  must  stoop  to  the  cradle,  and  take  the  infant  into  its 
arms  from  the  hour  of  birth.  It  must  make  the  first  claim  to  chil- 
dren, and  set  its  seal  upon  them  from  their  earliest  breath.  It  is  wise 
and  fit  that  by  some  visible  sign  our  religion  should  lay  its  hand  of 
benediction  upon  the  young  beings  who  are  to  be  trained  by  its 
discipline.  The  child  is,  indeed,  unconscious  of  the  meaning  of  our 
act  in  baptism  ;  but  at  that  moment  it  is  an  intelligent  and  immortal 
being,  having  within  itself  the  seeds  of  affections  and  capacities 
which  are  to  unfold  forever.  It  soon  is  to  become  conscious  of  that 
filial  feeling  which  is  the  simplest  element  of  piety.  And  how  ex- 
pressive is  the  rite  by  which  it  is  given  up  to  Jesus  Christ  to  receive 
the  influences  of  his  religion  !  " 

Two  sons  were  in  a  few  years  also  born  to  Mr.  Channing ;  and, 
settled  in  a  delightful  home  in  the  vicinity  of  his  mother  and  of  his 
wife's  family,  surrounded  by  a  society  which  listened  to  his  every 
word  with  interest  and  lent  a  ready  aid  to  all  his  plans,  esteemed 
and  loved  by  the  whole  community  in  which  he  lived,  and  every  year 
becoming  more  widely  influential,  he  felt,  as  he  said  to  a  friend, 
that  "his  condition  was  as  prosperous  as  he  could  well  bear;  and 
that,  were  it  not  for  almost  daily  debility  and  suffering,  he  sliould 
fail  of  the  discipline  of  pain  whicli  every  being  needs  to  purif^y  away 
his  self-love."  In  reference  to  his  constant  and  increasing  infirmity, 
he  writes  thus  in  his  journals  :  — 

"  Let  me  gratefully  accept  the  affliction  of  sickness,  and  chiefly 
desire  that  God's  ends  shall  be  answered.  I^et  not  one  sinking, 
repining  thought  come  over  me." 

"Sickness  has  temptations.     Let  me  not  pamper  self,  but  with       / 
distinct  purpose  employ  all  means  to  health,  as  fitting  me  for  use-     v 
fulness  and  for  the  service  of  God  and  man." 

So  enfeebled  had  he  become  in  the  winter  and  spring  of  1822, 
that  it  was  determined,  at  length,  that  he  should  try  the  effect  of  a 
voyage  and  a  year's  journey  abroad.    In  consequence  of  this  neces- 


328  MIDDLE-AGE  MINISTRY.  [JEt.  34-42. 

sity,  the  Society  in  Federal  Street,  with  the  alacrity  which  they  had 
alwa\'s  shown  to  promote  his  comfort,  passed,  at  a  full  meeting,  the 
following  votes :  — 

"  1 .  That  tlie  Standing  Committee  be  authorized  to  engage  some 
person,  with  the  concurrence  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing,  to  supply 
his  pulpit  for  one  year. 

"2.  That  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing  be  released  from  all  services 
for  his  parish  for  one  3'ear,  and  that  Deacon  Davis  be  requested  to 
express  to  hiin  the  earnest  wish  of  this  meeting  to  do  all  in  their 
power  to  conduce  to  the  restoration  of  his  healtii. 

"3.  That  the  Standing  Committee  be  authorized  to  raise  by 
subscription  the  sum  of  one  thousand  dollars  to  defray  the  additional 
expense  of  the  year.  D.  D.  Rogers,  Chairman. 

Benj.  Guild,  Clerk." 

On  May  26,  the  Sunday  before  he  sailed,  he  thus  communicated 
to  his  people  his  reasons  for  going  abroad  :  — 

"The  circumstance  which  has  decided  me  to  leave  you  is  the 
apprehension,  which  experience  has  almost  made  a  certainty,  that, 
if  I  remain,  I  shall  linger  through  life  in  a  condition  unfavorable  to 
my  own  improvement  and  to  public  usefulness,  in  that  middle  state 
between  sickness  and  health,  that  alternation  of  animation  and 
languor,  that  liability  to  sink  under  any  considerable  exertion,  which 
I  have  exi)ericnced  to  a  groat  degree  ever  since  my  connection  with 
3^ou,  and  which  my  late  indisposition  has  sensibly  increased.  More 
than  a  year  has  now  elapsed  since  the  interruption  of  my  professional 
labors,  and  when  I  look  back  on  this  period,  my  spirit  droops  at  the 
thought  of  continuing  to  drag  on  existence  inactively  and  unprofitably, 
nursing  a  frail  body,  seeking  relaxation  as  a  task,  now  gaining  and 
now  relapsing,  and  not  only  put  to  silence  on  Sundays,  but  compelled 
through  the  week  to  forego  the  books  and  means  of  improvement 
which  from  early  years  have  been  to  me  as  daily  bread.  The  reflec- 
tions, which,  in  these  circumstances,  are  apt  to  fasten  on  a  minister's 
mind,  are  such  as  others  cannot  easily-  understand.  Conscious  of 
past  deficiencies,  he  is  solicitous  to  repair  them,  whilst,  for  aught  he 
knows,  the  Lord  of  the  vine^'ard  may  have  alread}'  dismissed  him 
as  an  unprofitable  laborer.  I  mean  not  to  speak  of  the  past  year  as 
of  one  of  great  suflj^ring,  but,  in  the  inactivity  to  which  I  have  been 
reduced,  an  effort  has  been  often  needed  to  sustain  my  spirits,  and 
m}'  feelings,  as  well  as  my  sense  of  duty,  strongly  urge  me  to  make 
a  decided  effort  for  healtli.  If  I  fail,  I  shall  at  least  have  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  I  have  declined  no  labor  for  recovering  the 
capacity  of  serving  God  and  my  fellow-men." 


1822-1823.1    JOURNEY  IN  NEW  HAMPSHIRE  AND  VERMONT.     329 


Chapter  VI.— EUROPEAN  JOURNEY. 

iET.  42-43.     1822-1823. 

Before  following  Mr.  Channing  in  his  travels  abroad,  it  may  be 
well,  for  the  end  of  showing  the  delight  with  which  he  looked  on 
nature  and  his  capacity  for  enjoying  beauty,  to  present  some 
sketches  of  scenery  from  letters  written  during  a  journey  through 
New  Hampshire  and  Vermont,  in  the  summer  of  1821. 

"  Centre  Harbor^  N.  H.^  July  31,  1821.  From  the  east  windows, 
at  which  I  now  sit,  and  out  of  which  my  eye  often  steals,  I  look 
down  immediatel}'  on  the  lake,  but  not  on  such  a  sheet  of  water 
as  3-our  imagination  probably  represents  to  you.  I  learned,  before 
I  reached  it,  that  the  AVinnipiseogee  was  studded  with  islands  of 
considerable  extent,  and  in  great  number,  so  that  you  can  take  in 
but  a  small  part  of  it  from  the  shores.  But  whilst  this  detracts 
from  its  unity  and  grandeur,  30U  find  beauties  of  another  kind. 
The  channels  which  divide  the  islands,  the  numerous  points  and 
projections,  the  shores  fringed  with  trees,  b}-  multiplying  the  lights 
and  casting  shadows  on  the  water,  give  great  interest  to  the  scene. 
The  shore  opposite  to  me  is  covered  with  pines,  stretching  to  some 
distance,  and  beyond  them  rises  the  noble  Ossipee,  which,  covered 
with  the  light  mist  that  now  floats  over  it,  I  have,  more  than  once, 
when  accidentally  glancing  up,  taken  for  a  vast  mass  of  clouds. 
My  eye  rests  upon  it  with  increasing  pleasure,  and  1  feel,  that, 
wei-e  I  neighbor  to  a  mountain,  I  should  establish  a  friendship  with 
it,  perhaps  more  intimate  than  I  have  formed  with  any  part  of 
nature.  My  mind  seems  to  enlarge,  to  swell  with  these  majestic 
forms,  which  claim  kindred  with  the  skies." 

"  White  Hirer,  Vt.,  Aug.  6.  As  I  ascended  towards  its  source,  its 
animating  characteristics  grew  more  and  more  striking,  and  I  felt 
its  power.  It  is,  indeed,  a  peculiar  stream,  and  forms  a  remarka- 
ble contrast  with  the  Connecticut,  into  which  it  empties.  The 
moment  you  leave  the  point  ^vhere  they  meet,  —  I  may  say,  the 
very  first  step  3'ou  take  on  White  River,  — you  feel  that  30U  are 
forming  a  new  acquaintance,  that  3'ou  have  found  a  river  of  differ- 
ent features  and  habits,  not  contented  to  Avind  slowly  and  silently 
through  fertile  and  smooth  banks,  but  full  of  spirit  and  3-outhful 
sportiveness  ;  loAing  solitudes,  not  for  meditation,  but  that  it  may 
leap  and  dance  without  restraint,  and  listen  to  its  own  brisk 
murmurs,  multiplying  its  quick  turns,  as  if  eager  for  change,  — 


330  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^Et.  42-43. 

rushing  against  the  stones  and  rocks,  like  youth  engaging  in  mock 
contests. 

"  The  whole  stream  has  an  exhilarating  character  from  its  begin- 
ning; but  it  was  not  until  the  afternoon,  under  a  glorious  sky, 
that  I  felt  its  power.  In  a  short  time,  the  banks  began  to  rise 
more  precipitously  and  to  a  greater  height,  and  the  turns  of  the 
river  were  more  sudden,  and  the  bank  on  which  we  rode  steeper, 
so  that  we  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest  scenery 
which  I  remember.  Before,  behind,  all  around  us,  were  heights 
thrown  together  in  a  confused  manner,  sometimes  quite  hemming 
us  in,  sometimes  opening  into  views  of  wide  extent,  and  receiving 
from  the  sun  a  most  various,  shilling  light.  Indeed,  such  confu- 
sion of  lights  and  shades,  of  eflulgence  and  fainter  illumination,  you 
cannot  easily  conceive.  I  found  the  effect  on  my  own  mind  quite 
different  from  that  of  former  scenery.  It  Avas  not  as  exalting  as  the 
mountain  grandeur  of  New  Hampshire,  but  it  exhilarated  me  more, 
and  gave  me  the  very  excitement  which  an  invalid  needs. 

"  This  very  striking  scenery  continues  but  a  few  miles.  Then 
the  banks  recede  more  gradually,  the  hills  slope  more  gently ;  the 
stream  seems  willing  to  refresh  itself,  amidst  its  brisk  movements, 
with  spots  of  quiet  beauty.  Still  it  keeps  up  its  consistenc3'.  It 
slumbers  nowhere;  and  when  its  surface  is  smoothest,  you- will 
here  and  there  see  a  rock  or  stone  breaking  its  uniformity,  and 
making  its  motion  visible  by  a  httle  eddy  or  a  hue  of  depression  on 
the  water." 

"  Sandy  HilU  New  York,  Aug.  7.  On  Tuesday  morning,  we 
began  to  follow  again  the  Onion  River,  which  wound  among  hills 
less  bold  than  those  we  had  seen  the  day  before  ;  but,  viewed 
through  the  misty  light  of  the  morning,  they  gave  us  continual 
pleasure,  until  we  reached  a  spot  which  had  power  to  efface  for  a 
time  all  other  impressions.  Nobody  had  whisi)ered  to  us  that  we 
were  to  meet  anything  extraordinary.  You  will  judge,  then,  of 
our  astonishment  and  delight,  when,  after  hearing  for  a  few  min- 
utes an  unusual  tumult,  we  found  ourselves  on  a  bridge,  which  dis- 
covered to  us,  on  both  sides,  a  deep,  rocky,  perpendicular  ravine, 
througli  which  the  river,  contracted  to  a  few  yards,  was  rushing, 
raging,  foaming,  as  if  it  had  reserved  all  its  might  and  passion  for 
this  single  spot.  The  ravine  or  cleft  seemed  to  me  a  quarter  or 
sixth  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  so  straight,  that  from  two  or  three 
points  the  eye  could  ccminiand  nearly  its  whole  extent.  The  clitis 
rose  perpendicnlai'ly  to  the  height,  I  should  think,  of  forty  to  sixty 
feet,  in  parallel  lines  of  solid  rock.  That  so  remarkable  a  rapid 
should  not  even  have  been  named  to  us  was  matter  of  wonder,  and 


1822-1823.]  GREEN   MOUNTAINS.  331 

proved  how  little  impression  is  made  by  the  might}'  works  of  God. 
We  clambered  to  the  highest  point  of  the  banks,  and  looked  down 
the  giddy  steep  with  an  emotion  which  had  hardly  been  surpassed 
at  Glen's  Falls 

"  We  soon  found  ourselves  entering  a  region  which  drew  from 
us  exclamations  of  increasing  delight  and  admiration.  We  had 
heard  that  the  pass  through  which  our  road  lay  was  called  '  The 
Gulf,'  and  that  we  were  to  pass  the  range  which  is  eminently  called 
the  Green  Mountains,  not  b}'  scaling  them,  as  before,  but  by 
threading  a  valle\'  at  their  feet.  Still,  so  little  was  said,  that  we 
expected  little.  How  can  I  express  our  feelings  when  the  true 
glory  of  this  spot  was  revealed  to  us  ?  Instead  of  ascending,  as  on 
our  former  route,  a  long  and  steep  cleft,  hemmed  in  on  each  side 
b}'  precipices  of  forests,  we  now  followed  a  road  of  easy  ascents 
and  descents.  On  one  side  the  bank  rose  suddenly,  so  that  its 
height  could  not  easily  be  seen  ;  but  on  the  other  rushed  the  branch 
of  the  White  River,  removing  to  a  sufficient  distance  the  mountains 
from  which  it  separated  us,  so  as  to  enable  us  to  see  distinctl}'  their 
declivities,  and  outlines,  and  forests.  In  our  former  passage,  we 
left  our  carriage  from  necessity,  —  here,  from  choice,  —  and  we 
walked  perhaps  a  mile  through  this  deep  valley,  lifting  our  aston- 
ished eyes  to  the  towering  and  beautiful  summits,  which  seemed 
worthy  of  the  region  the}'  inhabited. 

"  Represent  to  yourself  a  succession  of  mountains  through  more 
than  a  mile's  extent,  rising  almost  perpendicularly  from  their  bases, 
sometimes  stretching  before  us  in  a  line,  sometimes  forming  a 
majestic  .sweep,  opening  as  we  advanced,  so  as  to  discover  their 
outlines  and  distinct  masses,  and  clothed  to  the  A'ery  top  with  the 
freshest,  richest,  most  luxuriant  foliage.  1  was  astonished  to  see 
such  perpendicular  heights,  in  which  it  seemed  scarcely  possible 
that  trees  should  take  root,  so  closely  wooded  that  the  eye  could 
not  discover  a  speck  of  dark  earth  amidst  their  boundless  verdure. 
To  say  that  the  woods  were  green  would  give  3'ou  no  idea  of  them. 
They  had  the  brightness  and  tenderness  of  spring,  with  the  fulness 
of  summer  ;  and,  instead  of  presenting  a  confused  mass  of  verdure, 
their  tops  were  so  distinct,  that  the  grace  and  majesty  of  particular 
trees  might  easily  be  traced.  The  light  and  temperature  favored 
us,  and  we  lingered,  most  unwilhng  to  take  the  last  look." 

In  a  letter,  written  soon  after  his  return,  and  which  is  of  addi- 
tional interest,  as  showing  how  solemn  were  his  associations  with 
the  scenery  of  Newport,  he  thus  refers  to  the  influence  of  natural 
beauty. 


332  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [JEt.  42-43. 

^^  Portsmouth,  Rhode  Island,  Sept.  6,  1821.  M}' journey  was  not 
lost ;  and  this  I  should  say,  even  had  I  returned  without  one  addi- 
tional particle  of  strength  ;  for  it  left  impressions  and  recollections 
which  will  make  me  richer  and  happier  for  life.  This  magnificent 
creation  has  been  to  me,  even  from  my  boyhood,  a  principal  source 
of  happiness  ;  but  I  never  entered  into  its  si)irit,  felt  its  power  and 
glories,  as  on  this  journe}'.  I  should  liardl}'  dare  to  travel  over 
the  same  ground  again,  lest  the  bright  images  which  are  treasured 
up  in  memory  should  be  dimmed  by  a  second  sight. 

"  But  nature  was  not  my  chief  enjoyment.  I  owed  much  to  my 
companions,  who  gave  more  than  they  received.  Perhaps,  if  I 
were  to  name  the  circumstance  in  which  I  consider  myself  most 
enviably  distinguished,  I  should  say,  it  is  the  intimacy  which  I 
have  enjoyed,  and  still  enjo}',  with  so  many  of  the  first  and  best 
of  your  sex.  I  could  not  have  ended  m}'^  journey  with  as  unre- 
pining  a  spirit  as  I  did,  had  I  not  had  a  home  to  receive  me,  which 
I  am  weak  enough  to  think  the  best  home  on  earth,  and  which 
had  gone  with  me  and  secretly  mixed  with  all  my  joys  among 
the  mountains,  lakes,  and  rivers,  which  seemed  to  divide  me  from 
it 

"  I  was  powerfully  reminded  of  the  early  years  of  my  life,  when 
these  shores  were  my  favorite  and  almost  constant  haunts.  Then, 
before  I  knew  you,  I  had  not  '  found  rest  to  my  soul,'  for  I  was 
very  much  a  stranger  to  true  religion.  My  spirit,  consumed  with 
passionate  fires,  thirsted  for  some  unknown  good,  and  my  body  pined 
away  to  a  shadow  under  the  workings  of  a  troubled  mind.  Then  I 
spent  almost  whole  days  on  the  sea-shore,  where  the  majesty  and 
power  of  nature,  absorbing,  exalting  me,  and  transporting  me 
beyond  myself,  ministered  most  happily  to  the  diseased  soul. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  can  recollect  that  I  became  buoyant 
and  exhilarated  in  proportion  to  the  wildness  and  sublimity  around 
me,  and  I  leaped  for  joy  when  a  wave,  which  seemed  to  menace 
ruin,  broke  on  the  rock  where  I  stood,  and  mounted  in  clouds  to 
the  skies.  Thanks  to  God,  those  days  of  tumult  are  past,  and  an 
existence,  the  beginning  of  which  is  still  a  mystery  to  me,  and 
which  was  wrapt  in  many  clouds,  has  opened  into  blessings  which 
I  should  not  have  dared  to  anticipate." 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  month  of  May,  1822,  that  Mr.  Chan- 
ning  bade  farewell  to  his  three  blooming  children,  to  his  parent, 
family,  friends,  society,  and,  in  company  with  his  wife,  sailed 
for  England.  On  the  eve  of  departure,  he  thus  wrote  to  his 
mother :  — 


1822-1823.]  PARTING   WORDS.  333 

"  May  27,  1822. 

"My  dear  Mother,  —  I  cannot  go  without  leaving  you  a  line. 
At  this  moment,  when  I  think  of  my  approaching  separation  from 
you,  I  recall,  with  more  than  usual  tenderness,  your  affection  and 
3-our  claims,  and  I  pray  God  to  reward  and  crown  you  with  his  best 
blessings. 

"  It  is  one  of  my  greatest  griefs,  that  I  do  not  leave  you  in  better 
health,  and  I  beg  you  to  neglect  no  means  of  building  it  up.  I  en- 
close a  hundred  dollars,  which  I  wish  you  to  spend  very  much  for 
this  object. 

"  I  cannot  but  believe  that  you  would  be  happier,  if  you  would 
relinquish  housekeeping  ;  and  you  will  see,  in  my  letter  from  Lucy, 
how  entirely  she  agrees  with  me.  Ruth  joins  with  me  in  assuring 
you,  that,  if  j-ou  could  be  happy  at  our  house  on  our  return,  we 
should  rejoice  to  receive  you. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  anxious  about  us.  We  sail  under  every 
advantage,  and  I  have  a  cheering  hope  that  I  shall  return  to  be 
more  to  my  family  and  people  than  I  have  been.  You  will  often 
hear  from  us,  either  immediately  or  through  other  friends ;  and 
should  auA'thing  prevent  free  communication,  j'ou  will  remember 
that  we  are  always  under  the  care  of  Him  who  alone  makes  home 
a  place  of  safet}-,  and  who  can  make  every  place  equalh'  secure. 
My  spirits  are  wonderfully-  sustained.  I  go  with  a  cheerful,  con- 
fiding mind,  and  hope  that,  whilst  I  am  remembered  with  affection, 
I  shall  not  be  with  sorrow. 

"  My  dear  mother,  ma}^  many  years  be  added  to  3'our  life,  and 
may  they  be  brightened  by  the  increasing  affection,  usefulness,  and 
virtues  of  your  children.  You  will  be  the  object  of  my  daily 
praj'crs,  and  I  know  I  shall  not  be  forgotten  in  yours. 

"  Your  grateful  and  affectionate  son." 

With  the  aid  of  extracts  selected  from  his  journals  and  corre- 
spondence, let  us  now  rapidly  follow  Mr.  Channing  during  a  year 
which,  with  all  its  rich  experiences,  was  to  him  one  of  exile,  rather 
than  of  enjoyment.  And  first,  from  the  notes  of  his  vo^'age,  we 
will  take  a  few  passages  which  manifest  the  buoyant,  fresh  joy  with 
which  he  watched  the  changes  of  ocean. 

^^  June  25.  On  this  day  I  was  exhilarated  b}'  a  truly  magnifi- 
cent scene.  The  wind  was  strong  and  fair,  and  had  called  the 
ocean,  after  its  long  repose,  into  new  life.  The  sky,  obscured 
with  clouds,  gave  to  the  waves  that  dark,  polished  hue,  for  which 
I  can  find  no  name,  and  which  is  one  of  their  most  beautiful  colors. 
Exceedingly  minute  ripples  hurried,  swept,  flew  over  the  surface, 


334  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [iEx.  42-43. 

and  marked  the  flectncss  of  the  wind  as  distinctly  as  if  that  subtile 
element  had  become  the  object  of  sight.  Eveiy  sail  was  expanded 
and  swelled  into  a  gTaceful  form,  as  if  eager  to  enjoy  the  favoring 
breeze.  The  ship  seemed  to  have  caught  the  life  and  spirit  of  the 
elements,  rushing  forward,  as  for  a  prize,  cleaving  the  waves,  and 
dashing  them  from  her  sides  in  an  azure  sparkling  brine  and  a 
foam  of  snow}'  whiteness,  as  if  to  brighten  and  deck  her  triumphant 
flight.  In  such  moments,  the  soul  seems  to  add  to  its  own  energies 
the  power  which  is  vivifying  nature  and  exults  in  the  consciousness 
of  a  more  intense  existence 

"The  sight  of  the  sea-bird  struck  me  with  its  loneliness.  I 
thought  of  its  spending  the  night  on  the  ocean.  But  I  remembered 
that  it  had  no  home  to  forget,  and  considered  what  a  bed  it  must 
find  on  the  waves.  The  sea-bird  is  rocked  in  nature's  cradle,  and 
enjoys  a  sleep  which  few  find  on  shore.  How  man}-,  torn  with 
passion  or  remorse,  might  envy  it !  There  is  a  striking  contrast 
in  the  rough,  mighty  ocean  being  thus  the  chosen  dwelling  of  re- 
pose  

"  The  soul  and  nature  are  attuned  together.  Something  within 
answers  to  all  we  witness  without.  When  I  look  on  the  ocean  in 
its  might  and  tumult,  my  spirit  is  stirred,  swelled.  When  it  spreads 
out  in  peaceful  blue  waves,  under  a  bright  sky,  it  is  dilated,  yet 
composed.  I  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  earth,  and  this  is  alwa3-s 
good.  Nature  breathes  notliing  unkind.  It  expands,  or  calms,  or 
softens  us.     Let  us  open  our  souls  to  its  influences 

"  The  ocean  is  said  to  rage,  but  never  so  to  me.  I  see  life,  joy, 
in  its  wild  billows,  rather  than  rage.  It  is  full  of  spirit,  eagerness. 
In  a  storm,  we  are  not  free  to  look  at  the  ocean  as  an  obje(;t  of 
sentiment.  Danger  then  locks  up  the  soul  to  its  true  inducnce. 
At  a  distance  from  it,  we  might  contemplate  it  as  a  solemn  minister 
of  Divine  justice,  and  witness  of  God's  power  to  a  thoughtless 
world  ;  but  we  could  associate  with  it  only  moral  ideas,  —  not  a 
blind  rage.  At  least,  I  have  seen  nothing  which  gives  nature  an 
unkind  expression 

"We  talk  of  old  ocean,  hoary  ocean;  I  cannot  associate  age 
with  it.  It  is  too  buo3'ant,  animated,  living.  Its  crest  of  loam  is 
not  hoariness,  but  the  breaking  forth  of  life.  Ocean  is  perpetual 
youth 

"In  a  gale,  3-ou  are  struck  Avith  the  tumultuous  restlessness  of 
the  ocean.  Instead  of  lengthened  waves,  it  mounts  and  swells 
irregularly,  as  if  too  full  of  life,  too  impatient,  to  submit  to  any 
rule.  The  waves  chase  one  another  eagerly,  and  with  an  intrac- 
tiible  vehemence,  and  break  and  whiten  through  excess  of  spirit. 


1822-1823.]  GALE  AT  SEA.  335 

They  do  not  seem  to  rise  by  a  foreign  impulse,  but  spontaneously, 
exnltingly.  You  are  reminded  of  the  agenc}^  of  the  wind,  not  by 
the  large,  precipitous  masses  of  water  which  are  tossed  so  con- 
fusedly around  3'ou,  for  these  seem  instinct  with  their  own  life  ; 
3'OU  see  the  wind  in  their  torn,  and  ruffled,  and  swept  surfaces,  and 
in  the  spra}'  which  flashes  and  is  whirled  and  scattered  from  their 
tops.  It  is  truly  an  animating  scene.  You  feel  yourself  in  the 
midst  of  life  and  power,  and  hear  air  and  ocean  joining  their  voices 
of  might  to  inspire  a  kindred  energ}-.  The/e  is  awe,  — not  a  de- 
pressing, but  triumphant  awe.  Our  spirits  mix  with  the  elements, 
and  partake  the  fulness  of  their  power. 

"There  is  constant  variet}' in  such  a  scene.  The  '  trough,' as 
the  sailor  calls  it,  is,  in  fact,  a  valley  in  the  ocean,  and,  on  each 
side,  waves  higher  than  the  ship  bound  3'our  view.  In  a  moment, 
you  ride  on  these  mountains,  and  a  wide  horizon  opens  on  A'Ou,  the 
distinct  line  of  which  is  broken  l\y  heaps  of  ocean,  sometimes  rising 
into  peaks,  which  break  as  soon  as  formed,  and  give  place  to  new 
creations.  Vast  structures  thus  grow  and  vanish  almost  in  an  in- 
stant, and  the  eye  finds  no  resting-place  in  the  perpetual  revolutions. 
The  waves,  swelling  above,  and  approaching,  as  if  to  overwhelm 
you,  tliough  they  do  not  alarm,  sliow  a  power  so  akin  to  destruc- 
tion, as  to  give  a  momentary  sensation  of  danger,  and  the  spirit 
feels  something  of  the  pleasure  of  escape,  when  the  ship  is  seen  to 
triumph  over  its  invaders. 

"  There  is,  too,  a  feeling  of  elevation,  when,  in  such  a  scene, 
where  nature  is  in  uproar,  and  putting  forth  around  us  her  mightiest 
energies,  we  are  conscious  of  inward  serenity,  feel  ourselves  un- 
shaken in  the  tumult  and  alive  to  adoration  and  joy.  The  soul  has 
a  consciousness  of  greatness,  in  possessing  itself,  and  in  converting 
into  the  nourishment  of  its  noblest  emotions  the  might  and  majesty 
of  the  universe 

"There  is  great  beauty  joined  with  this  majest}',  as  through  all 
nature.  We  seldom  see  more  power.  The  awful  mountain  top 
delights  to  bathe  its  grandeur  in  the  richest,  softest  beams  of  the 
rising  or  setting  sun  ;  sweet  flowers  wave  and  smile  in  tlie  chasms 
of  the  precipice  :  and  so  the  mountain  billow  often  breaks  into 
sparkling  spray,  and  the  transparent  arch  beneath  shines  with  an 
emerald  brightness,  which  has  haixlly  a  rival  in  the  richest  hues  of 
the  vegetable  creation. 

"  After  witnessing  a  gale,  I  was  shut  up  for  several  days  in  the 
cabin,  and  did  not  return  to  the  deck  until  a  remarkable  change 
had  taken  place.  A  calm  had  succeeded.  It  M'as  hard  to  connect 
what  1  now  saw  with  my  last  view  of  the  ocean,  —  to  feel  that  I 


336  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [iEx.  42-43. 

was  looking  on  the  same  element.  The  irre2:nlar,  broken,  wildly- 
tossing,  tumultuous  billows  had  vanished,  and  lengthened,  continu- 
ous, slowly-advancing  swells  followed  one  another,  not  as  in  pursuit, 
but  as  if  fnuling  pleasure  in  gentle  motion. 

"  Instead  of  bursting  into  foam,  or  being  tossed  into  infinite  in- 
equalities by  the  sweeping,  hurrying  winds,  their  polished,  molten 
surface,  whilst  varied  by  soft  flowing  lines,  was  unruffled  by  a 
single  breath.  They  seemed,  as  they  rolled  in  regular  intervals 
towards  us,  like  the  gentle  heaving  of  a  sleeping  infant's  breast. 
I  did  not  feel  as  if  the  ocean  was  exhausted  by  its  late  efforts,  but 
as  if,  having  accomplished  its  manifestations  of  awe-inspiring  might, 
it  was  now  executing  a  more  benignant  ministr}',  speaking  of  the 
mere}'  and  the  blissful  rest  of  God.  Perhaps  no  image  of  repose  is 
so  perfect  as  the  tranquillity  of  an  element  so  powerful,  and  so 
easily  wrought  into  tumult.     I  looked,  and  was  at  peace." 

On  landing  at  Liverpool,  Mr.  Channing  met  with  the  warmest 
welcome  from  many  liberal-minded  friends,  whose  hearts  had  been 
already  prepared,  by  his  writings  and  reputation,  to  receive  him. 
But  he  found  himself  utterly  unfitted,  by  weakness  and  depression, 
to  bear  the  pleasing  excitement  of  forming  acquaintances ;  and, 
hastily  bidding  farewell  to  the  intelligent,  humane,  refined,  and  mu- 
nificent circle  which  opened  to  him  their  hospitable  homes,  he 
departed  upon  his  journey  to  the  Lakes.  A  few  extracts  from  his 
journals  will  show  what  refreshment  he  found  amidst  the  exquisite 
scenery  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland. 

"  Lancaster^  July  11.  The  castle  at  Lancaster  is,  to  a  stranger, 
singularly  interesting.  It  Avas  the  first  noble  monument  I  had  seen 
of  times  which,  however  fierce  and  lawless,  must  still  be  regarded 
as  rich  to  overflowing  in  generous  feeling,  and  as  containing,  in  a 
rude  state,  the  principles  of  the  great  social  changes  which  have 
since  been  developed.  It  is  now  a  heterogeneous  mass,  — the  mod- 
ern additions  seeming  to  be  in  fine  taste,  when  viewed  in  detached 
parts,  but  having  no  unity,  and  wlioUy  ft\iling  in  correspondence 
with  the  remains  of  the  ancient  fabric.  The  chief  of  these  is  a 
gateway,  protected  by  two  towers,  the  battlements  overhanging  the 
base,  and  bearing  record  to  the  violence  of  an  age  when  lordly 
power  felt  the  want  of  a  security  that  is  now  enjoyed  equally  by  the 
higli  and  low. 

"This  castle,  of  which  Edward  the  Third  was  the  founder,  once 
the  seat  of  strength  and  magnificence  of  the  dukes  of  Lancaster, 
is  now  crowded  with  felons,  debtors,  lunatics,  and  has  become  a 
workshop  for  convicts,  an  asylum  for  madness,  a  court-house,  with 


1822-1823.]  THE  LAKES.  337 

its  jury-rooms,  crown  and  county  halls,  and  the  lalminth  of  offices 
in  which  justice  so  often  loses  her  way.  What  a  monument  this 
singular  building  is  of  the  spirit  and  condition  of  past  and  present 
times  !  The  hammer  once  sounded  here,  riveting  arms  ;  the  cul- 
prit now  wields  it  in  forging  the  most  vulgar  utensils  for  the  cook 
or  ploughboy.  Once  it  set  at  defiance  the  authority  of  the  state, 
and  the  owner  measured  all  rights  by  the  sword  ;  now  the  judge, 
with  no  signs  of  power  but  an  enormous  wig  and  robe,  administers, 
we  hope  impartially,  equal  laws,  to  which  the  lives  and  property  of 
all  orders  are  subject.  Once  it  resounded  with  shouts,  the  neigh  of 
steeds,  the  clang  of  armor,  the  joyful  tumult  of  a  boundless  hos- 
pitality ;  now  the  taskmaster  metes  out  cheerless  labors  to  the 
guilty  or  unfortunate  prisoners,  and  the  high  orders  of  society  enter 
it  only  to  break  its  silence  with  the  jargon  of  law  or  the  sentence  of 
death.  That  was  an  age  of  wild,  unrestrained  action  of  our  nature, 
when  society  was  now  shaken  by  the  whirlwinds  of  passion,  now 
brightened  by  flashes  of  heroic,  generous  feeling,  —  when  man  was 
a  terror  or  a  glory  in  his  sphere,  —  when  stronger  dependencies  and 
more  relentless  passions,  more  devoted  attachments  and  more  des- 
olating feuds,  gave  societ}'  at  once  a  more  delightful  and  yet  a  more 
fearful  interest  than  at  present.  How  various  is  our  nature  !  How 
shall  we  unite  into  one  social  state  the  virtues,  principles,  joys, 
which  have  marked  its  different  stages  ?  " 

July  V6th  to  I8tk.  "  I  am  now  at  Pooley's  Bridge,  UUes  Water, 
and  have  to  look  back  on  daj-s  of  activity,  enjoyment,  and  various 
perceptions  and  sensations  which  can  hardly  be  recalled.  Scenes 
of  grandeur,  and  wildness,  and  beauty  have  passed  before  m}'  e^'es 
and  through  m}'  mind  so  rapidly,  that  I  shrink  from  the  task  of 
separating  them.  My  pleasure  has  been  greatly  impaired  by  the 
state  of  m}'  health,  fettering  me  amidst  most  alluring  objects,  check- 
ing m^'  ascent  of  hills,  forbidding  me  to  penetrate  depths  and  moist 
places,  to  expose  myself  to  the  damp  winds  of  the  lakes,  &c.  Still 
I  have  enjoyed  much. 

"  Saturday  I  spent  on  Windermere,  a  lake  of  great  beauty,  the 
most  cheerful  of  this  glorious  company,  spreading  into  wider  ex- 
panses, seeming  less  desirous  of  privacy'  and  solitude,  and  encircled 
with  banks  less  high  and  precipitous,  as  if  it  wished  greater  com- 
munion with  nature.  It  has  more  beauty  than  an}-  I  have  seen. 
It  is  twelve  miles  long,  and  perhaps  three  miles  in  its  greatest 
breadth  ;  but  its  width  generall}'  is  less,  so  that  the  opposite  banks 
may  be  comprehended  in  one  view,  and  their  projections  made  to 
combine  with  the  islands  to  give  almost  an  infinite  variety  to  its 
mild   surface.     Its  distinguishing  charm  lies  in  its  finelj^  marked 

22 


338  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [JEt.  42-43. 

and  varied  outline.  Here  the  land  gently  swells  into  the  lake,  and 
there  the  water  seeks  a  more  deep  repose  in  bays  or  coves  which  it 
has  formed  by  a  kindly  soliciting  influence  from  the  shore.  There 
are  occasionally  points  of  some  boldness,  enough  to  prevent  tame- 
ness.  But  the  land  and  water  seem  never  to  have  contended  for 
empire.  Where  the  former  advances,  it  is  gradual!}',  not  by  sharp, 
angular  projections,  but  graceful  curves,  and  it  clothes  itself  with 
a  richer,  fresher  verdure,  as  if  to  shed  new  glor}'  over  the  lake ; 
and  when  the  water  encroaches,  30U  might  easily  imagine  that  it 
was  only  that  it  might  spread  a  calm  surface  beneath  the  hills,  to 
reflect  more  vividly  their  forms  and  hues 

"  The  day  was  peculiarl}'  favorable,  and,  though  I  sailed  at  noon, 
the  prospect  was  not  injured  by  a  glaring  or  monotonous  light. 
The  clouds  veiled  the  sky,  but  occasionall}-  parted  to  throw  gleams 
of  lustre  on  island,  shore,  or  lake  ;  whilst  a  gentle  intermitting 
breeze  now  drew  transient,  slowly-moving  ripi)les  on  the  surface  of 
the  water,  and  now  left  the  element  unbroken,  as  if  to  fulfil  its 
oflSce  of  responding  in  perfect  harmony  to  the  heavens 

"'  The  effect  of  stations  depends  ver}'  much  on  the  light,  and  the 
condition  of  the  atmosphere.  The  same  prospect  is  an  entirel}' 
different  thing  at  sunrise  or  sunset,  —  under  a  warm  or  a  cold  sky. 
I  feel  that  I  have  done  little  justice  to  the  lakes,  and  the  scenery 
round  them,  in  my  hasty  view.  To  see  a  fine  prospect  under  one 
light  is  like  looking  at  a  countenance  in  a  single  attitude  and  with 
one  expression.  No  wonder  that  man}'  are  disappointed,  and  that 
descriptions  are  given  of  this  country  which  seem,  to  travellers  who 
see  it  at  different  seasons,  wholly  fictitious.  Beaut}'  depends  on 
connection  and  harmou}'.  A  feature  of  a  prospect,  which,  when 
thrown  into  shade  or  softened  by  mist,  gives  to  its  whole  a  great 
charm,  may  become  a  deformity,  when  seen  through  a  clear  atmos- 
phere under  a  bright  sun.  1  know,  as  yet,  little  of  this  country's 
powers  and  resources  in  relation  to  the  imagination,  althougli  I 
have  seen  enough  to  delight  me,  and  make  me  wish  to  spend  a 
season  here 

"Next  we  visited  Grassmere  Water,  a  sacred  spot,  a  seclusion 
from  all  that  is  turbulent  and  unholy  in  life.  It  was  near  sunset  as 
we  approached  this  water.  We  found  ourselves  descending  a  mount 
called  Lougiuigg  into  a  valley,  in  which  reposed  this  sweet  lake, 
uni-ufricd,  smooth,  hemmed  in  by  sheltering  mountains.  The  solemn 
heights  towards  the  setting  sun  showed  to  us  their  dark  sides  re- 
flected with  wonderful  distinctness  in  the  still  bosom  of  the  lake, 
within  whose  waters  tliey  seemed  to  find  even  a  quieter  al)ode  than 
in  the  tranquil  heavens  into  which  their  tops  ascended.     This  repe- 


1822-1823.]  GRASSMERE.  339 

tition  of  the  dark  sides  of  the  mountains  threw  a  solemn  shade  over 
the  part  of  the  lake  to  whicli  the  reflection  was  confined,  whilst 
beyond  this  line  a  mild  light,  answering  to  that  of  the  heavens,  and 
of  other  mountains,  gleamed  from  the  water,  investing  it  at  one 
moment  with  various,  but  not  inharmonious,  forms  of  beaut^'. 

"  The  effect  of  this  lalve  on  the  spirit  was  immediate,  deep,  pen- 
etrating the  inmost  soul,  and  awakening  a  feeling  of  something  pro- 
found in  one's  own  nature.  Windermere  was  tranquil,  but  it  had  a 
cheerful  tranquillity.  Its  genius  was  peace,  but  peace  with  a  smil- 
ing aspect,  wooing  society  and  s^'mpathy.  Grassmere  seemed  to 
be  spread  out  in  the  mountain  recesses  as  an  abode  for  lonely, 
silent,  pensive  meditation,  —  for  the  inspired  imagination,  which, 
in  still  abstraction  from  vulgar  realities,  would  give  itself  up  to 
ideal  beauty,  —  for  the  spirit  of  love,  which,  wearied  with  man's 
strifes  and  passions,  would  meet  and  commune  with  a  kindred 
spirit  in  nature,  — for  piety  to  approach  God  without  distraction, 
to  see  him  in  the  harmony,  to  hear  him  in  the  silence  of  his  crea- 
tion. The  character  of  this  place  is  that  of  seclusion,  but  not  of 
stern  or  sorrowful  seclusion,  congenial  with  the  mind  which  injur)' 
or  disappointment  has  made  impatient  or  sick  of  the  world.  It 
invites  rather  the  mild  enthusiast,  who,  amidst  the  deformities  of 
life,  still  sees  what  is  lovely  in  human  nature,  and  at  a  distance 
from  the  tumults  of  society  would  resign  himself  to  visions  of  moral 
beauty,  of  perfect  loveliness,  and  of  sublime  virtue,  unknown  on 
earth, — who  is  conscious  of  the  capacities  of  human  nature  for 
what  is  good  and  great,  and  desires,  under  the  kindliest  influences 
of  the  universe,  to  call  forth  into  new  life  these  high  principles  in 
his  own  soul. 

"  On  descending  to  this  sweet  lake,  I  felt  my  spirit  stilled,  as  if 
I  were  throwing  off"  the  robe  of  this  world's  cares  and  passions,  and 
escaping  into  a  region  of  more  than  human  purity  and  peace,  with- 
out, however,  losing  m}^  human  sympathies. 

"The  lake  has  not  left,  perhaps,  very  definite  traces  of  figure,  &c., 
on  my  mind,  for  in  such  a  scene  the  mind  is  not  stimulated  to  an- 
alyze. The  heart  and  imagination  are  too  absorbed  for  curious  ob- 
servation. It  is  rather  circular,  and  wants  the  multiplied  diversities 
of  outline,  the  points,  bays,  recesses  of  Windermere,  and  this, 
perhaps,  aids  its  effect,  for  the  eye  is  not  excited  to  wander  in 
search  of  beauties  half  hid  in  maz)'  openings.  The  soul  is  free  to 
receive  an  unmixed  impression  from  the  simple,  harmonious  scene. 
When  it  is  said  that  the  surrounding  mountains  are  bold,  some  pre- 
cipitous, and  one  of  them  a  rugged  steep,  seamed  with  storms  and 
strewed  with  rock)'  fragments,  it  may  seem  strange  that  the  lake 


840  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^t.  42-43. 

can  liave  the  character  of  mild  repose  which  has  been  ascribed  to 
it ;  but,  spreading  as  it  does  in  a  circle,  it  so  parts  the  surrounding 
mountains,  that  they  cannot  be  grouped  as  if  they  bordered  a  nar- 
rower stream,  and  thus  they  become  subordinate  accompaniments 
to,  instead  of  being  the  cliief  features  of,  the  prospect.  Tlien  the 
immediate  shore  of  the  lake  is  level  and  verdant,  and  blends  singu- 
larly with  the  peaceful  water.  This  is  particularly  true  with  respect 
to  the  vale,  properly  so  called,  which  spreads  between  the  head  of 
Grassmere  and  Helm's  Crag,  whose  surface  is  almost  as  unbroken 
as  tlie  lake,  and  which,  clothed  as  it  is  with  the  freshest  verdure, 
varied  b}-  hedgerows,  and  combining  with  its  natural  beaut}'  the 
most  affecting  tokens  of  humanity  b}-  its  simple  cottages  and 
Gothic  churches,  communicates  an  inexpressible  character  of  peace 
and  benignity,  and  of  gentle  and  holj'  sweetness,  to  the  whole 
scene.  The  mountains  thus  severed  from  one  another,  and  rising 
from  so  peaceful  a  foundation,  seem  exalted  onl}'  to  guard  the 
sacred  seclusion  of  the  lake  from  the  profanation  of  worldly  pas- 
sions, that  it  may  hold  i)ure  intercourse  with  the  mild  and  pure 
sky,  which  it  reflects  so  tranquill}",  with  the  glorious  sun,  and  the 
genial  breezes.  In  such  spots  we  can  hardly  help  believing  in  a 
better  existence  than  this,  for  we  seem  to  have  entered  its  confines. 
A  faith  springs  up,  not  the  less  sincere  or  unreal  because  the 
growth  of  sentiment,  a  faith  in  the  high  purposes  of  our  being,  and 
our  capacity  of  purer  jojs  than  we  experience  in  our  ordinary 
modes  of  life. 

"  There  is  a  melancholy  in  visiting  such  scenes  as  I  have  now 
described  ;  but  is  this  their  direct  and  natural  effect,  or  does  it 
spring  from  a  silent  consciousness  of  the  difference  between  our 
perturbed  state  and  the  intense  quiet  of  soul  breathed  into  us  by 
such  a  spot?  We  feel  Grassmere  to  be  a  shelter ;  but  a  shelter  in- 
cludes the  idea  of  the  storms  of  passion.  Thus  a  sad  sense  of  our 
actual  being  mingles  with  aspirations  for  a  higher  existence  ;  but 
this  sadness  is  so  tempered  and  sul)dued  by  the  power  of  the 
beautiful  scene,  that  it  becomes  a  tender,  grateful,  melancholy 
feeling.  A  more  delicious  state  of  heart  and  mind  than  comes 
from  those  blended  emotions  is,  perhaps,  unknown  to  human 
nature 

"  I  was  not  so  deeply  impressed  by  any  mountain  as  by  Skid- 
daw,  which  is  the  more  remarkable,  as  having  nothing  of  the  wild 
character  that  I  have  noticed  in  the  other  mountains.  Its  distinc- 
tion is  tranquil  majesty.  It  rises  gradually  and  with  extensive 
sweeps  from  the  vallc}',  and  its  outline  is  more  flowing  than  that  of 
any  of  its  numberless  associates.    Yet,  so  bold  are  the  swells  on  its 


1822-1823.]  WORDSWORTH.  341 

surface ;  its  valleys,  if  we  may  so  call  them,  open  such  broad  ex- 
panses to  the  eye  ;  its  summits  stretch  along  the  horizon  with  such 
generous  freedom  ;  and  it  towers  with  an  expression  of  such  spon- 
taneous energy,  that,  whilst  we  rest  on  its  mildness  with  delight, 
the  mind  is  dilated  with  a  feeling  of  its  grandeur.  No  sublimity  is 
so  real  as  that  which  makes  itself  deeply  felt  in  union  with  beauty ; 
just  as  the  highest  moral  greatness  is  that  which,  whilst  it  awes  by 
unshaken  constancy  of  principle,  at  the  same  time  attracts  us  by 
the  gentleness  of  love.  Wild  scenes,  where  power  is  manifested  in 
desolation,  act  at  first  with  great  force  on  the  mind,  especially  on 
the  least  refined  ;  but  power  and  goodness  are  congenial,  and"  the 
highest  manifestations  of  power  are  benignant.  The  power  which 
reveals  itself  solemnly  amidst  beauty,  by  this  very  circumstance 
shows  its  grandeur,  and  acquires  a  more  enduring  sway  over  the 
soul.  I  found  myself  never  wearied  with  Skiddaw.  It  lifted  ray 
spirit.  Scenes  of  ruin  are  apt  to  subdue  us  ;  but  the  highest  forms 
of  sublimity  exalt  us,  by  inspiring  a  consciousness  of  kindred  might. 
And  such  was  the  influence  of  tliis  mountain.  It  made  the  lake  and 
all  surrounding  objects  its  ministers.  The  mists  were  rolling  tran- 
quilly over  its  summits,  partial  lights  were  wandering  across  its 
face,  and  it  seemed  in  full  harmony  with  the  noblest  agents  and 

elements  of  nature 

"There  is  one  most  happy  effect,  which  should  be  particularly 
noticed.  Distance,  the  atmosphere,  fogs,  and  various  lights,  give 
to  the  tops  of  mountains  a  visionary,  sometimes  a  mysterious 
character,  better  felt  than  described,  which  forms  a  most  interesting 
contrast  with  the  general  massiveness  of  their  foundations.  These 
awful  forms  seem  to  be  spiritualized  as  they  ascend,  till  they  blend 
with  the  pure  heavens,  and  sometimes  through  the  thin  mist  almost 
melt  into  air.  This  union  of  the  firmness  of  earth  with  the  ethereal 
brightness  of  the  skies  gives  a  peculiar  charm'  to  mountains.  In 
fact,  they  unite  remarkably  opposite  expressions.  By  their  founda- 
tions they  seem  to  sink  into  the  earth,  and  our  thoughts  are  carried 
to  its  gloomiest  depths,  whilst  their  tops  aspire  to  heaven,  and 
dwell  in  a  region  of  peace  and  splendor.  AVhilst  we  are  impressed 
by  the  huge  bulk  and  weight  of  tlieir  inert  forms,  their  visionary 
tops  give  them  the  appearance  of  belonging  to  the  pure  element  in 
which  they  live,  of  possessing  a  congenial  spirit  with  the  free  and 
buoyant  air,  and  of  having  risen  through  their  own  life  and  energy 
to  hold  communion  with  the  sun." 

We  have  already  seen  the  reverent  affection  with  which  Mr. 
Channing  regarded  Wordsworth,  and  it  will  be  readily  understood, 
therefore,  that  he  joyfully  availed  himself  of  this  opportunity  to 


342  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^t.  42-43. 

seek  an  interview  with  the  poet.     In  a  letter  to  a  sister  he  thus 
describes  his  visit :  — 

•'  I  could  not  but  think  of  the  amusement  I  shoukl  liave  afforded 
you,  could  you  have  taken  a  peep  at  me.  I  had  spent  Sunday 
morning  at  Grassmere,  —  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  peace- 
breathing  spots  under  the  skies,  —  and  in  the  afternoon,  being 
unable  to  attend  church,  I  resolved  to  visit  Mr.  Wordsworth,  who 
resides  two  miles  and  a  half  from  the  inn.  Unluckily,  Grassmere, 
whilst  it  supplied  the  wants  of  the  imagination  and  heart  most 
abundantly',  could  not  supply  me  with  any  vehicle  for  the  body 
more  eas}'  or  dignified  than  a  cart,  dragged  by  a  horse  who  had 
caught  nothing  of  the  grace  of  the  surrounding  scene. 

"After  an  interview  of  great  pleasure  and  interest,  I  set  out  to 
return,  and,  unwilling  to  lose  Mr.  Wordsworth's  society,  I  accepted 
his  proposition  that  we  should  walk  together  until  I  was  fatigued. 
At  the  end  of  half  a  mile  my  strength  began  to  fail,  and  finding  my 
companion  still  earnest  in  conversation,  I  invited  iiim  to  take  a  seat 
with  me,  which  he  did ;  and  in  this  state  we  re-entered  the  delight- 
ful valley.  Happily  the  air  was  mild,  and  I  began  to  think  that 
Providence,  in  distributing  lots,  had  not  been  so  severe  as  one 
might  at  first  be  inclined  to  feel,  in  limiting  multitudes  to  such  a 
mode  of  conveyance  ;  for  I  enjoyed  the  fine  prospects  of  Ilydal  and 
Grassmere  as  I  could  not  have  done  in  a  covered  carriage. 

"  You,  perhaps,  might  have  promised  me  the  honor  of  being  in- 
troduced with  the  cart  and  horse  into  a  '  lyrical  ballad.'  But  to 
me,  who,  as  you  know,  profess  to  be  greatly  in  debt  to  Mr.  Words- 
worth's genius,  and  whose  respect  and  affection  were  heightened 
by  personal  intercourse,  there  seemed  a  peculiar  felicity  in  riding 
through  this  scene  of  surpassing  tenderness  with  a  man  of  genius 
and  sensibility,  who  had  caught  inspiration  from  the  lakes  and 
mountains,  in  whose  beauty  I  too  had  been  r(\joicing. 

"Mr.  Wordsworth's  conversation  was  free,  various,  animated. 
We  talked  so  eagerly  as  often  to  interrupt  one  another.  And  as  I 
descended  into  Grassmere  near  sunset,  with  the  placid  lake  before 
me,  and  Wordsworth  talking  and  reciting  poetry  with  a  poet's 
spirit  by  my  side,  I  felt  that  the  combination  of  circumstances  was 
such  as  my  highest  hopes  could  never  have  anticipated." 

Twenty  years  after  this  sunset  ride,  an  American  traveller  was 
visiting  Wordsworth,  when  the  poet  incidentally  mentioned  this  in- 
terview, and  said  that  one  remark  then  made  by  Dr.  Channing  had 
remained  fixed  in  his  memory,  and  all  the  more  deeply  from  the 
impressive  tone  of  sincere  feeling  with  which  it  was  uttered.    It  was 


1822-1823.]  COLERIDGE.  343 

to  this  effect,  —  "that  one  great  evidence  of  the  Divine  origin  of 
Christianity  was,  that  it  contained  nothing  which  rendered  it  un- 
adapted  to  a  progressive  state  of  societ}',  that  it  put  no  cliecks 
upon  the  activity  of  the  human  mind,  and  did  not  compel  it  to  tread 
always  blindly  in  a  beaten  path." 

From  Wordsworth  our  thoughts  are  led  by  an  association,  which 
time  and  change  can  never  break,  to  his  great  compeer,  Coleridge, 
whom  Mr.  Channing  saw  while  in  London  during  the  following 
summer.  And  as  there  is  nothing  in  the  few  notes  of  his  rapid 
journey  through  England  of  especial  interest,  we  will  pass  at  once 
to  a  brief  notice  of  this  visit.  Most  fortunatel}-,  we  are  enabled  to 
enrich  our  pages  with  Coleridge's  own  record  of  it,  as  given  in  the 
following  letter  to  Washington  AUston. 

"  HiGHGATE,  13th  June,  1823. 

"  My  Friend,  — It  was  more  than  a  gratification,  it  was  a  great 
comfort,  to  all  of  us,  to  see,  sit,  walk,  and  converse  with  two 
such  dear  and  dearly  respected  friends  of  j'ours  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clianning. 

"  Mr.  Channing  I  could  not  be  said  not  to  have  known  in  part 
before.  It  is  enough  to  add,  that  the  reality-  differed  from  m^'  pre- 
vious conception  of  it  only  by  being  more  amiable,  more  discrimi- 
nating, and  more  free  from  prejudices,  than  my  experience  had 
permitted  me  to  anticipate.  His  affection  for  the  good  as  the  good, 
and  his  earnestness  for  the  true  as  the  true,  —  with  that  harmonious 
subordination  of  the  latter  to  the  former,  without  encroachment  on 
the  absplute  wortli  of  either,  —  present  in  him  a  character  which,  in 
my  heart's  heart,  I  believe  to  be  the  \Qvy  rarest  in  earth.  If  you 
will  excuse  a  plaj'  on  words  in  speaking  of  such  a  man,  I  will  say 
that  Mr.  Channing  is  a  philosopher  in  both  the  possible  renderings 
of  the  word.  He  has  the  love  of  wisdom  and  the  wisdom  of 
love. 

"  I  was  unfortunately  absent  the  first  evening.  Had  the}' been 
prevented  from  repeating  their  visit,  I  should  have  been  vexed  in- 
deed, and  yet  not  as  much  vexed  as  I  now  know  I  should  have  had 
reason  to  be.  I  feel  convinced  that  the  few  differences  in  opinion 
between  Mr.  Channing  and  myself  not  onl}'  are,  but  would  by  him 
be  found  to  be,  apparent,  not  real,  —  the  same  truth  seen  in  differ- 
ent relations.  Perhaps  I  have  been  more  absorbed  in  the  depth  of 
the  myster}'  of  the  spiritual  life,  he  more  engrossed  by  the  loveli- 
ness of  its  manifestations." 

Mr.  Clianning  had  long  been  an  admiring  reader  of  what  Cole- 
ridge had  printed,  and  no  words  are  needed  to  describe  the  pleasure 


344  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^t.  42-43. 

with  which,  in  common  with  all  auditors,  he  listened  to  the  fasci- 
nating monologue  of  the  poet-philosopher,  who  had  then  entered 
upon  certainly  the  most  serene,  and  probably  the  most  brilliant, 
period  of  his  life.  It  seems,  however,  from  the  foregoing  letter, 
that  he  conversed  enough  to  leave  a  distinct  image  of  himself. 

From  P^ngland  Mr.  Channing  went  to  Paris,  where  he  passed  but 
a  few  weeks,  and  then,  journeying  leisurely  through  France,  entered 
Switzerland  by  the  Jura.  He  was  too  unwell  to  avail  himself  freely 
of  the  rich  opportunities  for  enjoyment  so  amply  afforded  by  that 
most  picturesque  and  romantic  country  ;  but  a  few  extracts  from  his 
letters  will  show  that  bodily  weakness  could  not  deaden  his  spiritual 
energy. 

'^  Geneva,  Sept.  28,  1822.  I  find  that  I  hardly  knew  the  power 
of  mountain  scenery  until  I  came  hither,  although  I  have  not  seen 
the  noblest  of  the  Alps,  for  I  have  not  yet  visited  Mont  Blanc,  but 
only  caught  glimpses  of  his  snowy  top  at  a  distance,  half  wrapt  in 
clouds.  You  probably  know  that  the  mountains  of  Switzerland  are 
not  distinguished  by  beauty  of  form,  when  taken  separately.  The 
storms  have  dealt  with  them  too  fiercely  and  too  long,  to  leave  them 
the  fine  outline  which  I  have  seen  in  our  own  country  and  in  Eng- 
land. Their  summits  generally  are  rugged,  naked,  shattered  crags  ; 
and  you  sometimes  see  the  perpendicular,  sharp  rocks  towering  into 
the  skies,  above  the  everlasting  snows  which  rest  on  the  projecting 
surfaces  beneath.  It  is  not  their  harmonious  proportion,  then,  but 
the  air  of  awful  power  impressed  upon  them,  —  the  perilous  preci- 
pices by  which  they  are  bounded,  the  boldness  with  which  they  send 
up  to  heaven  their  wild  tops,  the  prodigality  and  confusion  with 
which  they  are  scattered  around,  and  the  immense  glaciers  shining, 
without  apparent  change  or  dissolution,  under  tlie  summer's  snow,  — 
which  subdue  the  traveller  creeping  at  their  foot.  These  constitute 
the  deep,  solemn,  mysterious  charm  that  attracts  the  eye  to  gaze 
upon  these  giant  forms 

"  Do  you  not  envy  me  tlie  beautiful,  magnificent  scenery  which 
is  now  stretching  around  me?  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  I  spent 
at  Berne.  It  was  Sunday,  and  in  tlie  afternoon,  under  a  most  bril- 
liant sky,  I  walked  on  the  ramparts,  and  hailed  with  joy,  as  old 
friends,  the  mountains  in  the  horizon  which  I  had  visited  a  few  days 
before.  All  that  nature  can  do  to  lift  us  above  the  sordid  and  self- 
ish is  done  in  Switzerland  ;  and  who  can  doubt  that,  where  there  is 
a  deep  purpose  in  the  soul  to  elevate  itself,  much  aid  may  be  dei-i\ed 
from  the  sublimity  of  the  external  world?  But  without  this  puri)ose 
and  inward  effort,  it  can  do  little  for  us.  Switzerland  has  bencdted 
my  health  more  than  any  other  country.     The  air  has  been  exhila- 


1822-1823.]  EEFLECTIONS  ON   SOCIETY.  345 

rating,  and  I  have  looked  on  the  mountains  with  a  delight  which 

almost  gave  me  strength  to  climb  them 

"It  is  worth  no  little  suffering  to  cross  the  Wengern  Alp,  and 
scale  the  Grimsel.  I  had  strength  for  neither.  With  what  desire 
did  I  look  to  the  Jungfrau !  If  I  revisit  Switzerland,  one  of  my 
great  pleasures  will  be  to  approach  its  base.  Tliis  country  has  in- 
spired me.     I  grew  better  almost  as  soon  as  I  entered  it." 

The  winter  months  were  passed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Channing  at 
Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples.  But  as  his  letters  and  journals  — 
written  in  haste,  debilit}',  and,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  in  affliction 
—  contain  no  descriptions  of  scener}'  or  places  which  are  particularly 
notewortliy,  we  will  proceed  at  once  to  extract  from  his  papers 
some  general  reflections  upon  society,  which  he  seems  to  have  pre- 
served as  hints  for  future  thouglit.  It  is  scarcely'  necessary  to 
suggest,  that,  to  one  of  his  humane  spirit,  men  and  manners,  the 
condition  of  the  masses  of  the  people,  the  tendency  of  governments, 
the  influence  of  institutions,  presented  objects  of  interest  far  sur- 
passing all  that  beautv  in  nature  and  art  could  offer. 

"Has  not  every  state  of  society  a  spirit,  a  unity '^  Do  not  its 
parts  cohere?  Can  we  judge  of  one  habit,  one  trait  of  manners, 
one  institution  alone?  Must  not  the  system  be  understood,  the  cen- 
tral principles,  the  great  ends  to  which  the  communit}-  is  working? 
Are  not  a  nation's  whole  tone  of  manners  and  cast  of  institutions 
the  workings  and  manifestations  of  some  law  of  lite,  combining  the 
whole  ?  Must  there  not  be  a  secret  accordance  between  the  different 
parts  of  a  nation's  character  and  modes  of  living  ?  Is  there  as  much 
of  an  arbitrary  character  in  these  as  we  are  apt  to  imagine?  Is  not 
the  interior  life  the  great  thing  to  be  inspected,  the  form  of  human 
nature  whicli  is  presented  in  tlie  given  case  ?  .   .   .   . 

"  The  art  of  travelling  is,  to  unite  minute  observation  with  large 
comparison,  with  penetrating  insight  into  the  spirit  of  which  visible 
modes  of  life  are  the  bod3\  The  traveller  should  have  the  power  of 
recognizing  the  common  bond,  principle,  spring,  aim,  of  the  infi- 
nitely multifarious  agencies  composing  what  we  call  a  nation 

"We  must  not  depend  on  a  people  to  show  us  what  is  most 
worth}'  of  our  attention ;  for  they  are  actually  unconscious  of  what 
is  most  important,  their  own  spirit^  and  the  influences  by  and  from 
which  it  has  been  formed  and  is  kept  alive 

"  A  great  object  in  travelling  is  to  discover  b}'  comparison  what 
is  primary  and  universal  in  our  nature,  to  separate  the  adventitious, 
secondary,  temporar}',  to  learn  the  deep  principles  on  which  all 
permanent  improvements  are  to  rest,  to  behold  and  to  love  what  is 


346  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^Et.  42-43. 

human,  to  shake  off  our  prejudices  in  favor  of  the  unessential  modi- 
fications of  our  nature,  and  to  recognize  the  esse?itial  through  these 
modifications 

"■  To  go  abroad  that  we  may  see  the  unessential,  —  new  modes  of 
dressing,  eating,  bowing,  the  exterior  of  man  and  life,  —  is  a  mere 
wasting  of  time.  We  should  go  to  enlarge  our  views  of  human 
nature,  to  learn  what  it  can  do  and  suffer,  to  what  it  is  equal, 
under  what  influences  its  powers  are  most  developed,  by  what  most 
crushed.  Tlie  noblest  use  of  travelling  is,  to  discern  more  of  the 
godlike  in  the  human ;  and  are  there  not  marks,  in  the  most  de- 
graded condition  of  society,  of  man's  true  glory  ?  We  may  see  at 
least  some  evil  influences  withstood,  resisted,  which  shows  an  in- 
ward power  not  subdued,  nor  capable  of  subjection,  b}'  the  most 
adverse  circumstances.  This  power  of  seeing  vital  good  is  the  true 
eye  for  a  traveller.  To  visit  distant  countries  only  to  collect  me- 
mentos of  the  deformities  of  human  nature,  to  fill  our  memory  with 
images  of  the  misshapen  exterior  under  which  humanity  lies  almost 
hidden,  is  worse  than  useless.  We  should  strive  to  perceive,  be- 
neath the  distortions  of  our  nature,  its  real  shape,  its  primitive  ten- 
dencies towards  good.  He  who  travels  without  learning  to  love  his 
race  more,  would  do  far  better  to  stay  at  home.  It  is  a  poor  business 
to  rake  into  the  corruptions  of  human  nature,  unless  one  believes 
in  its  capacity  for  restoration,  and  approaches  its  defilements  only 
to  cleanse  them.  A  good  man  should  turn  from  irremediable  evils. 
To  love,  is  our  work 

"  Civil  society  abounds  in  restraints  on  our  nature,  where  develop- 
ment should  be  the  great  aim.  How  little  is  now  done  to  remove 
barriers  to  human  powers  and  affections  !  The  order  of  society 
has  been  thought  to  demand  subordination,  subjection,  force, 
artificial  manners,  badges  of  different  castes,  —  all  cramping  the 
soul 

"  Fashion  is  a  chain  on  the  soul.  It  is  a  yoke  laid  by  superiors 
on  inferiors,  through  opinion.  It  disposes  of  our  time,  attention, 
powers.  It  puts  the  stamp  of  worth,  dignit}^  happiness,  on  actions 
and  conditions,  and  prevents  us  from  judging  for  ourselves.  Origi- 
nating with  those  who  are  raised  above  natural  wants,  and  in  whom 
the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  is  lost  in  self-indulgence,  it  gives  currency 
to  factitious,  selfish  pursuits  and  enjoj'ments.  Thus  the  mind  is 
perverted,  contracted,  filled  with  false  views,  and  grows  mechanical, 
torpid,  lifeless.  A  society  is  improved  in  i)roportion  as  individuals 
judge  for  themselves,  and  from  their  own  experience  and  feeling, 
and  not  according  to  general  opinion.  A  man  should  look  to  his 
own  soul  to  learn  what  makes  him  happiest,  and  to  decide  when  he 


1822-1823.]  REFLECTIONS   ON   SOCIETY.  347 

is  conscious  of  acting  most  in  harmony  with  his  lohole  nature.  But 
liow  few  do  so !  .   .   .   . 

"  Genius  is  a  liberating  power.  It  accords  with  nature,  detects 
natural  feeling  in  the  artificial  arrangements  of  society,  and  discerns 
and  enjoys  the  beautiful  and  lovely  in  our  natural  affections  and 
moral  sentiments.  Thus  a  literature  of  genius  witlistands  corrup- 
tion, brings  back  higher  minds  to  nature,  counteracts  fashion 

"  A  society  is  advanced  in  proportion  as  human  nature  is  respected. 
It  is  the  miser}'  of  tlie  present  state,  that  man,  as  tnan,  is  counted 
of  so  little  worth.  It  is  man  clothed  in  purple,  dressed  in  a  little 
brief  authority,  high-born,  rich,  »S:c.,  who  is  now  considered  as  de- 
serving power.  A  just  estimate  of  human  nature,  of  its  purposes, 
powers,  destiny,  leading  to  general  courtesy,  respect,  and  effort 
for  the  advancement  of  this  nature,  in  each  and  all,  —  this  is  the 
measure  of  the  progress  of  society.  When  manners,  and  especially 
the  intercourse  betiveen  different  classes,  express  this,  society  is  truly 
flourishing 

"  The  existence  of  a  large  class,  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity-, trained  up  to  ignorance  and  vice,  gross  in  manners,  in  no 
degree  acted  upon  b}'  other  classes,  and  repressed  onlj'  by  brute 
force,  is  a  sad  feature  of  civilized  societ}',  and  a  reproach  on  more 
favored  orders.  The  true  organization  of  society  is  that  in  which 
all  improvements  of  the  higher  are  communicated  to  the  lower 
classes,  and  in  which  intellect  and  virtue  descend  and  are  diffused. 
And  will  anytliing  but  Christianity',  moulding  anew  the  whole  spirit 
of  the  higher  classes,  bring  about  this  end?  .... 

"  The  influence  of  government  is  of  great  importance  in  judging 
of  the  state  of  society'.  A  good  government  is  that  which,  by  man- 
ifesting a  common,  wide,  universal  care,  diffuses  a  generous,  im- 
partial, disinterested  spirit.  A  society  is  well  organized,  whose 
government  recognizes  the  claims  and  rights  of  all,  has  no  favor- 
ites, respects  humanity  in  all  its  forms,  and  aims  to  direct  the  pur- 
suits of  each  to  the  general  good.  Such  a  government  implies  the 
existence  of  a  disinterested  spirit  in  the  community,  and  greatly 
strengthens  it.  This  reaction  is  the  most  interesting  view  in  public 
affairs.  A  society  makes  progress  just  as  far  as  a  disinterested 
spirit,  influencing  the  members,  is  embodied  and  manifested  in  in- 
stitutions, laws,  tribunals,  and  through  these  flows  back  with  new 
energy  to  individuals.  This  is  the  highest  end  of  government,  its 
sublime,  moral  end 

"  Liberty  is  the  great  social  good,  —  exemption  from  unjust  re- 
straints, —  freedom  to  act,  to  exert  powers  of  usefulness.  Does  a 
government  advance  this  simply  by  estabUshing  equal  laws  ?    The 


348  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [Mr.  42-43. 

very  protection  of  property  may  crush  a  large  mass  of  the  commu- 
nity, may  give  the  rich  a  monopoly  in  land,  ma^'  take  from  the  poor 
all  means  of  action.  Libert^'  is  a  blessing  only  by  setting  man's 
powers  at  large,  exciting,  quickening  them.  A  poor  man,  in  the 
present  state  of  society,  may  be  a  slave,  by  his  entire  dependence. 
Is  it  not  the  true  end  of  government,  to  aim  at  securing  for  all  the 
widest  field  of  useful  action?  This  is  to  estal)lish  libertij.  How 
far  more  important  is  this  than  to  protect  any  single  class  !   .   .   .   . 

"The  poor,  weak,  helpless,  suffering,  are  the  first  objects  for 
the  care  of  government.  Society  improves  in  proportion  as  they 
are  protected  in  the  exercise  of  their  rights.  These  high  views  of 
government,  as  a  sacred  institution  for  elevating  all  classes  of 
men,  are  essential  to  an  exalted  community.  AVliere  government 
is  considered  as  a  prize  for  selfish  ambition,  society  becomes  de- 
graded  

"  The  best  condition  of  society  is  that  in  which  all  ranks,  classes, 
orders,  are  intimately  connected  and  associated.  The  deformit}'  of 
present  society  is  the  separation  of  ranks,  the  immense  disparity', 
the  inhuman  distance  of  different  orders.  All  men  cannot  be  equal 
in  all  respects  ;  but  the  high  should  feel  their  elevation  to  be  a  mo- 
tive and  obligation  to  labor  for  inferiors. 

"There  must  be  a  body  of  enlightened,  studious  men.  Let  not 
these  form  a  party,  a  faction,  but  consider  their  light  as  a  good 
given  to  be  difiTused,  and  as  a  means  to  maintain  an  improving  in- 
tercourse among  all  orders.  So  there  will  be  rich  men ;  but  the 
rich,  instead  of  herding  together,  and  linking  themselves  to  one 
another  by  common  pleasures,  privileges,  refinements,  ought  to  re- 
gard propert}'  as  a  trust  for  the  good  of  those  who  are  in  want.  Let 
there  be  no  literary  class^  no  doss  of  rich.  The  learned,  when  ibrm- 
ing  a  distinct  class,  become  jealous,  exacting,  domineering,  and 
seek  to  maintain  their  sway,  even  at  the  exi)ense  of  truth.  Schol- 
ars already  begin  to  find  the  benefit  of  quitting  tlieir  pedantic  cells 
and  mingling  with  general  society  ;  but  still  they  associate  loo  much 
with  rich  and  refined,  —  still  the}' seek  honor  and  power.  Their 
high  office,  of  being  lights  to  society,  is  overlooked.  How  the  rich 
injure  themselves  by  a  clannish  spirit,  corrupting  one  anotlicr  by 
rivalry  in  show  and  expense  !  Christianity  breaks  down  all  these 
walls  of  division  between  man  and  man." 

But  the  scenery,  works  of  art,  institutions,  and  social  tendencies 
of  the  Old  World  could  not  wean  Mr.  Channing's  anVctioiis  from 
his  home  ;  and  the  following  extract  from  one  of  his  letters  mani- 
fests the  tender  solicitude  with  which  he  sought,  while  far  awa}-,  to 
exert  a  scood  influence  over  his  children  :  — 


1822-1823]  CARE   FOR   HIS   CHILDREN.  349 

"  London,  Aug.  8,  1822.  In  the  first  place,  I  wish  my  children 
to  be  simple,  natural,  without  affectation.  Children  are  often  in- 
jured for  life  b}^  the  notice  taken  of  their  movements,  tones,  saj-- 
ings,  which  leads  them  to  repeat  what  draws  attention,  and  to  act 
from  love  of  observation,  instead  of  following  the  impulses  of  na- 
ture. A  child  should  never  be  tempted  to  put  on  prett}-  airs,  or 
to  think  of  itself  and  its  looks.  I  have  wished  m^-  children  always 
to  act  in  a  free,  natural,  unstudied  wa}',  without  the  idea  or  desire 
of  being  observed,  and,  on  this  account,  have  been  very  willing  to 
keep  them  out  of  society,  where  the}-  might  have  been  taught,  by 
injudicious  notice,  to  turn  tlieir  thoughts  upon  themselves,  and  to 
assume  the  manners  which  they  would  have  seen  to  attract  atten- 
tion. Tlie  charm  of  infanc}'  is  its  perfect  artlessness,  and  the  im- 
mediate communication  between  its  feelings  and  actions.  I  would 
prefer  that  ni}'  children  should  have  any  degree  of  awkwardness, 
rather  than  form  an  artificial  style  of  conduct ;  for  the  first  evil  may 
be  outgrown,  but  affectation  is  seldom  or  never  cured. 

"The  next  particular  to  be  mentioned  is  closely  connected  with 
this.  I  wish  my  children  to  be  honest,  sincere,  and  vnidisguised, 
to  tell  the  truth  at  all  perils  and  under  all  circumstances.  I  have 
always  kept  this  in  sight,  endeavoring,  in  m}'  whole  intercourse 
witli  them,  to  avoid  the  slightest  appearance  of  art  or  disguise. 
Children  must  never  be  deceived I  am  persuaded  that  the  arti- 
fices of  children,  which  we  charge  on  nature,  are  ver}-  often  imita- 
tions of  the  cunning  practices  of  those  about  them.  I  would  have 
an  intercourse  of  entire  frankness  established  witii  children.  They 
should  never  have  reason  to  suspect  that  there  is  the  least  disagree- 
ment between  our  feelings  and  outward  signs.  If  we  are  unwilling 
to  disclose  anything,  we  should  say  so,  and  not  use  indirect  means 
to  hide  it ;  and  we  should  encourage  them  to  the  same  explicitness. 
We  should  never  invite  them  to  express  more  affection  than  they 
reall}'  feel,  or  to  lavish  marks  of  fondness,  when  they  wish  to  em- 
plo}'  themselves  about  something  else.  It  is  better  that  they  should 
seem  cold  than  be  insincere.  Nor  should  they  be  taught,  as  a  part 
of  politeness,  to  use  Ughtl}'  the  language  of  affection.  Whenever 
the}-  give  their  opinion,  they  should  be  encouraged  to  do  it  full}', 
freely,  and  not  be  tempted  to  soften  or  color  it  because  it  may  hap- 
pen to  differ  from  our  own  or  that  of  others.  They  should  talk 
always  from  their  own  minds,  and  not  from  other  people's.  This 
transparency  in  children  is  undoubtedl}'  sometimes  unpleasant. 
Yet  when  connected,  as  it  always  should  be,  with  the  culture  of  the 
kind  affections,  it  gradually  ripens  into  an  ingenuous,  considerate 
frankness,  which  expresses  the  real  convictions  of  the  mind,  with- 


850  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [^t.  42-43. 

out  inflicting  unnecessary  pain,  and  becomes  one  of  the  chief  beau- 
ties of  our  social  nature." 

Such  was  the  watchful  care  with  which  he  endeavored  to  surround 
his  little  girl  and  boys  with  gentle  and  purifying  influences.  But 
one  of  them  was  never  to  learn  on  earth  the  riches  of  a  parent's 
love.  Almost  while  he  was  writing  the  last  lines,  his  youngest  son 
had  died.  He  received  the  intelligence  of  this  calamity  on  liis  arri- 
val at  Rome,  and  nothing  could  have  been  more  beautiful  than  his 
acquiescence  in  this  irreparable  loss.  The  same  letters  whicli  con- 
veyed the  sad  tidings  announced  also  that  a  beloved  sister-in-law 
had  been  taken  away ;  and,  in  his  reply,  he  thus  touchiugly  speaks 
of  the  twofold  bereavement :  — 

"^o/ne,  Dec.  18, 1822.  I  reached  this  place  3'esterday,  and  found 
here  the  package  of  letters  containing  the  melancholy  accounts 
of  Walter's  loss  and  of  my  own.  I  am  afflicted  indeed.  God 
has  visited  me  with  the  heaviest  loss  I  can  experience,  save  one. 
My  sweet,  lovely  boy !  Is  he  indeed  gone  ?  and  am  I  no  more  to 
see  that  smile  which  to  me  and  to  his  mother  was  like  a  beam  from 
heaven?  He  was  a  most  gentle  creature.  I  can  remember  his  oc- 
casional cries  of  distress,  but  never  one  of  passion.  My  health  did 
not  allow  me  to  carry  and  play  with  him,  as  I  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  doing  with  my  other  infants ;  but  when  I  was  amusing  m3-self 
with  Mary  and  William,  he  would  creep  to  me  and  climb  up  into 
my  lap,  and  win  from  me,  by  his  benignant  smile,  the  notice  which 
I  was  giving  to  them.  The  accounts  we  had  received  of  him  before 
this  last  sad  news  were  most  encouraging,  and  we  were  anticipating 
the  happy  moment  when  we  should  take  him  to  our  arms  and  press 
him  to  our  hearts  with  a  deliglit  he  had  never  given  us  before. 
And  he  is  gone  !  and  when  we  return,  if  that  blessing  is  in  store 
for  us,  we  shall  look  for  him  in  vain  !  O,  the  void  in  a  par- 
ent's heart,  when  a  child  is  taken,  you  do  not  know !  and  may 
you  never  know  it  I  You  are  a  mother ;  and,  to  a  mother,  the 
pang  is  what  a  father  seldom  feels.  I  think  much  more  of  my  wife 
than  of  myself,  her  feelings  on  the  subject  of  our  children  have 
been  so  keen 

"  Do  not  think,  my  dear,  from  what  I  have  written,  that  I  am  in 
danger  of  dejection.  I  suffer;  but  I  have  never  forgotten  that  m}' 
child  belonged  to  another  and  better  parent,  and  was  made  for  a 
higher  state  than  tliis.  I  am  sure  that  he  was  equally  the  care  of 
God  in  death  as  in  life.  I  cannot  believe  that  the  necessary-  means 
of  educating  an  immortal  spirit  are  confined  to  this  world.  I 
remember  that  comforting  scripture,  '  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 


1822-1823.]  DEATH  OF  HIS   SON.  3.51 

Heaven' ;  and  my  hope  is,  that  m}'-  child  has  gone  to  live  under  a 
more  intimate  connection  than  we  can  now  conceive  with  Him  who 
took  little  children  into  his  arms  and  blessed  them.  Nor  do  I 
believe  that  the  relation  of  parent  and  child  is  dissolved  b}'  death. 
In  the  whole  progress  of  our  future  being,  we  must  always,  I  think, 
look  back  with  peculiar  interest  on  the  moment  when  we  began  to 
be,  and  must,  I  think,  distinguish  with  some  pecuUar  emotion  those 
who,  under  Providence,  brought  us  into  life,  and  who  welcomed 
and  loved  and  cherished  us  in  our  first  helplessness  with  intense 
and  unwearied   affection.     Death   is  not  that   wide   gulf  between 

us  and  the  departed  which  we  are  apt  to  imagine Francis, 

Ann,  my  child,  and  our  beloved  Barbara,  are  gone  from  us,  but 
are  not  lost  to  us. 

"  At  the  mention  of  Barbara's  name,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  un- 
just in  dwelling  so  long  on  my  more  immediate  affliction.  I  know 
no  greater  bereavement  than  Walter's.  I  would  speak  of  my  own 
loss  in  Barbara's  death,  but  that  his  so  much  surpasses  it.  She 
was  one  of  the  loveliest  of  women  and  best  of  wives.  All  the  graces 
and  virtues  were  joined  in  her  so  harmoniously,  her  excellence  was 
so  singularlj'  unalloyed,  so  far  from  the  mixtures  and  defects  which 
we  have  to  lament  in  most  of  our  friends,  that  I  dwell  on  her  with 
a  peculiar  complacency.  Seldom  does  a  gentler,  purer,  more  benig- 
nant, more  disinterested  spirit  take  its  flight  from  earth  to  heaven. 
Her  countenance,  conversation,  life,  sent  forth  a  sweet  and  blessed 
influence.  And  she,  too,  is  gone,  and  I  am  to  see  this  lovely  and 
beloved  sister  no  more  on  earth  !  " 

And'again  to  his  mother  he  thus  writes,  under  date  of  January 
2d,  1823:  — 

"  Of  our  dear  boy  we  had  heard  nothing  but  good,  and  his  loss 
was  a  blow  as  unexpected  as  it  was  heavy.  He  was  a  treasure 
worth  more  to  us  than  the  world.  His  sweet,  gentle  temper  not  only 
made  him  a  present  blessing,  but  encouraged  us  to  hope  that  he 
would  need  only  the  mildest  influences  to  sway  him  to  goodness, 
and  that  he  would  make  us  the  happiest  returns  of  love  for  our 
parental  care.  To  part  with  this  lovely,  smiling,  innocent  boy,  to 
whom  we  hoped  to  do  so  much  good,  and  whose  attachment  and 
progress  we  imagined  were  to  brighten  our  future  lives,  this  is  in- 
deed to  be  bereaved 

" expressed  a  fear  that  I  should  suffer  in  health  by  the  sad 

news  from  home.  No!  even  had  I  not  the  supports  of  Christian 
pnnciple,  I  should  find  motives  enough  in  my  situation  and  affec- 
tions for  watching  over  my  health.     I  feel  my  distance  fi-om  home 


352  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  [JEt.  42-43. 

more  deeply  than  ever,  and  have  hardh^  a  thought  or  a  T\ish,  as 
regards  this  world,  but  of  returning  to  it ;  and  knowing,  as  I  do, 
that   this   depends   on   recovering   my  strength,  I  am  almost  too 

solicitous  in  using  the  means  to  this  end 

"You  and  my  mother  Gibbs  have  suffered  much  by  our  late 
domestic  trials.  Our  absence  seems  to  us  a  great  evil,  by  depriv- 
ing us  of  the  opportunities  of  rendering  those  offices  of  filiSl  love 
of  which  we  never  knew  the  full  value  until  we  were  parents  our- 
selves. It  is  our  constant  pra3er,  that  God  would  preserve  you 
both,  and  would  increase  our  power  of  contributing  to  ^^our  happi- 
ness. Absence  has  endeared  all  our  friends  to  us,  but  none  more 
than  our  parents.  I  sometimes  wonder,  now,  that  we  were  capable 
of  tearing  ourselves  from  you  all.  In  a  world  so  transient  and  un- 
certain, a  jear  seems  too  much  time  to  be  spent  at  a  distance  from 
one's  home.  Do  give  the  assurances  of  my  love  to  all  our  dear 
circle.  I  cannot  begin  to  name  the  friends  to  whom  I  wish  to  send 
affectionate  remembrance.  I  am  too  rich  in  these  blessings  to  be 
able  to  count  them,  and  distance  onl}'  makes  them  more  precious. 

'•  Your  affectionate  son." 

And,  finally,  in  his  journals,  he  thus  communes  with  his  own 
spirit  and  with  God  :  — 

"  Rome,  Jan,  1823.  How  unavailing  is  foresight  in  the  most 
important  transactions  of  life  !  We  would  lengthen  life  for  our 
children,  and  they  are  taken  before  us 

"  In  the  moment  of  affliction,  the  thought  sometimes  comes  to 
us  with  an  almost  overwhelming  vividness  of  our  entire  dependence. 
The  hour  which  has  taken  one  blessing  can  take  more.  All  our 
possessions  begin  to  tremble,  when  one  very  dear  is  taken.  The 
loss  of  one  child  makes  prominent  the  frailty  of  all.  The  bloom  of 
health  fades  as  we  look  upon  it.  O,  how  desolate  we  may  be  made 
in  a  moment !  and  how  wretched  would  be  our  condition,  if  the 
Power  which  disposes  of  us  were  not  benevolent ! 

"  When  I  think  of  my  child,  of  its  beauty  and  sweetness,  of  the 
tenderness  he  awakened,  of  the  spirit  wliich  God  had  breathed  into 
him,  and  which  had  begun  to  develop  itself,  I  cannot  doubt  that  he 
was  the  care  of  God  in  death,  as  in  life.  He  was  made  for  God  ; 
had  he  lived,  my  chief  duty  would  have  been  to  direct  him  to  that 
Infinite  Good, — and  has  he  not  now  gone  to  Him  from  whom  he 
came?  Is  it  not  a  most  interesting  view  of  death,  that  it  removes 
in  a  gi'eat  degree  the  intermediate  provisions,  the  external  means 
by  which  God  communicates  benefits,  and  thus  places  us  in  a  more 
immediate  and  visible  connection  with  Him  ?     Is  it  not  the  happi- 


1822-1823.1  BIRTHDAY  THOUGHTS.  353 

ness  of  heaven,  that  spirits  see  God,  not  only  as  reflected  in  his 
works,  but  face  to  face?  God  used  our  arms  to  sustain  our  child ; 
has  he  not  taken  him  to  a  world  where  he  will  lean  more  immedi- 
ately on  His  own  f 

"When  I  consider  how  interesting  a  moment  the  beginning  of 
existence  is  to  a  reasonable  being,  how  infinite  the  abyss  between 
non-existence  and  existence,  I  feel  that  we  must  always  look  back  to 
the  moment  and  circumstances  of  our  birth  with  peculiar  emotions, 
and  that  the  beings  to  whom,  under  God.  we  owed  our  life,  who 
were  the  instruments  of  Providence  in  giving  us  bodily  existence 
and  watching  over  the  feeble  spark,  who  were  the  first  to  welcome 
and  to  love  us.  must  always  seem  to  be  among  our  chief  benefac- 
tors. Will  not  the  parental  relation  thus  be  a  bond  of  union,  a 
source  of  happiness,  forever?  The  foundhng  sighs  to  know  his 
parents  with  eager  and  burning  desire.  Is  not  this  filial  affection 
an  instinct  of  the  rational  and  moral  nature  which  will  act  through 
all  the  future  ? 

"  Our  child  is  lost  to  our  sight,  but  not  to  our  faith  and  hope,  — 
perhaps  not  to  our  beneficent  influence.  Is  there  no  means  of  grati- 
fving  our  desire  of  promoting  his  happiness?  The  hving  and  dead 
make  one  communion.  '  Why  bom  only  to  die  ? '  Birth  establishes 
a  connection  with  the  human  race.  His  birth  made  our  boy  one 
of  a  great  spiritual  family,  and  intimately  united  him  with  a  few. 
Will  not  his  eternal  being  be  influenced  by  this  connection  ?  .  .  .   . 

"  The  loss  of  a  child  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  greatest  which  a  mor- 
tal can  experience.  —  the  loss  of  an  object  of  such  tender  love,  of 
a  being  possessing  the  noblest  powers,  which  we  had  hoped  to  see 
unfolding  beneath  our  care,  to  whom  we  had  longed  to  do  more 
good  than  to  any  other  being,  and  from  whom  we  had  anticipated 
receiving  the  most  consoling  and  rejoicing  returns  of  love.  Surely 
the  affections  excited  by  the  parental  relation  bear  a  resemblance 
to  those  by  which  God  is  united  to  his  creatures." 

How  much  the  vivid  sense  of  his  own  loss,  and  the  depth  of  love 
thus  opened  in  his  heart  towards  his  children,  added  warmth  to  the 
reverent  gratitude  by  which  he  was  bound  to  his  mother,  appears 
by  the  following  letter. 

"  Florence.  April  7.  1S23.  When  you  look  at  the  date  of  my 
letter,  you  will  see  that  I  am  writing  you  on  my  birthday :  and.  on 
this  day,  to  whom  could  I  write  with  so  much  reason  as  to  you  ?  — 
for  to  you.  as  well  as  to  me.  it  is  a  memorable  period.  When  I 
think  of  the  beginning  of  my  existence,  how  natural  is  it  that  my 
thoughts  should  turn  to  one  whose  kindness  towards  me  then  com- 

23 


354  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY  [Mr.  42-43. 

menced,  and  who  has  given  me  through  m}^  whole  life  proofs  of 
increasing  love  !  I  can  hardly  suppress  mj'  tears,  as  I  feel  the 
tender  relation  which  my  birth  establislied  between  us  ;  and  now 
that  I  am  so  far  from  3'ou,  while  I  remember  your  declining 
years,  it  is  consoling  to  me  to  reflect,  that,  amidst  many  de- 
ficiencies, I  have  not  proved  wholly  insensible  to  the  claims  of 
3'our  affection. 

"  On  this  da}-,  I  feel  that  I  have  cause  to  give  God  thanks  for 
the  blessing  of  existence.  My  life,  though  no  exception  to  the 
common  lot,  though  checkered  with  good  and  evil,  has,  on  the 
whole,  been  singular!}'  favored.  Without  an}'  care  or  forethought 
of  my  own,  my  outward  condition  has  been  almost  too  favorable, 
and  the  comforts  of  life  have  been  multiplied  upon  me,  not  only 
beyond  my  hopes,  but  beyond  my  wishes.  As  to  those  best  bless- 
ings of  this  work\,  friends  worthy  of  love,  I  know  not  who  has  been 
richer  than  I ;  and  as  to  the  chief  crowning  good,  not  only  of  this, 
but  of  the  life  to  come,  I  mean  relic/ion,  1  seem  to  myself  to  have 
been  placed  in  circumstances  highly  favorable,  at  least,  to  the 
understanding  of  the  Christian  faith  in  its  greatest  purity.  How 
far  I  have  practised  it,  with  what  feelings  I  review  my  conduct, 
and  the  progress  of  my  character,  —  these  are  topics  on  which 
silence  is  wisdom.  To  another  Being  I  have  to  render  my  account ; 
and  our  poor,  weak,  sinful  nature  can  hardly  look  back  on  a  life  as 
long  as  my  own  without  emotions  which  can  be  fitly  uttered  to  Him 
alone." 

The  wanderer's  face  was  now  turned  again  to  his  native  land. 
He  had  faithfully  sought  renewed  health  by  rest,  and  travel  amidst 
interesting  scenes ;  he  had  enjoyed  and  learned  as  much  of  good 
as,  in  his  bodily  and  mental  condition,  he  was  capable  of  receiving  ; 
and  now  he  was  free  to  return  ;  and  he  thus  alludes  to  the  deep 
satisfaction  with  which  he  looked  forward  to  a  reunion  with  his 
friends :  — 

"  Need  I  say  with  what  pleasure  I  write  to  you  from  this  place? 
Florence  is  on  my  way  home,  and  though  I  am  still  very,  very  far 
from  you,  the  thought  of  making  some  progress  towards  you  is  an 

inexpressible  consolation Return  seems  almost  too  great  a 

happiness  to  be  anticipated 

"  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  feelings  with  which  I  turn  towards 
home.  My  heart  swells  within  me  as  I  approach  this  subject. 
And  why  should  I  speak  of  it?  Need  I  say  where  ray  affections 
cling?  —  how  my  heart  yearns  for  the  native  land  I  have  left?  — 
how  you  are  remembered   in   my  prayers  by  night   and  by  day? 


1822-1823.]  RETURN  HOME.  355 

O,  no  !  My  clear  mother,  once  more,  farewell !  May  your  life  and 
health  be  spared  !     May  we  meet  again  !  " 

On  the  last  day  of  his  voyage  to  America,  he  made  these  entries 
in  his  journal :  — 

"  I  have  just  seen  land.  Blessed  be  God !  In  a  few  hours  I 
hope  to  meet  my  friends.  What  thanks  are  due  !  Let  me  now, 
on  approaching  shore,  humbly  purpose,  in  God's  strength,  that  I 
will  strive  to  do  his  will  more  perseveringly,  to  be  more  useful, 
watchful,  temperate,  kind,  devout,  than  ever  before." 

' '  I  am  returned  to  my  friends  ;  let  me  be  more  to  them  than  I 
have  yet  been,  more  attentive,  thoughtful,  social,  seeking  their 
cheerfulness,  interesting  myself  in  their  concerns.  Especially  let 
me  be  more  to  my  mother." 

The  following  letter  to  a  sister  will  best  show  his  feelings  after 
his  return :  — 

"  My  dear  L.,  —  How  happy  I  am  to  write  to  you  again  from 
my  beloved  home !     Join  with  me  in   gratitude   to  our  merciful 

Father,  who  has  guarded  me  and  our  dear  R by  sea  and  land, 

and  brought  us  back  to  you  all.  We  did,  indeed,  see  and  feel,  on 
our  return,  that  we  had  been  visited  by  an  irreparable  calamity, 
and  for  a  moment  our  loss  almost  made  us  forget  the  blessings 
which  are  spared  to  us.  But  I  am  now  awake  as  I  never  was 
before  to  their  number  and  value.  My  happiness  has  been  almost 
overpowering,  too  great  to  endure  in  a  world  made  up  of  changes, 
and  too  great,  I  know,  for  the  purposes  of  Providence  towards  me. 
My  health  is  very  luuch  improved  ;  and  the  voyage,  from  which  I 
anticipated  the  prostration  of  m}'  whole  sj'stem,  proved  verj-  bene- 
ficial. Among  my  many  blessings  was  the  good  account  I  received 
of  you  and  yours." 

And  on  the  Sunday  after  his  arrival,  he  thus  poured  out  the 
fulness  of  his  heart :  — 

"Those  of  you,  my  hearers,  who  have  travelled  abroad,  and  left 
far  behind,  and  for  a  long  time,  home,  friends,  familiar  haunts, 
spheres  of  usefulness,  and  employments  congenial  to  your  tastes, — 
you  can  understand  the  fervent  gratitude  which  glows  in  my  heart 
to-day.  True,  the  moment  of  return  to  one's  native  land  does  not 
bring  unmixed  happiness  ;  for  too  often  we  re-enter  our  long-for- 
saken dwellings  only  to  miss  cherished  objects  of  affection,  to  see 
the  hand  of  time  pressing  heavily  on  our  earliest,  oldest  friends,  to 
receive  sad  answers  respecting  acquaintances,  to  revive  griefs  in 
those  who  have  been  called  to  mourn  in  our  absence,  and  thus  to 


356  EUROPEAN  JOURNEY.  \JEt.  42-43. 

have  the  solemn  lesson  of  life's  changes  brought  with  new  power 
to  our  minds.  Still,  the  moment  of  return  after  a  long  and  distant 
separation  is,  though  not  without  tears,  most  blessed.  To  set  foot 
once  again  on  our  native  shore,  where  we, grew  up,  and  where  our 
best  affections  have  taken  root,  —  to  re-enter  the  abodes  where  the 
tenderest  ties  were  formed,  and  have  gathered  strength, — to  feel 
ourselves  once  more  at  home,  that  spot  over  which  tlie  heart  throws 
a  light  such  as  shines  nowhere  else  upon  earth,  —  to  see  again  the 
countenances  of  friends  whose  forms  have  gone  with  us  in  memory 
through  distant  regions, — to  feel  the  embrace  of  those  arms  on 
which  we  have  leaned  in  our  past  hours  of  sorrow  and  pleasure,  — 
to  read  in  the  e3'es  of  those  around  us  a  lo\e,  which  no  kindness 
of  strangers  can  ever  express, — to  exchange  the  constraints,  re- 
serves, suspicions,  which  can  hardl}-  be  shaken  off  in  foreign  lands, 
for  the  sweet  confidence,  the  free  and  full  communion,  the  opening 
of  the  heart,  which  belong  to  domestic  life, — to  know  that  the 
lives  for  which  we  have  trembled,  the  beings  in  whose  existence 
our  chief  earthlj-  happiness  is  centred,  are  safe, — O,  this  is  joy! 
joj'  such  as  blooms  rarely  in  this  imperfect  state.  To  this  hour  of 
return  my  mind  has  pressed  forward  ever  since  I  left  you.  Amid 
the  new  and  glorious  scenes  through  which  God  has  led  me,  amid 
matchless  beauties  of  nature  and  wonders  of  art,  my  own  dear 
country  has  risen  before  me  with  undiminished  interest  and  bright- 
ness. And  invisible  ties  have  reached  across  the  ocean,  growing 
stronger  by  distance,  and  welcoming  me  back  to  the  loves,  the 
friendships,  the  joys,  the  duties,  the  opportunities  of  home." 


PART    THIRD. 


I 


Chapter  I.— THE    MINISTRY    AND    LITERATURE. 

T  was  in  August,  1823,  that  Dr.  Channing^  had  the  joy  of  once 
_  more  standing  amid  the  circle  of  loving  friends,  parishioners, 
acquaintances,  who  waited  to  welcome  him.  For  a  short  season  he 
retired  into  the  country,  and  then  recommenced  liis  public  labors 
with  a  freshness  and  fervor  that  showed  the  new  spiritual  energy 
with  which  he  was  consciously  quickened.  Among  the  animating 
scenes  presented  by  Europe,  so  various  and  rich  in  suggestion,  and 
especially  in  the  long  night-watches  and  perfect  repose  of  his  liome- 
ward  voyage,  during  which  he  experienced  an  unwonted  exaltation 
and  transparency  of  mind,  he  had  found  leisure  to  review  the  past, 
to  cast  off  many  shackles  of  custom  and  prejudice,  to  learn  distinctly 
his  own  function,  to  comprehend  the  spirit  and  tendencies  of  mod- 
ern society,  and,  above  all,  to  commune  more  nearly  than  ever 
before  with  God.  This  year  of  absence  had  been,  unawares  to 
himself,  perhaps,  a  transition  period.  Thenceforward  was  to  open  a 
new  era  of  life,  — an  era  freer  and  brighter,  more  buoyant  in  hope, 
more  large  in  love,  than  even  his  enthusiastic  youth  at  Richmond, 
and  far  more  beautiful  in  its  serene  confidence,  its  tempered  wisdom, 
its  all-pervading  holiness  and  humanity.  The  thick-clustered  blos- 
soms of  his  early  asi)iration  had  given  a  promise,  truly  kept,  of 
branches  bending  to  the  ground  beneath  the  mellow  fruit  of  ripened 

goodness.  ,     ^ 

We  are  now  to  trace  the  widening  influence  of  Dr.  Channing  s 
later  life  ;  and  there  is  no  better  way  of  forming  a  true  conception 
of  the  diffusive  sympathy,  the  careful  and  capacious  thouglit,  the 
ready  and  exuberant,  yet  calm  and  equable,  energy  which  char- 
acterized it,  than  to  follow  him  in  turn  through  each  of  the  great 
spheres  of  interest  in  which  he  was  called  to  act.  Commencing, 
then,  with  his  more  special  function  as  a  preacher  and  a  writer,  we 

1  He  had  received  the  title  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  from  Harvard  University 
in  1820. 


358  THE  MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

will  contemplate  his  course  progressively  in  relation  to  social  reform, 
to  the  anti-slavery  movement,  and  to  politics  ;  finally-,  we  will  look 
in  upon  tlie  quiet  beauty  of  his  daily  life  in  the  Boston  and  New- 
port home,  wliich  he  had  re-entered,  as  we  have  seen,  with  such 
overflowiug  affection. 

His  first  address  to  his  people,  after  his  return  from  Europe,  will 
exhibit  the  high  and  solemn  views  which  he  cherished  in  relation  to 
the  ministr}'. 

August^  1823.  "Through  the  mercy  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  I 
am  allowed  once  again  to  address  you ;  and  let  me  open  this  new 
period  of  \ny  ministerial  life  by  paying  my  tribute  of  gratitude  to 
Him  in  whom  all  our  works  should  begin  and  end.  To  God,  my 
creator  and  preserver,  my  guide  through  the  pathless  seas,  my 
friend  among  strangers,  my  guardian  in  peril,  my  strength  in  sick- 
ness, who  has  permitted  me  to  see  his  glorious  works,  and  has 
brought  me  back  in  safet}'  to  a  beloved  home,  —  to  God,  who  has 
chastened  and  comforted  me,  who  has  spoken  peace  to  my  wounded 
spirit,  and  has  spared  to  me  so  many  friends,  —  to  God,  who  has 
heard  my  prayers,  who  has  placed  me  once  more  in  the  midst  of  an 
aflfectionate  people,  and  restored  me  to  tlie  church  which  he  has 
intrusted  to  my  care, — to  God,  whose  undeserved,  unwearied, 
unfailing  goodness  passeth  all  understanding,  whose  love  is  the 
sweetness  of  all  blessings,  whose  providence  is  our  continual  stay, 
whose  grace  is  our  unfailing  hope,  —  I  would  make  the  only  return 
which  a  creature  can  render,  by  bearing  witness  to  his  goodness, 
and  gi\ing  myself  up  to  his  service  with  joyful,  trustful,  thankful, 
perfect  devotion. 

"  In  this  house,  consecrated  to  his  honor,  in  the  presence  of  his 
people,  I  now  renew  the  dedication  of  myself  to  God,  of  ni}'  whole 
being,  life,  thought,  powers,  faculties,  affections,  influence,  of  all 
which  he  has  given  and  upholds.  Let  these  lips  si)eak  his  praise, 
this  heart  glow  with  his  love,  this  strength  be  spent  in  doing  his 
will !  May  I  serve  him  better  than  I  have  done,  with  purer  aims, 
with  simpler  purposes,  with  a  soul  more  penetrated  by  his  pcn-fec- 
tion,  and  with  success  worthy  of  his  cause  !  I  know  my  infirmity, 
and  cannot  forget  the  lifeless  services  which  have  too  frequently 
been  offered  by  me.  But  I  would  hope  that  the  recent  ordinations 
of  his  providence,  that  the  lessons  of  dependence  which  have  been 
learned  in  sickness  and  affliction,  and  that  his  preserving  and  re- 
storing goodness,  will  produce  some  better  fruit  tlian  a  transient 
sensibility,  will  issue  in  a  profound,  tender  sense  of  obligation,  and 
in  a  firm  purpose  of  duty.     We  know  that  one  great  end  of  the 


ADDRESS  TO  HIS  PEOPLE.  359 

mysterious  mixture  of  evil  and  good  in  our  present  lot  is,  to  draw 
us  to  God,  to  break  our  spiritual  slumber,  to  soften  our  obdurac}', 
and  to  change,  through  the  blended  influences  of  penitence  and 
thankfulness,  of  sorrow  and  jo}-,  our  faint  convictions  into  powerful 
prniciples.  My  friends,  join  witli  me  in  prayer  to  God,  that  to  all 
his  other  gifts  he  will  add  the  highest  gift  of  his  hol^'  spirit,  —  so 
that,  strengthened  to  resist  the  selfish  propensities  which  enslave 
the  bad,  and  make  good  men  groan,  I  may  show  forth  in  mj'  whole 
life  a  fervent  spirit,  and  thus  communicate  awakening  influences  to 
my  people.  For  it  is  not  as  a  private  individual,  and  not  to  relieve 
a  burdened  heart,  that  I  speak  here  so  largely  of  God's  goodness. 
Were  I  alone  concerned,  I  should  not  thus  lay  open  my  soul.  But 
conscious  that  my  chief  work  in  life  is  to  act  upon  other  minds, 
and  to  act  tlirough  sympatliy  as  well  as  instruction,  I  feel  that  you 
have  an  interest  in  the  utterance  and  in  the  increase  of  my  devout 
affections.  God  grant,  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own,  that  they 
may  be  living  and  growing !   .   .   .   . 

"  On  this  occasion,  you  will  not  expect  from  me  a  review  of  what 
I  have  seen  and  heard  during  my  absence ;  but  this  I  will  say,  that 
I  have  discovered  nothing  to  obscure  the  claims  of  Christianity.  I 
have  learned  no  name  miglitier  than  that  of  Jesus,  have  found  no 
new  system  of  religion,  no  new  institution  for  improving  the  char-  v 
acter,  no  new  method  of  salvation,  among  the  schools  of  philosophy 
or  the  estal)lisliments  of  policy,  to  shake  my  persuasion  of  the  para- 
mount excellence  of  the  gospel.  On  this  point  I  return  unchanged, 
unless  to  be  more  deeply  convinced  of  the  unspeakable  worth  of 
our  r(?ligion  be  a  change.  I  have  seen  human  nature  in  new  cir- 
cumstances, but  everywhere  the  same  in  its  essential  principles, 
and  everywhere  needing  the  same  encouragements,  consolations, 
Inspiring  and  redeeming  influences.  Whilst,  on  other  subjects, 
early  impressions  were  corrected  or  effaced,  I  never  for  a  moment 
have  suspected  that  Christianity  was  an  hereditary,  local  preju- 
dice, —  never  have  found  that  it  was  passing  out  of  sight  in  propor- 
tion as  I  changed  the  sk}'  under  which  I  was  born.  Like  the  sun, 
I  have  seen  it  shining  above  all  lands,  undiminished  in  brightness, 
and  everywhere  it  has  beamed  forth  as  the  true,  the  only  light  of 
the  world 

"I  return  with  views  of  societ}'  which  make  me  rejoice,  as  I 
never  did  before,  in  the  promise  held  out  b}-  revealed  religion  of  a 
moral  renovation  of  the  world.  I  expect  less  and  less  from  revolu- 
tions, political  changes,  violent  struggles,  —  from  public  men  or 
pubhc  measures, — in  a  word,  from  any  outward  modification  of 
society.     Corrupt  institutions  will  be  succeeded  by  others  equallj^, 


860  THE  MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

if  not  more,  corrupt,  whilst  the  root  or  principle  lives  in  the  heart  of 
individuals  and  nations ;  and  the  onl}^  remedy  is  to  be  found  in  a 
moral  change,  to  which  Christianity,  and  the  Divine  power  that 
accompanies  it,  are  alone  adequate.  The  voice  of  prophecy,  an- 
nouncing a  purer,  happier  state  of  the  world,  under  the  hoi}- 
and  peaceful  influences  of  Jesus,  never  sounded  on  m}-  ear  so 
sweetl}',  never  breathed  so  cheermg  a  power,  as  after  a  larger 
observation  of  mankind  ;  and  I  turn  to  it,  from  the  boasts  of  re- 
formers, as  to  the  authentic  annunciation  of  a  brighter  da}'  for 

humanity 

"I  return,  my  friends,  as  I  hope,  with  an  increased  sense  of  the 
weight  and  worth  of  my  office.  I  am  not  merel}'  using  what  may 
be  called  the  language  of  my  profession,  but  I  speak  from  deepest 
conviction,  in  pronouncing  the  duties  of  the  Christian  ministr}-  to 
be  the  most  important  which  can  be  imposed  on  human  beings. 
And  in  saying  this,  I  am  far  from  setting  up  any  exclusive  preten- 
sions, for  in  these  duties  all  men  share.  All  are  called,  in  their 
various  relations,  and  according  to  their  power,  to  advance  the 
cause  of  pure  religion  and  of  divine  morality,  to  which  the  ministrj' 
is  dedicated ;  and  the  function  of  the  minister  differs  onl}'  in  this, 
that  he  is  appointed  to  give  a  more  immediate,  concentrated  care 
to  this  primary  interest  of  mankind.  The  ministry  has  grown 
more  grand  and  solemn  in  my  estimation,  because  I  have  a  growing 
persuasion  of  the  excellence  of  the  religion  to  whose  service  it  is 
devoted,  and  a  growing  conviction  that  on  the  ministrj'  chiefly 
depends  this  cause  of  God.  Whilst  other  means  of  advancing  it 
are  essential  and  efficient,  still,  the  views  of  Christianit}-  which  pre- 
vail in  a  community',  the  form  in  which  it  is  embraced,  the  influ- 
ences it  exerts  on  private  character  and  happiness,  on  domestic 
life,  on  public  opinion,  on  social  institutions,  depend  upon  nothing 
so  much  as  the  spirit,  example,  doctrine,  zeal,  fidelity  of  ministers. 
Man  is  used  b}'  God  as  his  mightiest  agent  in  operating  on  man. 
I  feel  that  it  is  no  ordinary  work  to  which  I  am  called,  and  that  it 
were  better  never  to  have  returned  to  it  than  to  bring  a  cold  and 
divided  mind." 

The  ver}'  earnest  feeling  of  responsibility  and  privilege,  with 
which  he  renewed  his  ministerial  labors,  j'et  more  plainly  appears  ni 
the  two  following  extracts  from  his  letters  of  that  period  :  — 

"  Boston,  Sept.  22,  1.S23.  I  rejoice  to  tell  yon,  and  I  do  it  with 
livel}' gratitude  to  God,  that  I  bore  the  exertions  of  yesterday  ver}', 
very  well.  I  took  the  whole  morning  services,  was  as  long  as  usual, 
gave  some  freedom  to  my  feelings,  and  spoke,  though  not  loudl}'. 


INTEREST  IN  HIS  DUTIES.  861 

3'et  with  excitement.  I  was  wearied,  but  not  exhausted,  and  by 
silence  and  abstinence  kept  off  feverishness.  This  morning  I  am  as 
well  as  usual.  I  cannot  easil}'  make  even  you  feel  what  a  relief  this 
success  has  given  me.  I  will  not  sa}'  that  the  happiness  of  my  life 
depends  on  m\-  abilit}'  to  perform  pastoral  dut}',  for  I  hope  I  should 
feel  and  enjo}-  God's  goodness  in  any  situation  ;  but  the  Christian 
ministry,  with  all  its  trials,  and  thej'  are  not  small,  is  the  work  on 
which  m}-  heart  is  set,  and  my  spirit  almost  faints  at  the  thought  of 
resigning  it." 

"  October  27,  1823.  I  know  that  it  will  make  3'ou  happy  to  hear 
that  I  have  borne  my  return  to  m}'  duties  far  better  than  I  antici- 
pated. I  have,  perhaps,  been  imprudent,  and  preached  even  longer 
and  more  earnestly  than  formerly  ;  but,  although  I  have  suffered  a 
little,  I  have  received  no  serious  injury.  For  this  my  heart  overflows 
with  gratitude.  I  sometimes  think  m3'self  happier  than  I  ever  have 
been  before.  To  meet  my  family  once  more  was  an  inexpressi- 
ble good,  —  so  great,  that  I  hardl}^  dared  to  anticipate  it  when 
abroad.  But  the  privilege  of  preaching  again  that  gospel  which 
my  sufferings  have  made  more  dear  to  me,  and  the  hope  that  I 
may  be  allowed  to  continue  to  preach  it,  and  ma}-  labor  with  more 
singleness  of  mind,  fervenc}',  devotion,  and  success,  —  this  com- 
pletes m}'  joy. 

"I  have  returned  to  my  duties  with  an  interest  which,  perhaps, 
nothing  but  long  inability  to  perform  them,  and  many  trials,  could 
have  awakened.  And  thus,  my  dear,  we  are  often  able  to  see  that 
it  is  good  for  us  to  have  been  afflicted.  The  inward  process,  which 
goes  on  amidst  sufferings,  often  explains  God's  discipline,  and  we 
learn  to  bless  the  hand  which  chastens,  for  we  see  that  it  is  stretched 
out  in  parental  wisdom  and  merc3\  I  do  not  mean  that  I  have 
derived  great  improvement  from  affliction,  for  I  am  aware  that  the 
satisfaction  I  find  in  returning  to  long-suspended  duties  is  to  be 
accounted  for  b}-  natural  as  well  as  religious  principles.  But,  be 
the  cause  what  it  may.  the  effect  is  a  good,  and  will,  I  trust,  give 
greater  power  to  my  ministr}^  I  have  talked  of  myself;  for  your 
love,  I  know,  gives  you  an  interest  in  the  subject." 

In  order  to  show  more  fully  his  views  of  the  profession  which  he 
so  unfeiguedly  thought  to  be  the  highest  office  in  modern  society, 
far  transcending,  in  the  depth  and  extent  of  its  influence,  the  sphere 
of  the  statesman  or  of  the  literary  man,  we  will  proceed  to  give 
some  further  extracts  from  his  sermons ;  and,  in  doing  so,  shall 
avail  ourselves  of  addresses  which  he  made  to  his  people  annually, 
on  the  occasion  of  his  return  from  Rhode  Island,  at  which  beautiful 


362  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

retreat  he  began  regularly  to  pass  the  summer  months  during  this 
period  of  his  life.  In  these  discourses,  he  endeavored  to  break 
through  the  precise  and  ceremonious  style  of  preaching  which  is 
usually  thought  necessary  to  preserve  the  decorum  of  the  pulpit, 
and  to  speak  in  the  more  direct  and  simple  language  which  friend 
uses  to  friend.  These  sermons  are  thus,  to  a  great  degree,  auto- 
biographical. 

THE    RESPONSIBILITY    OF    THE    MINISTER. 

1828.  "  In  describing  the  ministrj^  as  a  highly  responsible  office, 
I  beg  not  to  be  misunderstood.  I  sometimes  hear  language  em- 
plo3'ed  on  this  point  which  offends  me  b}'  its  extravagance,  and 
which  can  do  only  harm  to  the  teacher  and  the  tauglit.  Tlie  min- 
ister is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  if  on  him  depended  the  salvation  of 
his  people,  — as  if  to  him  it  belonged  to  decide  the  eternal  condi- 
tion of  his  congregation,  —  as  if  by  his  neglect  his  hearers  would  be 
plunged  into  irremedialjle  woe.  I  certainl}^  do  not  feel  as  if  any 
such  tremendous  power  were  in  my  hands.  I  would  not  wield  it  for 
the  universe.  I  assume  no  such  trust.  I,  indeed,  offer  myself  to 
you  as  3'our  spiritual  friend  and  teacher ;  but  I  do  it  in  the  full 
knowledge  that  God  has  given  you  better  aids  than  3'Our  minister, 
that  I  am  but  one  out  of  many  means  of  your  instruction,  and  that, 
after  all,  the  chief  responsibilit}'  falls  upon  yourselves.  Regard  the 
ministry  as  important  to  you,  —  I  will  add,  as  essential  to  the 
Christian  cause, — but  do  not  lay  upon  it  a  burden  which  no  con- 
scientious or  benevolent  man  for  worlds  would  sustain. 

"The  minister  is  not  alone  intrusted  with  the  salvation  of  the 
human  race.  True,  the  gospel  is  connnitted  to  him  ;  but  not  to  him 
onl}',  nor  to  him  chiefl}'.  It  is  intrusted  to  all  who  receive  it,  for 
the  benefit  of  their  fellow-creatures.  It  is  committed  especially  to 
the  parent  for  the  child,  —  to  the  private  Christian  for  his  fiimily 
and  friends,  —  to  the  Sunday-school  teacher  for  the  young,  — to  the 
more  enlightened  for  the  less  privileged  classes  of  societ}'.  The 
minister  alone  is  not  to  preach  the  religion.  It  is  to  be  preached  in 
the  nursery,  in  the  household,  in  the  place  of  business,  in  friendly 
intercourse,  in  public  assemblies,  as  trnl^'  as  in  the  pulpit ;  and  we 
cannot  doubt  that  often  Christian  truth  is  more  eflectually  carried 
to  the  conscience  and  the  understanding  by  the  casual  teaching  of 
every  day  than  by  more  regular  and  stated  ministrations." 

EACH  SOUL  MUST  SAVE  ITSELF. 

1827.  "  The  great  work  is  to  be  done  by  the  soul  itself.  I  can- 
not, by  preaching,  even  were  I  to  speak  with  the  tongues  of  angels, 


L^ 


TRUE   ELOQUENCE.  363 

make  one  of  j'ou  a  Christian  ;  nor,  were  I  able,  ought  I  to  attempt 
such  a  work.  You  are  to  be  made  Christians  by  ^our  own  faithful 
use  of  all  the  means  of  religious  improvement.  Could  I,  my  friends, 
by  a  word  change  your  minds,  expel  all  error  from  your  understand- 
ings, subdue  your  passions,  take  from  the  irritable  man  every 
impulse  of  anger,  from  the  worldl}'  man  every  thought  of  accumu- 
lation, from  the  proud  man  ever}'  stirring  of  self-elation,  I  should 
undoubtedl}'  deliver  you  from  sources  of  trouble  ;  but  j'our  deliv- 
erance, thus  passively  acquired,  would  have  no  more  virtue  than 
would  belong  to  you,  were  death,  by  extinguishing  all  conscious- 
ness, by  striking  you  from  existence,  to  work  the  same  deliverance. 
Nothing  is  morally-  good  in  man  but  what  he  is  active  in  producing, 
but  what  is  the  growth  of  his  own  free  agenc3\  Were  I,  by  an 
irresistible  influence,  to  implant  in  you  a  right  faith  and  kind  affec- 
tions, I  should  not  aid,  but  injure  you,  by  taking  from  you  the 
opportunities  of  virtue.  You  would  come  from  my  hand  well-pro- 
portioned machines ;  but  machines  you  still  would  be.  The  glory 
of  a  free  agent  would  be  gone.  I  come  not  to  exert  such  a  swa}^ 
not  to  rule  your  minds  or  your  hearts,  but  to  urge  you  to  establish 
within  yourselves  the  sovereignt}-  of  reason  and  conscience,  by  your  ^ 
own  reverential  culture  of  these  high  principles  of  your  nature." 

TRUE  ELOQUENCE. 

1827.  "  To  rule  over  passive  minds,  to  dictate  to  those  who  will 
not  inquire  and  judge,  seems  to  me  a  low  ambition,  a  poor  dominion. 
But  the  power  of  convincing,  persuading,  improving  free  and  active 
and  self-relying  minds  is  a  noble  endowment.  This  is  the  only^' 
power  over  men  which  I  covet.  So  desirous  am  I  to  dissuade  you 
from  putting  3ourselyes  passively  into  other  men's  hands,  that  I 
would  advise  you  to  distrust  much  of  what  is  called  eloquence  in  the 
pulpit.  There  is  a  true  eloquence,  which  you  cannot  too  much 
honor,  and  it  is  characterized  chiefly  by  tiiis  mark  :  it  calls  into 
vigorous  exercise  both  the  understanding  and  the  heart  of  the  hearer. 
It  has  no  design  upon  men's  minds,  does  not  desire  to  bear  them 
away  as  by  a  torrent,  does  not  hurry  them  to  rash  conclusions,  does 
not  appeal  to  prejudices,  but  treats  the  understanding  fairly,  gener- 
ously, invites  it  to  weigh  proofs,  and  aims  to  inspire  it  with  a 
supreme  love  of  truth.  This  is  the  highest  characteristic  of  genuine 
eloquence,  that  it  gives  tone  and  energy  to  the  hearer's  mind,  givesf 
him  a  consciousness  of  his  own  powers,  and  enables  him  to  act  from 
his  own  will  and  from  his  own  judgment.  Against  such  eloquence, 
of  course,  I  would  not  warn  you.  But  there  is  another  kind,  and 
one  far  more  commonly  met  with,  —  because  requiring  little  talent 


3G4  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

and  no  elevation  of  soul, — which  deals  chiefly  with  men's  fears, 
which  palsies  and  enslaves  the  intellect,  which  makes  the  hearer 
distrustful  of  his  own  faculties,  which  overwhelms  him  with  appalling 
images,  and  brings  him  into  dependence  upon  the  speaker.  This, 
I  have  said,  requires  little  talent ;  though,  in  the  present  state  of 
societ3',  it  exerts  great  sway.  A  man  of  common  sagacity  may 
blindfold  and  lead  behind  him  his  fellow-creatures.  A  much  higher 
and  nobler  skill  is  required  to  heal  and  strengthen  men's  intellectual 
sight,  and  to  open  before  them  large  and  glorious  prospects." 

THE    END    OF    THE    MINISTRY. 

1830.  "  I  have  been  called  to  aid  30U  in  that  inward  work  on 
which  the  happiness  of  your  present  and  future  being  depends,  — 
the  work  of  subduing  evil,  sin,  the  power  of  temptation,  and  of 
strengthening  and  building  up  in  yourselves  Christian  faith  and 
virtue.  It  has  been  my  duty  to  urge  on  you  the  need  of  continual 
improvement  in  character^  as  the  onl}^  thing  worth  living  for,  —  with- 
out which  life  would  be  worse  than  lost.  I  have  aimed,  you  will 
bear  me  witness,  to  excite  3'ou  to  the  most  earnest  culture  of  your 
own  minds,  as  that  without  which  nothing  uttered  here,  and  nothing 
befalling  30U  in  God's  providence,  would  do  you  good.  I  have 
aimed  to  raise  your  thoughts  to  that  perfection,  that  dignit}',  that 
likeness  to  God,  that  height  of  virtue  and  happiness,  to  which  Jesus 
Christ  came  to  exalt  us,  and  to  which  we  may  all  rise  by  fidelity  to 
his  religion.  And  I  have  exhibited  to  you  the  depth  of  guilt, 
shame,  and  misery,  into  which,  by  self- neglect,  by  abandoning 
ourselves  to  low  and  evil  passions,  we  may  all  be  plunged.  It  has 
been  my  aim  to  win  you  to  an  unreserved  devotedness  to  God,  — 
to  set  before  you  such  views  of  the  Infinite  Being,  in  his  character, 
designs,  and  modes  of  action,  as  were  suited  to  attract  to  him  the 
whole  strength  of  your  love  and  trust  and  obedience.  In  a  word, 
it  has  been  my  office  to  dispense  to  3'ou  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ. 
I  have  especially  sought  to  teach  you  the  great,  I  may  say  the 
single,  purpose  of  tliis  religion,  which  is  to  form  you  after  the  spirit 
and  likeness  of  its  Divine  Author,  and  thus  to  give  ^'ou  the  first 
fruits  of  heaven  wliile  you  live  on  earth,  as  well  as  to  prepare  3-ou 
for  that  perfect  and  immortal  state. 

"  Such  has  been  my  work.  Its  greatness  fills  my  mind  the  more 
I  contemplate  it.  Time,  wliich  shows  us  the  emptiness  of  most 
eartlily  pursuits,  only  magnifies,  in  my  regard,  this  glorious  office. 
On  what  sublime  and  heart-thrilling  themes  have  I  been  called, 
been  permitted,  to  speak  !  It  seems  to  me,  that,  through  the  uni- 
verse, no  words  of  more  solemn  import  than  God,  Imjioktalitv, 


CHANGE   OF  TONE.  365 

Perfection,  can  be  uttered,  —  that  no  higher  themes  can  absorb 
the  most  exalted  intelligences  through  eternity." 

HIS    OWN    AIMS. 

1830.  "That  I  have  performed  this  work  imperfectly,  I  feel. 
No  one  can  be  more  penetrated  with  a  sense  of  my  deficiencies  than 
myself;  and  my  consciousness  of  these  increases,  because  the  re- 
ligion which  I  am  called  to  preach  continually  rises  before  me  in 
greater  beauty  and  dignity,  with  surer  promises  of  liappiness,  more 
widely  reacliing  claims,  more  animating  motives,  and  more  solemn 
sanctions.  Still,  my  heart  bears  me  witness  that  I  have  sincerely 
labored  to  carry  home  to  the  souls  of  my  fellow-beings  the  divine 
truth  which  I  have  been  privileged  to  impart.  This  truth  has  been 
my  meditation  and  study  by  night  and  by  day.  I  have  given  to  it 
the  strength  of  my  body  and  mind.  It  has  absorbed  me,  almost 
consumed  me.  Every  new  or  brighter  view  of  it  has  seemed  to  me 
a  recompense  and  happiness  which  I  would  not  have  exchanged  for 
any  outward  good.  The  hope  of  doing  something  to  rescue  this 
divine  religion  from  the  corruptions  which  so  mournfully  disfigure 
and  darken  it, — the  hope  of  bringing  out  more  clearly  some  of  its 
divine  features,  and  thus  of  contributing  to  extend  and  establish 
its  empire  on  the  earth,  — has  been  the  dearest,  the  most  cherished 
hope  of  my  life.  So  far,  I  trust,  I  have  been  loyal  to  the  cause  of 
my  Master.  Whether  I  have  not  confined  myself  too  exclusively 
to  this  intellectual  labor,  whether  I  have  not  spent  my  strength  too 
much  in  solitary  reflection,  whether  a  more  active  life  and  more 
frequent  intercourse  with  my  hearers  might  not  have  been  more 
useful,  —  these  are  questions  which  I  cannot  determine.  I  may 
have  erred ;  some,  perhaps,  may  think  I  have.  I  may  have  been 
self-indulgent  in  the  path  I  have  taken,  and  you  might  have  been 
more  aided  by  services  which  I  have  withheld.  I  am  not  anxious 
to  justify  myself.     I  pray  God  that  my  error  —  if  it  has  been  one 

—  may  be  forgiven,  and  that  his  providence  may  avert  from  you 
the  evils  of  my  want  of  wisdom  or  fidelity." 

An  appreciating  reader  of  the  foregoing  extracts  will  be  conscious 
of  a  gradual  change  of  tone  in  Dr.  Channing's  mode  of  address, 

—  a  change  more  readily  felt  than  characterized,  but  which,  by 
way  of  suggestion,  we  will  denote  by  saving  that  it  was  constantly 
becoming  less  ministerial  and  more  manly.  He  more  and  more 
regarded  the  religious  teacher  as  the  ideal  of  what  all  men  should 
be,  an  inspirer  of  life.  Universal  sanctification  of  the  whole  char- 
acter and  conduct  was  the  end  which  he  aimed  to  present  vividly 
to  his  hearers,  as  the  only  true  object  for  a  human  being's  aspira- 


366  THE   MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

tion.  And  force  of  good-will  —  not  sentimentalit}',  not  imaginative 
enthnsiasin,  not  merely  kindly  affectionateness,  but  a  brave,  hopeful, 
conscientious,  confiding  love  —  was  the  spirit  which  flowed  out  from 
him  in  ever3'  word  and  look.  This  expansive  feeling,  in  relation  to 
the  animating  influence  which  a  religious  teacher  should  exert, 
appears  very  fully  in  his  letters. 

'-'•Newport,  Aug.  28,  1828.  I  consider  ni}"  profession  as  almost 
infinitely  raised  above  all  others,  when  its  true  nature  is  under- 
stood and  its  true  spirit  imbibed.  But  as  it  is  too  often  viewed 
and  followed,  it  seems  to  me  of  little  worth  to  him  who  exercises  it, 
or  to  those  on  whom  it  ought  to  act.  It  requires  moral  elevation 
of  sentiment,  that  the  [)urposes  of  Christianity  may  be  understood, 
and  moral  energy,  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  that  those  purposes 
may  be  pursued  with  resolution  and  power.  I  do  not  mean  that  a 
young  man  is  to  possess  these  requisites  in  a  great  degree,  at  first, 
—  but  he  must  have  the  seeds,  and  give  some  promise  of  them.  To 
one  who  has  this  generous  style  of  character,  this  capacity  of  de- 
votedness  and  disinterestedness,  I  consider  my  calling  as  leaving  all 
others  ver^',  very  far  behind.  But  when  taken  up  for  its  respecta- 
bility, for  reputation,  for  a  support,  and  followed  mechanically, 
drudgingly,  with  little  or  no  heartiness  and  devotion,  or  when 
seized  upon  fanatically  and  with  a  blind  and  bigoted  zeal,  I  think 
as  poorly  of  it  as  men  of  the  world  do,  who,  1  grieve  to  say,  have 
had  too  much  reason  for  setting  us  ministers  down  among  the 
drones  of  the  hive  of  society." 

"  Portsmouth,  July  7,  1828.^  In  our  profession,  as  in  every 
other,  success  depends  chiefly  on  the  heartiness  with  which  a  man 
enters  into  it.  lie  must  throw  his  soul  into  his  work.  I  am  the 
more  encouraged  about  your  success,  from  the  proof  you  have  given 
of  zeal  in  a  good  cause.  You  think  nobh'  of  the  object  to  which 
3'ou  are  about  to  devote  yourself,  and  this  is  no  small  part  of  a  min- 
ister's preparation.  You  may  meet,  at  the  outset,  some  disheart- 
ening circumstances.  I  suspect  most  ministers  can  tell  you  of  their 
liours  of  despondency,  especially  at  the  beginning  of  their  course. 
But  true  courage  fights  the  enemy  within,  as  well  as  abroad  ;  and  I 
shall  be  disappointed  indeed  if  you  are  wanting  in  this  generous 
virtue. 

"Your  friend  and  brother." 

'■'■  Portsmouth,  Rhode  Tshnrl,  June  18,  1828.2  The  people  here 
want  to  be  awakened,  certainly  ;   but  they  have  passed  through  the 

1  To  Dr.  Charles  Follcn.  -  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.D. 


THEOLOGY  MADE  A  MONOPOLY.  867 

ordinary  process  of  revivals  without  mncli  apparent  benefit.  I  feel, 
more  and  more,  that  the  people  at  large  need  to  be  protected 
against  these  modes  of  assault,  by  having  some  more  distinct  and 
thorough  notions  presented  to  them  of  what  religion  or  virtue  is, 
than  perhaps  an}'  of  us  have  j'et  given.  The  identity  of  religion 
and  universal  goodness  is  what  the}'  have  hardly  dreamed  of.  You 
have  expressed  some  of  the  best  views  on  the  subject  which  I  have 
heard  ;  and,  if  3'our  intellect  will  work,  in  spite  of  3'our  plans  of  re- 
pose, perhaps  it  could  not  find  a  more  useful  topic. 

"My  mind  turns  much  on  the  general  question.  What  can  be 
done  for  the  scattering  of  the  present  darkness?  I  think  I  see, 
more  and  more,  that  the  ministry,  as  at  present  exercised,  though, 
on  the  whole,  a  good,  is  sadl}'  defective.  What  would  be  the  re- 
sult of  a  superior  man,  not  of  the  clergy,  giving  a  course  of  lectures 
on  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  just  as  he  would  give  one  on  the  philosophy 
of  Socrates  or  Plato?  Cannot  this  subject  be  taken  out  of  the 
hands  of  ministers?  Cannot  the  higher  minds  be  made  to  feel  that 
Christianity  belongs  to  them  as  truly  as  to  the  priest,  and  that  they 
disgrace  and  degrade  themselves  b}'  getting  their  ideas  of  it  from 
'our  order'  so  exclusively?  Cannot  learned  men  come  to  Chris- 
tianity, just  as  to  any  other  system,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining 
what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Dec.  9,  1829.^  Is  the  time  never  coming  when  Christians  will 
be  less  dependent  on  ministers  than  they  now  are?  I  feel  deeply 
the  defects  of  the  present  organization  of  the  Christian  church. 
'  Ever}'  JQint  of  the  body  should  work  effectually'  for  the  common 
growth ;  and  now  a  few  men  have  a  monopoly  of  the  work." 

'•'■  Feb.  22,  1840.  The  ministry  need  not  continue  what  it  has 
been,  and  the  time  is  coming  when  it  will  be  found  to  be  the  most 
effectual  mode  of  getting  near  to  our  fellow-creatures.  It  demands 
great  energy  of  thought  and  purpose  ;  and,  when  so  followed, 
promises  unspeakable  good." 

"  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  Sept.  5,  1837.^  One  of  the  discouraging 
symptoms  of  the  da}'  is,  that  so  few  persons,  except  of  the  clerical 
profession,  make  morals  and  religion  the  subject  of  investigation 
and  serious  inquiry.  To  most,  religion  is  a  tradition  or  a  feeling. 
The  noblest  subjects  of  human  thought,  and  those  in  which  all  men 
have  an  equal  interest,  are  given  up  to  a  small  body  of  professional 
men.  The  effects  of  this  making  theology  a  monopoly  of  a  few  are 
disastrous  alike  to  the  many  and  the  few.     Theology  has  become 

1  To  Josepli  Tuckcrman,  D.  D. 

■•*  To  Win.  Plunier,  Jun.,  Esq.,  Eppiiig,  New  Hampshire. 


S68  THE   MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

technical,  a  trade,  a  means  of  power.  It  has  taken  a  monastic 
character,  been  severed  from  common  Hfe,  and  thus  been  turned 
into  an  instrument  of  superstition.  The  multitude,  in  their  igno- 
rance, have  easily  fallen  under  the  dominion  of  fear,  and  have 
bowed  their  understandings  to  irrational  and  degrading  doctrines. 
It  always  cheers  me  when  I  find  a  man,  not  of  my  profession,  who 
understands  the  dignity  of  moral  and  religious  truth,  and  seeks  it 
as  inestimabl}'  precious.  These  remarks  will  explain  the  pleasure 
your  letter  gave  me.  So  far  from  feeling  that  3'ou  used  an  undue 
freedom  in  your  suggestions,  I  was  truly  grateful  for  them.  We 
ministers  need  the  freest  communication  with  our  intelligent  breth- 
ren of  the  laity.  I  use  this  word  for  want  of  a  better,  though  I  dis- 
like it.  They  often  understand  the  moral  wants  of  the  comminiity 
better  than  we  can.  They  know,  as  we  cannot,  when  we  beat  the 
air  or  waste  our  strength  on  unimportant  matters,  and  where  the 
main  obstacles  to  human  improvement  lie.  What  volume  could  be 
laid  open  to  a  minister  so  useful  as  the  secret  conviction  of  his 
thinking  hearers,  in  regard  to  the  character  and  effects  of  his 
labors?  For  want  of  such  communication,  we  work  much  in  the 
dark." 

The  dislike  of  spiritual  dictatorship,,  sanctimonious  dignity,  and 
pompous  arrogance,  which  appears  more  or  less  through  these  pa- 
pers, was  exceedingly  strong  in  Dr.  Channing.  The  designation 
of  "  Reverend,"  even,  was  most  disagreeable  to  him.  He  had  no 
taste  for  being  set  up  as  a  saint  or  an  oracle,  and  wished  no  influ- 
ence but  that  which  arose  from  perfect  naturalness,  lie  thought  it 
was  time  for  much  of  the  superstitious  homage  to  the  clergy  to  van- 
ish. His  only  reason,  indeed,  for  wishing  the  ministry  to  be  pre- 
served as  a  distinct  function  in  society  was  his  belief  that,  amidst 
the  anxieties  incident  to  existing  social  relations,  only  the  very 
strong  could  keep  their  spirits  free,  only  the  very  tall  in  moral  stat- 
ure so  raise  their  heads  above  the  dust  of  the  caravan  as  to  see  the 
horizon  and  the  heavens  and  the  direction  of  the  march. 

But  the  very  motive  which  prompted  Dr.  Channing's  desire  to 
see  the  artificial  eminence  broken  down  on  which  fear  and  policy 
have  isolated  the  clergy,  and  the  props  of  conventional  decencies 
swept  away  by  which  even  the  stupid  and  selfish  feel  themselves 
upheld  in  a  position  of  power,  and  to  have  every  minister  left  to 
stand  firm  or  to  fall,  according  to  his  manhood,  was  an  ever- 
deepening  reverence  for  the  function  of  the  prophet, — the  real 
communicator  of  si)iritual  light.  Amidst  crowds  of  business-men, 
energetically  turning  the  vast  resources  of  modern  science  to  the 
increase  and  accumulation  of  wealth,  —  amidst  strugghng  political 


MORAL   GREATNESS   NEEDED.  869 

parties,  made  restless  by  the  spirit  of  libert}^  and  the  half-recog- 
nized rights  of  all  men,  rights  possessed  so  partially  even  by  the 
privileged,  —  amidst  the  growing  multitude  of  teachers,  literary, 
scientific,  philosophical,  plying  the  countless  means  of  ditfusing  in- 
telligence, —  he  longed  to  see  a  body  of  men  step  forward,  fitted  by 
the  universality  at  once  and  the  unity  of  their  aim,  their  elevation 
above  selfish  meanness,  their  unfaltering  hope  for  humanity,  their 
joyful  devotedness  to  God,  to  be  the  conscience  of  communities  and 
nations.  He  felt  that  the  age  was  really  inspired  with  a  divine 
power  of  love,  and  he  looked  for  a  ministry  pure  and  fervent  enough 
to  be  the  medium  through  which  this  new  life  might  find  a  voice  of 
command,  and  make  itself  felt  with  a  miraculous,  renovating  touch. 
He  consecrated  himself  to  the  work  of  being,  according  to  the  needs 
and  opportunities  of  his  age  and  land,  a  mediator  of  this  heavenly 
influence,  and  thus  trul}^  a  minister  of  religion,  —  of  reunion  be- 
tween man  and  man,  and  man  and  God.  And  largely  as  we  have 
alread\'  quoted  from  his  sermons  and  letters,  in  illustration  of  his 
views,  justice  to  him  demands  that  we  should  now  give  further  ex- 
tracts from  his  private  papers.  In  these  he  expresses  himself  with 
yet  more  freedom  and  energy  of  feeling.  We  shall  copy  man}-  pas- 
sages, even  at  the  risk  of  repetition,  because  they  will  open  to  us 
the  ver}'  heart  of  the  writer.  Without  attempting  an}'  methodical 
arrangement  of  these  fragments,  we  may,  for  the  sake  of  conven- 
ience, group  them  under  distinct  heads. 

THE    MORAL    GREATNESS    NEEDED    IN    THE    MINISTER. 

"The  minister  needs  an  heroic  mould  of  mind,  a  sustained  and 
habitual  grandeur  of  conception,  the  energy  of  which  may  breathe 
itself  into  all  around.  He  is  not  to  have  the  brightness  of  his  con- 
viction crossed  hy  a  single  shadow  of  the  fear  of  man.  A  lofty, 
ever-present  consciousness  of  being  consecrated  to  the  highest 
possible  work  on  earth  —  the  aw^akening  and  strengthening  of  what 
is  divinest  in  human  nature  —  is  to  possess  him.  He  is  to  move 
among  his  fellows  in  the  majesty  and  serenit}'  which  befit  devoted- 
ness to  heavenl}'  ends.  The  sublime  thought  of  the  divine  luve, 
which  it  is  Christ's  end  to  awaken,  must  lift  his  mind  above  all 
transient  interests  and  fortify  him  against  allurement.  He  who 
sees  this  as  a  reality  beholds  a  light  that  dims  all  outward  glory. 
This  firm  and  loftj'  tone  of  mind  is  what  we  need.  We  should 
adopt  perfection  as  our  own  good,  with  a  deep  comprehension  of 
its  commanding  beaut}'.  AVe  should  speak  of  it  with  the  language 
which  it  would  itself  adopt,  could  it  reveal  in  words  its  divinity. 
We  should  announce  this  likeness  to  God  as  the  end  to  be  sought, 

24 


370  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

not  as  if  teaching  a  proposition  into  wbicli  we  Iiad  reasoned  our- 
selves, but  as  if  declaring  a  profound,  radiant,  all-penetrating 
intuition,  — as  if  speaking  from  experience." 

"  Positiveness,  assumption,  is  an  entirely  different  state  of  feel- 
ing from  the  elevation  of  soul  wrought  in  us  by  the  presence  of 
great  thoughts.  The  devotion  of  the  whole  heart  to  the  pursuit 
of  celestial  goodness,  the  consciousness  of  such  an  aim,  produces 
no  dogmatism,  no  conceit  of  infallibilit}'.  A  minister  should  have 
the  authority  of  high  virtue.  His  tone  should  be  that  of  irrecon- 
cilable war  against  the  peculiar  evils  of  his  times,  and  of  resolute 
resistance  to  the  influences  of  ease,  opinion,  epicurism,  which  bribe 
him  to  surrender  principle.  But  this  moral  energy  is  not  to  be 
wasted  on  what  is  exterior  and  superficial ;  it  is  to  be  concentrated 
in  opposition  to  the  very  heart  and  hfe  of  what  is  evil  in  the  societ}' 
around  him  and  in  the  age.  He  is  to  feel  that  he  is  called  to  with- 
stand the  turbulence  of  the  passions,  deep-rooted  prejudices,  the 
insidious  influence  of  public  institutions  and  of  social  customs,  and 
that  his  only  reliance,  under  God,  is  on  that  mightiest  power  in 
the  human  soul,  the  moral  power." 

"We  want  singleness  of  purpose^  to  have  the  whole  soul  pos- 
sessed b}'  a  calm,  deep-swelling  admiration  for  the  divine  beaut}'  of 
goodness,  to  be  resolved  to  promote  this  b}-  every  energy  of  our 
nature.  We  should  be  filled  with  a  divine  fervor  of  soul,  an  ex- 
panding warmtli  of  love.  This  living  love  has  been  the  power  of 
all  true  friends  and  teachers  of  mankind.  It  dissolves  all  restraints, 
ceremonies,  barriers,  opens  to  us  the  hearts  of  our  fellow-men,  and 
gives  to  the  tone  and  countenance  a  winning  charm.  How  should 
we  feel  ourselves  to  be  acting  in  concert  witli  God,  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  grand  design  to  which  Jesus  and  all  good  beings  are 
devoted,  and  which  comprehends  the  infinite  happiness  and  glory 
of  all  spirits  !  How  should  the  inefl'able  sublimity  of  this  end  en- 
largo,  invigorate,  purify  us  !  The  thought  of  man's  possible  com- 
munion with  God,  and  of  his  capacity  of  unbounded  participation 
in  the  Divine  goodness,  should  give  a  loftiness  and  energy  of  pur- 
pose to  the  preacher  which  should  never  for  an  instant  forsake  him, 
but  make  him  unaffectedly  superior  to  all  outward  dignities,  un- 
daunted amidst  the  opposition  of  the  great,  and  tenderly  sympa- 
thizing and  respectful  to  the  most  debased." 

"  What  we  need  is  a  spiritual  force  that  will  not  take  the  form 
and  hue  of  tlie  conditions  or  persons  among  wliich  we  live,  but 
will  resist  debasing  influences,  and  mould  all  around  us  after  the 
pattern  of  great  ideas.  We  need  such  an  unfaltering  faith  in 
Christian  virtue,  its  supremacy,  its  sure  triumph,  as  will  enable  us 


DEVOTEDNESS  AND   SELF-SUPPORT.  371 

to  assert  its  claims  in  speech  and  action,  even  in  the  most  discour- 
aging circumstances.  With  all  mildness,  there  must  be  in  us  an 
uncompromising  spirit.  Having  found  the  true  good,  we  cannot 
3'ield  to  public  opinion,  to  private  friendship,  or  to  any  kind  or 
measure  of  opposition.  We  must  pay  no  heed  to  capricious  esti- 
mates. Censure  should  not  cost  us  a  moment  of  anxiet}',  but  only 
turn  our  regards  more  deci)ly  inward  to  the  Divine  Oracle,  the 
Voice  of  God,  the  Spirit  of  Christ.  The  fetters  of  worldly  com- 
promise must  be  shaken  off,  or  we  cannot  take  one  free  step." 

"  A  bold,  free  tone  in  conversation,  the  decided  expression  of 
pure  and  lofty  sentiment,  may  be  influential  to  change  the  whole 
temper  and  cast  of  thinking  of  societj'  around  us.  Are  we  not 
traitors  to  great  truths,  when  we  suppress  the  utterance  of  them,  and 
let  the  opposite  errors  pass  unrebuked  ?  Ought  not  the  spirit  of  the 
world  to  be  continually  met  with  mildness,  yet  unfaltering  firmness? 
It  cannot  be  opposed  too  steadily  and  uncompromisingly.  To  bring 
out  a  noble  spirit  into  daily  intercourse  is  a  more  precious  offer- 
ing to  truth  than  retired  speculation  and  writing.  He  who  leaves  a 
hol^'  life  behind  him,  to  bless  and  guide  his  fellows,  bequeaths  to  the 
world  a  richer  legacy  than  any  book.  The  true,  simple  view  of 
right  should  be  presented  without  disguise.  High  principles  are  to 
be  advanced  as  real  laws  ;  the  vague  uncertaint3'  wrapped  round 
them  by  unmeaning  professions  and  practical  renunciation  is  to  be 
stripped  away,  and  thej'  are  to  be  firmly  set  up  as  standards  for 
the  judgment  of  all  men,  pubhc  and  private.  No  air  of  superiority, 
contempt,  auger,  no  fault-finding,  cynicism,  no  thought  of  self, 
should  niingle  with  this  testimony  to  right ;  but  a  true  love  of  man- 
kind, a  reverence  of  virtue,  a  desire  to  elevate  all  men  to  the  noble- 
ness for  which  the}'  are  destined,  should  manifest  the  depth  and 
purity  of  our  moral  convictions." 

"  An  all-pervading  devotion  to  goodness  should  stamp  the  whole 
character,  conduct,  conversation.  But  wisdom  should  guide  this 
frankness.  The  mind  should  not  be  borne  away  by  a  fervor  which 
it  cannot  restrain.  There  should  be  manifest  self-direction  and 
dignified  self-command.  Let  there  be  no  whining  sentimentality 
about  virtue,  but  a  maul}'  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  char- 
acter to  which  every  child  of  God  should  attain,  —  a  calm  elevation 
of  thouglit  and  aim,  — a  cordial  s^unpathy  with  all  that  is  generous 
in  society  and  individuals,  —  a  deep  sense  of  the  reality  and  prac- 
ticableness  of  heavenly  excellence,  —  a  rational,  3^et  glowing,  con- 
sciousness of  the  true  glory  of  a  spu'itual  being.  The  presence  of 
our  fellow-men  should  not  rob  us  of  self-respect,  should  not  restrain 
us,  —  restrain  the  will  from  energ}',  the  intellect  from  bold  and 


372  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

freest  thought,  the  conscience  from  prescribing  highest  duties. 
We  must  be  palsied  by  no  fear  to  offend,  no  desire  to  please,  no 
dependence  upon  the  judgment  of  others.  The  consciousness  of 
self-subsistence,  of  disinterested  conformity  to  high  principle,  must 
communicate  an  open  unreserve  to  our  manners.  We  should  never 
distrust  the  power  of  a  great  truth  fairly  uttered.  To  act  on 
others,  there  must  be  decision  of  intellect  as  well  as  of  affection, 
—  a  resolute  energy  of  the  whole  man." 

"What  a  privilege  it  is  to  awaken  in  the  souls  of  men  a  con- 
sciousness of  their  moral  relationship  to  God  !  This  truly  is  a 
creative  work.  In  proportion  as  the  spiritual  gains  predominance 
over  the  material  in  our  nature,  does  not  the  soul  take  possession  of 
the  body,  shine  through  its  features,  attitude,  looks,  and  reveal 
itself  to  those  whom  words  cannot  reach?  What  faith  in  God  and 
virtue  may  a  tone  express  !  Do  we  comprehend  the  power  of  love, 
when  it  truly  reigns  in  us,  how  it  encircles  us  with  an  atmosphere, 
pervades  those  around  us,  melts  down  resistance,  soothes  excite- 
ment? A  mighty  love,  diffusing  itself  through  eye,  voice,  form, 
what  can  it  not  accomplish?  Should  we  not  raise  ourselves  to  this 
state  of  calm  intenseness  of  love?  No  man  knows  the  measure  of 
his  influence  till  this  force  abides  in  him.  How  many  all  around 
us  are  really  dead  !  But  who  can  lie  inert  and  torpid  before  the 
presence  of  an  absorbing,  overflowing  affection  ?  Christ's  life  was 
a  revelation  of  the  spiritual  love  which  filled  him.  Such  a  love, 
and  such  a  life,  should  be  sought  by  us." 

"  The  minister  is  to  speak  as  did  Christ,  listening  to  the  Divine 
Oracle,  and  ready  to  suffer,  and  to  die,  if  need  be,  for  the  truth. 
A  superiority  to  all  outward  considerations  is  the  first  qualification 
for  the  rightful  pursuit  of  his  profession.  If  he  desires  to  stand 
fair  with  men,  he  will  be  a  traitor  to  his  Lord.  If  he  asks  himself 
what  will  please  his  hearers,  rather  than  what  will  benefit  them,  he 
desecrates  his  calling.  Is  he  whose  very  work  is  to  reform  society 
to  take  societ}^  as  his  rule  ?  The  Christian  minister  is  not  sent  to 
preach  cold  abstractions,  to  talk  of  virtue  and  vice  in  general  terms, 
to  weave  moral  essays  for  his  hearers  to  admire  and  to  sleep  on ; 
but  he  is  sent  to  quicken  men's  consciences,  and  to  show  them  to 
themselves  as  they  are.  On  all  subjects,  where  his  convictions  are 
in  conflict  with  prevailing  usages,  he  is  bound  to  speak  frankly, 
though  calmly.  Not  that  he  is  to  deal  in  vague  and  passionate 
denunciation,  to  be  a  common  scold,  a  meddlesome  fault-finder. 
But  if  he  thinks  the  manufacture  and  sale  of  ardent  spirits  a  sin 
against  society,  he  is  to  say  so  ;  if  he  believes  that  the  sending  of 
rum  and  opium  to  savage  nations,  to  spread  among  them  the  worst 


TEMPTATIONS   OF  THE  TIMES.  373 

evils  of  civilization,  is  a  wanton  crime,  he  is  to  declare  his  opinion  ; 
if  he  considers  the  maxims  of  the  business-world  hostile  to  integrity 
and  benevolence,  he  is  to  expose  their  falseness." 

"At  the  present  da}',  there  is  little  need  of  cautioning  ministers 
against  rashness  in  reproving  evil.  The  danger  is  all  on  the  other 
side.  As  a  class,  they  are  most  slow  to  give  offence.  Their 
temptation  is  to  sacrifice  much  to  win  the  affections  of  their  people. 
Too  many  satisfy-  themselves  with  holding  together  a  congregation 
by  amenity  of  manners,  and  by  such  compromises  with  prevalent 
evils  as  do  not  involve  open  criminality.  They  live  by  the  means 
of  those  whose  vices  the}'  should  reprove,  and  thus  are  continually 
ensnared  by  a  selfish  prudence.  Is  it  said,  that  the}'  have  families 
dependent  upon  them,  who  may  suffer  for  their  fidelity?  I  answer, 
Let  no  minister  marry,  then,  unless  the  wife  he  chooses  have  such 
a  spirit  of  martyrdom  as  would  make  her  prefer  to  be  stinted  in 
daily  bread  rather  than  see  her  husband  sacrifice  one  jot  or  tittle  of 
his  moral  independence.  Is  it  said,  that  congregations  would  be 
broken  up  by  perfect  freedom  in  the  ministers  ?  Better  far  would 
it  be  to  preach  to  empty  pews,  or  in  the  meanest  halls,  and  there 
to  be  a  fearless,  disinterested  witness  to  the  truth,  than  to  hold 
forth  to  crowds  in  gorgeous  cathedrals,  honored  and  courted,  but 
not  daring  to  speak  one's  honest  convictions,  and  awed  by  the 
world." 

"  How  shall  the  minister  quicken  and  preserve  a  heavenly  tone 
of  spirit?  Let  him  cherish  an  habitual  consciousness  of  God's 
infinitely  tender,  paternal  love  for  every  human  being,  and  of  the 
infinite  capacity  of  goodness  in  all  spirits.  Let  him  accustom  him- 
self to  regard  each  individual  with  whom  he  holds  intercourse  as 
made  and  designed  for  wisdom,  love,  power,  happiness,  without 
hmits.  Let  him  learn  to  regard  all  men  as  now  related  to  God  and 
good  spirits,  and  as  welcomed  to  an  endless  participation  in  the 
ever-unfolding,  infinitely  bene\'olent  designs  of  God.  Let  him  joy- 
fully and  unreservedly  consecrate  himself  to  this  work  of  elevating 
souls,  concentrate  his  whole  being  upon  it,  forget  comparatively 
everything  but  this  divine  end  of  human  development,  esteem  all 
power  and  opportunity  as  of  worth  in  proportion  as  they  are  appli- 
cable to  this  great  purpose,  and  resolve  to  live  and  die  in  advancing 
GdcTs  plan  of  spiritual  perfection.  Let  him  not  permit  himself  to  be 
distracted  by  little  interests,  inconveniences,  engagements,  but 
secure  such  outward  accommodations  as  favor  health,  and  think 
no  more  of  circumstances  ;  thus  will  he  avoid  frittering  away  his 
strength  in  petty  details,  and  keep  his  soul  whole  for  great  objects. 
Let  him  abstain  from  living  in  his  own  past  deeds,  and  waste  no 


374  THE   MINISTRY   AND  LITERATURE. 

energy  of  thought  or  will  in  self-complacent  recollections  or  idle 
regrets,  but  use  success,  praise,  reputation,  position,  as  a  ground 
of  nobler  efforts  and  larger  hopes,  as  an  incentive  and  encourage- 
ment to  wider  usefulness.  Let  him  be  wise  in  labor,  so  as  not  to 
exhaust  the  elastic  force  of  mind  and  thought,  and  be  habitually 
calm,  so  as  to  maintain  that  clearness  of  purpose  on  which  enduring 
strength  of  wiU  depends.  Let  him  put  all  his  powers  in  tune,  and 
make  his  whole  life  harmonious  by  inward  unit}-.  Above  all,  let 
him  constantly  look  up  to  God  as  the  all-communicating  Father, 
from  whom  pour  down  into  the  faithful  soul  unfailing  streams  of 
spiritual  life." 

CENTRAL  TRUTHS  TO  BE  TAUGHT. — THE  TRUE  REVIVAL. 

"  Are  there  not  seasons  of  spring  in  the  moral  world,  and  is  not 
the  present  age  one  of  them?  Is  not  a  new  power  now  making 
itself  felt?  Are  we  not  all  asleep?  Is  there  any  just  sensibility  to 
our  connection  with  God  and  the  eternal  world  ?  Is  it  an  improve- 
ment of  the  existing  forms  of  religion  which  is  wanted,  or  a  new 
form  of  religion  at  once  more  intimate  and  more  universal?  Is  a 
nobler  manifestation  of  religion  to  be  given,  independent  of  and 
superior  to  preceding  modes  of  manifesting  it,  and  comi)reliending 
and  reconciling  all?  Can  a  nobler  life  be  revealed  to  men,  which 
the}'  will  feel  to  be  nobler,  as  placed  in  contrast  with  i)resent  evils? 
Can  a  new  condition  of  society  be  presented  in  a  spirit  raised  above 
actual  degradations,  so  that  the  brightness  of  the  Divine  Life  may 
be  seen  to  dim  all  other  interests,  and  draw  to  itself  the  entire 
energy  of  human  thougiit  and  feeling  ?  " 

"  Is  God  seen  to  be  a  Parent?  Is  not  the  intercourse  with  him 
too  formal?  Do  we  not  need  an  exhibition  of  his  near  relations  to 
us,  which  will  awaken  a  more  filial,  rejoicing,  confiding  piety?  Do 
we  believe  that  he  loves  us,  loves  us  injiuitehj^  that  a  stream  of  good- 
ness is  forever  flowing  down  upon  us,  that  he  delights  in  forgiving, 
that  he  joyfully  welcomes  his  returning  children?  Is  this  the  great 
view  to  be  presented,  that  God  is  desirous  to  impart  liimseJf  to  us, 
to  unite  us  to  him  in  perfect  love?  An}'  view  of  God,  of  wiiich 
love  is  not  the  centre,  is  injurious  to  the  soul  wliich  receives  it.  Is 
not  religion  to  be  unfolded  as  a  profound,  serene  lo\e  of  a  IMoral 
Parent,  who  calls  us  to  immortal  glory,  who  by  duty  is  guiding  us 
to  a  nearer  perception  of  his  own  glory,  to  resemblance  to  himself, 
to  communion  with  him  forever?  Is  not  this  faith  in  the  perfect 
love  of  God  the  grand,  commanding,  centi'al  view  which  is  to  fill 
the  thouglits,  to  take  strong  hold  on  the  will,  to  excite  a  calm,  full, 
concentrated  enthusiasm  ?  " 


DIVINE  BENIGNITY.  375 

"  Are  we  not  to  aim  chiefl}'  at  calling  forth  in  men  a  conscious- 
ness of  their  capacity  for  embracing  God  and  the  universe  in  a  pure 
love, — a  love  unfolding  without  limit  in  strength  and  vastness? 
Is  not  this  perfection  of  soul  to  be  brought  before  men  as  a  great 
reality  ?  Are  the}'  not  to  be  taught  to  see  the  germs  of  it  in  the 
common  affections  which  move  them,  in  the  moral  principle,  and, 
above  all,  in  their  capacity'  of  communion  with  the  Infinite  Foun- 
tain of  all  goodness,  joy,  beauty,  life?  Is  it  not  the  main  design 
of  Christianity-  to  give  a  revelation  of  this  love  as  the  end  of  man, 
and  as  God's  ever-fresh  inspiration?  Is  not  the  world  within  thus 
to  be  laid  open,  and  the  spiritual  glory  of  which  all  outward  splen- 
dor is  the  faint  emblem  made  clear,  until  men  are  taught  to  feel  a 
divine  joy  in  their  own  nature  ?  Should  not  the  great  aim  be  to 
awaken  the  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  the  soul,  and  a  rever- 
ence for  the  moral  element  in  man  as  an  emanation  from  the  Infi- 
nite Being,  as  God's  image,  voice,  life  within  us?  He  who  would 
promote  this  great  reformation,  for  which  the  religious  world  is 
now  ready,  should  live  with  a  vivid,  absorbing  compreliension  of 
the  Divine  Life.  It  should  each  day  revive  him,  be  a  perpetual 
light  to  him,  determine  his  views  of  society,  and  give  a  tone  to 
every  word  and  action." 

"  A  new  voice  is  needed,  a  voice  of  the  deepest,  calmest,  most 
quickening  conviction,  in  which  the  whole  soul  speaks,  in  which 
every  affection  and  facultj-  is  concentrated.  The  divinity  of  good- 
ness must  burn  within  us,  —  must  awaken  all  our  sensibility,  call 
the  whole  being  into  action,  come  forth  irresistibly  as  from  an 
exhaustless,  overflowing  fountain,  —  must  give  to  tlie  voice  a  pene- 
trating power,  and  infuse  through  the  whole  manner  an  inspiring 
animation.  What  is  this  new  spirit  which  is  striving  to  utter  itself, 
to  give  a  new  manifestation  of  the  soul  in  individuals,  a  new  form 
to  society,  and  to  awaken  enthusiasm  in  overcoming  evil?  The 
knowledge  of  the  Perfect  God  as  Infinite  Goodness,  Infinite  Energy 
of  Good-Will,  All-communicating,  All-inspiring  Love,  —  is  not 
this  the  great  truth  ?  Must  not  religion  be  presented  habitually  as 
such  an  exercise  of  the  moral  power  in  pure,  enlarging  charity  as 
will  bring  us  within  the  near  and  constant  influence  of  Infinite 
Goodness,  till  the  whole  being  is  penetrated  with  this  spirit  of 
disinterestedness,  and  filled  witli  trust,  gratitude,  sympathj',  hope, 
joyful  co-operation?  Philanthropy,  a  noble,  victorious  benevolence, 
like  that  of  Christ,  is  to  be  the  great  end,  —  not  a  precise,  defined 
virtue,  but  an  expansive,  ever-enlarging  action  of  goodness.  And 
this  love  must  not  be  vague,  abstract,  spiritual  merely,  but  wise, 
practical,  specific,  efficient,  just,  tender,  vigorous,  in  all  relations, — 


876  THE   MINISTRY   AND   LITERATURE. 

of  home,  of  friendship,  of  society  at  large,  of  patriotism,  of  hu- 
manity." 

"  A  profound  conviction  of  God's  moral  purposes  to  men,  of  his 
design  to  exalt  the  soul  infinitely,  must  kindle  a  purpose  in  us  vast 
and  enduring  as  his  own,  give  us  faith  in  the  possibilit}'  of  redeem- 
ing mankind,  give  us  a  respect  for  every  individual,  make  us  feel 
our  unity  with  all.  God  must  be  regarded  as  enjoining  this  unlim- 
ited love,  as  calling  us  to  universal  brotherhood,  and  forbidding  all 
that  separates  us  from  our  kind.  He  is  to  be  looked  up  to  as  the 
ever-quickening  source  of  life  to  all  men,  as  the  all-embracing,  all- 
communicating  spiritual  Father  of  every  human  being.  Love  is  to 
be  cherished  as  the  fountain  of  spiritual  life  within  us  ;  we  are  to  feel 
an  adoring,  grateful  sympath}'  with  the  Divine  Love,  which  will 
prompt  us  to  breathe  it  in,  and  to  be  renewed  by  its  power  in 
the  image  of  God.  Man  is  to  be  loved  as  God's  child,  as  God's 
temple,  as  the  being  in  whom  God  reveals  himself,  and  presents 
himself  to  us  for  our  love.  A  confidence  in  the  Divine  benig- 
nity is  to  show  itself  in  our  unfaltering  efl['orts  to  lift  up  the  race, 
to  awaken  all  that  is  generous  and  noble  in  the  soul,  to  remove 
obstructions  to  human  elevation,  to  breathe  into  all  men  a  con- 
sciousness of  their  greatness  and  a  reverence  for  their  fellows. 
We  are  to  be  animated  with  this  new  life  of  love,  —  of  love  for  man 
as  man^  —  a  love  which  embraces  all,  of  ever}'  rank  and  character, 

—  which  forgets  divisions  and  outward  distinctions,  —  breaks  down 
the  old  partition  walls, — sees  a  divine  spark  in  every  intelligence, 

—  longs  to  redress  the  existing  inequalities  of  societ}*,  to  elevate 
all  conditions  of  men  to  true  dignity,  to  use  wealth  only  as  a  means 
of  extensive  union,  not  of  separation,  —  which  substitutes  generous 
motives  for  force,  —  which  sees  nothing  degrading  in  labor,  but 
honors  all  useful  occupation,  —  which  everywhere  is  conscious  of 
the  just  claims  and  rights  of  all,  resisting  the  idolatry  of  tiie  few, 
ceasing  to  worship  the  gj-eat,  calling  upon  the  mighty  to  save,  not 
crush,  the  weak,  from  reverence  for  our  common  nature,  —  and 
which,  in  a  word,  recognizes  the  infinite  worth  of  every  human 
spirit.  This  is  the  true  spirit  for  the  minister,  a  love  like  that  of 
Jesus  on  the  cross,  which  sacrifices  all  to  the  well-being  of  man, 
and  tlie  glory  and  infinite  designs  of  God." 

" 'J'o  raise  up  the  fallen  world,  the  minister  needs  some  sublime 
objects  which  can  fire  the  imagination,  stir  the  whole  souls  of  men, 
and  waken  them  from  their  selfishness,  — some  principles  suited  to 
human  nature,  —  some  truths  fitted  to  work  penetratingly,  with 
mighty  renewing  power.  How  much  is  lost  by  adulterating  the 
truth,  by  bringing  it  down  to  the  condition  of  existing  society- ! 


THE   GREATNESS   OF  MAN'S  DESTINY.  377 

Christ  stood  alone.  True  Christianity  still  stands  in  contrast  with 
the  spirit  of  the  world.  Its  ministers  should  be  more  uncompro- 
mising, searching,  pungent  in  their  preaching.  Men  need  some- 
thing which  will  take  a  strong  hold  of  them,  rouse  them  up  to 
earnest,  resolute  action  on  themselves.  What  are  these  great 
truths,  principles,  objects?  What  are  the  central  truths  to  be 
taught?  Is  not  the  character  of  God  as  a  Moral  Parent,  an  Infi- 
nite Fulness  and  Fountain  of  Perfection,  —  who  gives  moral  powers 
to  his  children  for  infinite  development,  who  desires  to  communi- 
cate his  own  life,  who  has  no  other  end  in  creation,  who  is  alwa^'s 
present  with  infinite,  parental  interest  in  the  soul,  — is  not  this  the 
truth  of  truths  which  is  to  quicken  us,  and  to  reveal  the  ineffably 
glorious  end  within  our  reach  ?  Cannot  this  spiritual  perfection,  in 
all  its  excellence,  beauty,  power,  be  made  a  visible  reality  to  men, 
and  be  set  forth  to  them  as  the  supreme  good,  the  condition  of  all 
other  good,  — as  that  in  which  all  other  good  is  contained,  and  in 
giving  which  God  gives  all  things." 

"  What  a  quickening  thought  is  it,  what  a  ground  of  infinite 
hope,  that  God  has  given  us  a  nature  like  his  own  !  —  that  the 
whole  universe  is  formed  as  a  field  for  its  nutriment  and  growth  !  — 
that  all  our  relations  with  nature,  society',  family,  are  designed  to 
call  out  this  hoi}-  love  !  Should  not  heaven  be  presented  as  essen- 
tially consisting  in  goodness,  in  a  joyful  communion  with  God,  with 
good  spirits,  with  the  universe,  b}'  an  all-pervading  love?  Cannot 
the  practical  errors,  means,  and  processes  of  spiritual  growth  be 
explained?  Moral  perfection,  of  which  all  particular  virtues  are 
the  gern)s, — is  not  this  the  grand  thought  which  shows  the  true 
glory  of  the  soul,  which  reveals  to  us  the  infinite  love  of  God  and 
the  immensity  of  his  designs  of  benevolence,  wdiich  gives  such  pro- 
found and  awful  interest  to  our  relations  with  him?  God's  infinity, 
—  does  it  not  make  all  things  possible  to  us?  —  does  it  not  open 
before  us  an  infinite  future  of  progress?  —  does  it  not  offer  to  us  a 
Being  of  exhaustless  love,  with  w-hom  we  may  commune  moi-e  inti- 
mately for  ever?  What  will  he  not  be  to  us,  if  we  heartily  adopt 
and  obey  his  law?  What  will  he  not  communicate  from  his  fulness 
to  those  who  use  their  moral  power  to  avail  themselves  of  his  om- 
nipotence ?  " 

"  The  distinguishing  glory  of  Christ's  character  is  to  be  brought 
out  and  unfolded  with  new  power.  Is  he  viewed  enough  as  a 
whole?  Is  it  seen  that  his  virtue  was  a  perfect,  harmonious  one? 
The  blessedness  of  the  spirit  of  Christ,  as  a  universal  love  wliich  can 
choose,  at  all  sacrifices,  the  highest  good,  and  give  self  wdiolly  up 
in  disinterested  service,  —  this  is  to  be  shown  in  all  its  quickening 


378  THE   MINISTRY   AND   LITERATURE. 

realit}- ;  it  is  to  be  exhibited  as  God's  own  spirit,  tlie  inspiration  of 
tlie  Holy  Gliost,  the  principle  of  heavenl}'  life,  the  bond  of  vital  union 
with  the  Divine  Being,  the  germ  of  infinite  and  eternal  virtue. 
God  is  the  source,  object,  model,  of  this  perfect  love.  His  infinite 
excellence  gives  infinite  glorj-  to  the  soul  which  is  fixed  on  him  as 
its  object.  This  goodness  is  his  delight ;  he  nourishes  it  in  us, 
renews  it  from  himself,  makes  it  one  with  him.  The  true  good,  to 
which  the  soul  should  turn,  is  moral  likeness  to  God,  being  perfect 
as  he  is  perfect.  This  union  with  him,  this  devotion  to  the  cause 
of  spreading  his  kingdom  through  the  universe,  is  the  spirit  of 
Christ.  This  makes  Christ's  character  the  image  of  the  Infinite 
Beaut}-.  This  is  to  be  taught  as  the  onh-  true  life.  Christ  taught 
an  abandonment  of  all  objects  which  men  delight  in,  from  a  profound 
and  earnest  aspiration  after  perfect  goodness.  Shall  the  ministers 
of  Christ  make  compromises  with  lower  principles?  Shall  they 
bring  Christianit}'  down  to  the  standard  of  the  world?" 

"  Nothing  will  be  done  by  the  minister  till  he  arouses  in  men  a 
fervent  energy  of  the  moral  principle.  Decenc}',  prudence,  self- 
interest,  regard  to  comfort,  respectability,  are  nothing.  Men 
must  be  made  to  thirst  for  perfect  goodness,  to  see  its  eternal 
beauty,  to  long  for  it  with  the  full  force  of  their  spiritual  affections. 
Will  not  the  heart  respond  to  the  claims  of  God  and  Christ  and 
celestial  virtue,  when  plainl}-  urged?  Is  there  not  an  inward  ten- 
dency of  our  spiritual  being  to  moral  perfection,  which  insures 
a  joyful  acquiescence  in  the  highest  appeals?  May  not  men  be 
made  to  see  the  rudiments  of  these  heavenly  capacities  in  them- 
selves,—  to  feel  that  they  have  experienced  a  peculiar  joy  in  love, 
■ —  that  they  have  gained  new  life  by  sacrifices  to  uprightness  ?  Un- 
bounded progress  in  virtue,  in  love,  light,  power,  —  all-embracing 
philanthroi)y,  —  the  absorption  of  selfishness  in  universal  good- 
will,—  victory  over  debasing  influences, — spiritual  Uberation  from 
all  low  impulses,  —  the  ever-near  influences  of  the  Holy  Sjjirit,  — 
the  divine  love  manifested  in  Christ,  —  the  almighty  design  of  God 
to  redeem  men  from  all  iniquity,  —  the  prospect  of  immortality,  of 
never-ending  api)roach  to  God,  of  ever-growing  participation  in  his 
life,  and  ever-widening  co-operation  with  his  beneficence,  —  these 
ai-e  the  great  truths  which  come  home  with  irresistible  power  to  the 
divine  principle  within  us.  Ought  any  views  but  these  to  be  pre- 
sented? He  alone  can  speak  of  sin  as  an  infinite  evil,  and  con- 
centrate against  it  the  whole  energy  of  the  soul's  aversion,  dread, 
displeasure,  who  has  risen  into  the  Divine  light,  who  Las  faith  in 
the  unlimited  capacities  of  our  spiritual  nature,  who  perceives  the 
reality  of  heavenl}'  goodness,  who  knows  that  by  love  man  has 
attinit}-  to  God." 


TRUE  PREACHING.  379 

TRUE    PREACHING. 

"lean  conceive  of  a  style  of  preaching  seldom  heard  as  yet. 
It  will  spring  from  the  conviction  of  a  higher  state  of  humanity  as 
possible  now,  and  must  come  from  the  souls  of  teachers  who  have 
reached  to  that  new  state  themselves.  Would  not  a  preacher,  really 
inspired  with  the  grandeur  of  Christian  virtue,  come  into  so  vivify- 
ing a  union  with  the  minds  of  his  hearers  as  to  raise  them  to  an 
intensity  of  intellectual  and  moral  action  of  which  they  were  inca- 
pable before?  In  proportion  as  the  minister  attains  to  this  eleva- 
tion, he  will  speak  with  plainness  and  without  evasion.  There  is  a 
certain  fastidious  way  of  treating  subjects,  as  if  they  would  be  tar- 
nished by  direct  speech,  which  destroys  the  power  of  preachers. 
The  minister  has  other  work  than  to  amuse  men.  Grace,  harmony, 
energy,  should  be  blended  and  merged  in  the  unity  of  the  sublime 
end  to  which  they  all  conspire.  No  poetical,  imaginative  air  should 
color  his  discourse  ;  but  divine  goodness  should  be  spoken  of  as  the 
great  practical  reality.  He  must  arouse  the  conscience  to  its  sol- 
emn claims  ;  he  must  waken  the  will  to  the  earnest  and  resolute 
pursuit  of  it.  He  should  speak  with  urgency,  —  not  that  urgency 
which  belongs  to  personal  and  narrow  interests,  but  that  which 
befits  a  mind  exalted  by  the  living  knowledge  of  an  infinite  good." 

"  We  ought  to  stand  up  before  men  so  filled  with  the  greatness 
and  beneficence  of  our  function,  as  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  self, 
and  utterly  superior  to  frowns  or  favor,  —  strong,  serene,  free,  in- 
spired. For  true  eloquence  there  is  but  one  preparation  ;  it  is  to 
make  the  thought  of  spiritual  perfection,  of  God's  life  within  the 
soul,  real  to  ourselves  by  habitual  experience.  We  need  calm, 
collected,  fearless  minds,  elevated  by  the  contemplation  of  spiritual 
truth,  and  brought  near  to  men  by  a  most  earnest  feeling  of  brother- 
hood. O  the  unspeakable  littleness  of  a  soul  which,  intrusted  with 
Christianity,  speaking  in  God's  name  to  immortal  beings,  with 
infinite  excitements  to  the  most  enlarged  and  fervent  love,  sinks 
down  into  narrow  self-regard,  and  is  chiefly  solicitous  of  its  own 
honor !  The  pulpit  should  be  to  the  minister  an  altar,  upon  which 
he  may  offer  himself  up  as  a  living  sacrifice,  pure,  spotless." 

"The  minister  is  to  speak  with  the  same  conviction  of  spiritual 
life  that  filled  Jesus  Christ.  He  is  to  be  truly  an  inspired,  Heaven- 
ordained  prophet.  What  sanctity,  what  separation  from  selfish 
views,  what  entire  dedication  of  his  whole  being  to  the  recovery, 
freedom,  growth,  perfection  of  the  immortal  spirit  should  ciiarac- 
terize  him !  His  whole  life  should  be  a  discipline  of  purification 
from  earthly  influences.  He  should  be  a  perpetual  testimony  of 
godlike  goodness  to  the  world  which  he  would  raise.     He  should 


380  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

so  live,  that  the  Spirit  may  shine  out  through  him,  and  quicken  all! 
around  him.  Wliat  an  office,  —  to  awaken  the  divine  in  man  ! 
The  glorious  form  of  humanity  set  before  us  in  Christ  should  be 
ever  before  the  minister.  The  preacher  can  never  preach  as  he 
ought,  never  write  or  speak  with  the  power  belonging  to  his  office, 
unless  he  feels  ever  present  the  deep  conviction  of  union  with  God 
and  Christ  and  all  good  spirits.  He  is  not  alone.  The  mightiest 
energies  in  the  universe  are  co-operating  with  him.  He  must  blend 
himself  with  God's  grand  reconciling  agencies.  The  Roman,  the 
Spartan,  could  merge  his  own  individual  good  in  the  national  well- 
being.  In  a  far  higher  tone  of  feeling,  the  minister  should  enter 
into,  and  be  absorbed  by,  the  Spiritual  Community  of  which  God 
is  the  Life." 

The  fervent  enthusiasm  with  which  Dr.  Channing  regarded  the 
privileges  and  responsibilities  of  his  profession,  and  his  vivid  sense 
of  the  grand  tendencies  of  the  age  towards  an  embodiment  in  social 
life  of  the  spirit  of  love,  made  him  most  anxiously  desire  to  see  a 
body  of  young  men  entering  the  ministr}',  who  could  rise  above 
sectarian  enthralments  and  worldlj'  hindrances,  and  give  themselves 
up  unreservedly  to  the  work  of  advancing  a  revival  of  practical 
goodness.  This  state  of  mind  appears  in  all  his  printed  sermons 
of  this  period,*  as  well  as  in  his  private  papers,  from  which  we 
select  the  two  following. 

The  first  is  a  letter  to  Henr}^  Ware,  Jun.,  who  had  just  been 
appointed  Professor  of  Pastoral  Care  in  tlie  Cambridge  Divinity 
School,  and  was  about  entering  upon  the  otHcc  in  which,  for  so 
many  years,  he  oi)ened  his  pure  and  earnest  spirit  as  a  fountain  of 
living  watei's  for  his  younger  brethren.  Humble  as  he  was  wise, 
Mr.  Ware  had  sought  counsel  from  Dr.  Channing  as  to  the  best 
modes  of  performing  his  duties,  and  the  following  is  the  reply  to 
his  letter :  — 

"St.  Croi.x,  January  29,  1831. 

"Mv  DEAR  Sir, —  ....  I  will  begin  with  answering  the  end  of 
3'our  letter.  You  ask  my  views  respecting  your  vvorlc.  The  discourse 
which  30U  have  thought  fit  to  publish  from  my  volume  shows  3-ou 
the  spirit  which,  as  I  think,  should  characterize  the  institution. 
I  wish  the  young  men  to  be  more  and  more  imbued  with  the  '  s[)irit 
of  truth,'  the  supreme  love  of  truth,  the  least  understood,  least 
honored,  least  cherished  of  the  virtues,  and  yet  the  cardinal  virtue 
of  a  religious  teacher.  It  is  not  hard  to  stir  up  young  men  to  seek 
distinction  by  pai-adoxes  and   startling  novelties ;    but   to  inspire 

1  Works,  Vol.  III.,  pp.  137,  207,  227,  257.  One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  2G9, 
246,  291,  257. 


SPIRIT  OF  MARTYRDOM.  381 

that  love  of  truth  which  makes  the  young  fear  their  own  errors  as 
much  as  those  of  others,  opens  the  mind  to  every  new  ray  of  Ught, 
and  quickens  it  to  improvement  in  all  known  virtue,  as  the  best 
preparation  for  knowing  higlier,  —  this  is  no  easy  task.  And  yet, 
until  a  new  thirst  for  truth,  such,  I  fear,  as  is  not  now  felt,  takes 
possession  of  some  gifted  minds,  we  shall  make  little  progress. 
I  apprehend  that  there  is  but  one  way  of  putting  an  end  to  our 
present  dissensions  ;  and  that  is,  not  the  triumph  of  any  existing 
system  over  all  others,  but  the  acquisition  of  something  better  than 
tiie  best  we  now  have.  The  way  to  reconcile  men  who  are  quar- 
relling in  a  fog  is  to  let  in  some  new  and  brighter  light.  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  are  fighting  now  in  a  low,  misty  valley.  A  man 
who  should  gain  some  elevated  position,  overlooking  our  imagined 
heights  of  thought,  and  who  v,ould  lead  us  after  him,  would  set  us 
all  right  in  a  short  time. 

"Another  idea  expressed  in  my  discourse  impresses  me  more; 
and  that  is,  the  importance  of  a  spii'it  of  martyrdom.  No  man  is 
fitted  to  preach  or  promote  Christianity  who  is  not  fitted  to  die  for 
it.  He  in  whom  the  pure  and  sublime  virtue  of  Christianity  has 
not  wrought  the  conviction  of  its  own  unrivalled  worth  and  glory, 
so  that  he  can  '  count  all  things  loss  for  it,'  cannot  go  forth  with 
the  power  which  is  necessary  for  one  who  is  to  be  its  minister  in 
this  crooked  and  perverse  generation. 

"I  think,  in  my  discourse,  that  I  did  not  attach  suflScient  im- 
portance to  the  spirit  of  humility.  I  am  satisfied  that,  when  Jesus 
said,  '  He  that  shall  humble  himself  as  a  little  child,  the  same  is 
greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven,'  he  meant  by  greatness  singular 
efficiency  and  eminence  in  promoting  his  religion.  By  humility,  in 
this  place,  we  are  to  understand  the  triumph  of  love  over  the  passion 
for  superiority,  and  a  deep  sympathy  with  the  w^eakest  and  lowest 
of  our  brethren.  All  our  institutions  —  domestic,  political,  and 
religious  —  are  feeding  the  passion  for  distinction  and  superiority; 
and  yet  nothing,  I  believe,  is  so  hostile  to  the  poiver  which  a  min- 
ister should  covet  above  all  things,  —  the  power  of  approaching  the 
souls  of  men,  and  of  communicating  to  them  what  is  best  in  his 
own  soul.  If  I  could,  I  would  blot  out  from  the  minds  of  our  j'oung 
men  the  ideas  of  distinction  and  superiority.  I  would  have  them 
venerate  the  Divine  image  in  their  poorest  fellow-creatures  too 
much  to  think  of  making  them  subservient  to  their  own  glory.  I 
would  have  them  specially  concerned  for  the  poor,  ignorant,  and 
suffering  ;  and,  for  this  end,  I  wish  they  would  work  with  Dr. 
Tuckerman  in  the  ministry  at  large." 

The  second  is  a  brief  essay  on  Public  Prayer,  which  Dr.  Chan- 


382  THE   MINISTRY   AND   LITERATURE. 

ning  wrote  out,  at  INIr.  Ware's  request,  for  the  use  of  the  students 
in  the  Divmity  School. 

"  Public  praj'er  answers  its  end  in  proportion  as  it  makes  the 
hearer  pra}'.  To  excite  the  spirit  of  prayer  in  the  congregation  is  the 
test  of  true  public  devotion. 

"  Prayer  is  the  expression  of  deep  want  to  a  Being  of  Infinite 
Fulness  and  Goodness. 

"The  spirit  of  prayer,  therefore,  consists  in  consciousness  of 
deep  want,  and  in  faith  in  God's  infinite  power  and  willingness  to 
supply. 

'•The  minister,  to  excite  this  spirit  in  others,  must  possess  it 
himself,  that  is,  must  cherish  this  consciousness  and  this  faith. 

"The  want  which  prayer  breathes  is  spiritual,  or  the  want  of 
spiritual  life,  of  moral  perfection,  of  godlike  love,  of  redemption 
from  moral  evil,  of  spotless  purit}',  of  union  with  God,  of  universal 
charit}',  «&;c. 

"  No  minister  can  pray  aright  in  whom  this  want  is  not  deeply 
felt.  It  should  be  intense,  —  the  3'carning  of  his  soul.  To  excite 
it,  his  mind  should  turn  often  to  its  object,  —  that  is,  to  moral  per- 
fection, as  manifested  in  God,  in  Christ,  in  great  and  hoi}'  men,  —  to 
virtue,  in  its  most  lovely  and  inspiring  forms,  to  the  workings  of 
the  spiritual  life  in  himself  and  others,  and  to  all  the  motives  by 
which  moral  excellence  will  become  to  him  the  supreme  good,  ab- 
sorbing all  others. 

"  Another  means  of  exciting  this  consciousness  is  this.  When 
the  bright  idea  of  moral,  Christian  excellence  is  awakening  strong 
aspiration,  he  should  look  into  himself  and  see  his  deep  deliciency, 
and  learn  the  greatness  of  his  want,  the  vastness  of  the  change 
required  to  realize  his  conception  of  excellence. 

"  But  faith  is  as  needful  as  consciousness  of  want;  and  to  cher- 
ish this,  nothing  is  so  important  as  to  view  God  in  the  peculiar 
light  in  which  he  is  placed  by  Christianity.  The  minister  must 
habitually  look  up  to  him  as  a  Spiritual  Fatlier  and  Fountain,  as 
having  an  infinite  interest  in  the  human  soul,  as  desiring  its  re- 
covery and  perfection,  as  ever  present  to  give  his  S[)irit,  and  as 
having  sent  his  Son  to  manifest  him  in  this  character,  and  to 
awaken  this  faith  in  his  si)iritual  love.  Until  this  view  of  God 
takes  the  place  of  all  others,  becomes  habitual,  becomes  associated 
with  his  name  and  every  thought  of  him,  we  shall  not  know  the 
full  worth  and  i)ower  of  Christianity,  and  shall  pray  imperfectly. 
Christianity  has  no  liigher  end  than  to  awaken  faith  in  God,  as  the 
Spiritual,  Celestial  Father,  as  the  Friend  of  the  soul,  as  desiring  to 
impart  to  it  a  celestial  life. 


DR.   CHANNING   AS  A  PREACHER.  383 

"  If  these  views  of  prayer  be  just,  then  the  form  of  public  pra^-er 
is  easily  settled. 

"  It  must  be  simple.     Deep  want  is  ambitious  of  no  ornaments. 

"  It  must  avoid  diffusiveness.  Earnest  want  gives  directness  and 
condensation  to  language.  It  must  overflow  with  natural  expres- 
sions of  love,  of  Christian  virtue,  and  of  delight  in  God  as  its 
source.     A  spiritual  tone  must  pervade  it. 

"This  naturalness,  this  expression  of  spiritual  .sensibilities  as  if 
they  formed  the  soul's  essence  and  life,  is  the  chief  power  of  public 
prayer." 

And  now  that  we  have  learned,  in  these  various  waj's,  how  high 
was  Dr.  Channing's  estimate  of  his  vocation,  let  us,  for  a  few 
moments,  regard  him  in  the  active  discharge  of  his  ministerial 
duties.  No  description,  indeed,  can  convey  an  adequate  impression 
of  the  peculiar  charm  of  his  presence  and  manner  as  a  preacher ; 
yet  a  few  outlines  may  awaken  grateful  memories  in  those  who  en- 
jo^'ed  the  privilege  of  listening  to  him,  and,  b^'  the  power  of  sym- 
pathy', may  call  up  some  not  unworthy  image  in  the  minds  of  others 
who  never  breathed  in  his  influence  by  personal  communion.  In 
the  following  familiar  letter  to  a  friend,  a  frequent  hearer  has 
rapidly  sketched  the  effect  of  his  preaching,  and  therein  justly 
delineated  one  source  of  its  power,  —  its  pervading  humanity. 
Without  a  trace  of  sentimentalism.  Dr.  Channing  overflowed  with 
genuine  feeling,  which  was  all  the  more  affecting  because  he  never 
purposely  manifested,  but  rather  restrained,  his  sensibility. 

"  Notwithstanding  Dr.  Channing's  varied  talents,  benignity  is 
the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  his  character.  He  is  fervently 
devout ;  and  when  the  saint  extends  his  arms  to  implore  a  blessing 
on  his  beloved  people,  we  flmcy  his  God  smiles  upon  his  request, 
and  silently  respond,  '  Whom  t/iou  blessest  is  blessed.'  Me  prays  ; 
—  we  hear  the  patriot  intercede  for  his  country,  and  the  philan- 
thropist for  mankind.  His  prayers  are  not  preaching.  He  returns 
thanks  for  natural  afl^ection  and  family  attachments,  and  we  see 
the  dutiful  son,  the  affectionate  brother  and  husband.  Before  he 
read  the  apostolic  precept,  '  Rejoice  with  those  who  do  rejoice,  and 
weep  with  those  that  weep,'  nature  had  written  upon  his  heart  the 
law  of  sympathy,  and  he  never  could  mock  the  ear  of  grief  by  piti- 
less recited  consolation.  Does  he  plead  the  cause  of  the  poor?  We 
shudder  while  '  the  unkind  blast  of  winter  pierces  the  walls  of  the 
decayed  cottage,  and  while  the  half-covered  bed  yields  no  refuge 
from  the  cold.'  His  words  reach  the  heart,  when  he  warns  us  not 
to  repeat,   '  Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven,'  unless  we  are  really 


384  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

brethren  to  the  poor  and  afflicted.  An  attentive  observer  of  life, 
he  deUneates  the  operations  of  the  passions,  and  his  hearers  wliis- 
per,  '  Who  has  betrayed  our  secrets  ?  wliat  penetrating  eye  has 
pierced  our  hearts  ?  liovv  knows  he  so  to  describe  tlie  tortures  of 
envy,  ambition,  and  sliame?'  He  shows  us  tlie  vicious  youth, 
'  irritable  and  desponding,'  a  prey  to  the  agonies  of  remorse,  and 
ready  forcibly  to  stop  the  rapid  pulses  of  his  lieart,  and  we  exclaim, 
'  Forbear !  ibrbear !  the  picture  is  too  faithful ! '  Yet  admiration 
at  his  skill  almost  makes  us  pleased  to  be  pained.  The  passions 
obey  his  voice.     He  excites  at  will  hope,  fear,  and  pity," 

Another  source  of  Dr.  Channing's  power  was  his  sincerit}'.  He 
was  transparent  in  simple  earnestness.  The  personal  limitations 
of  the  speaker  and  writer  disappeared,  and  he  seemed  to  be  only 
a  pure  medium  through  which  truth  was  uttering  itself.  The  style 
of  composition,  so  clear,  graceful,  and  strong, — the  rich  variet}'^ 
of  manner,  so  fervent  and  beautiful,  and  so  doubly  affecting  from 
the  contrast  it  presented  of  physical  infirmity  witli  spiritual  force, 
were  forgotten,  and  the  hearer  found  himself  translated  to  the 
mount  of  vision,  upon  which  the  prophet  was  standing  face  to  face 
with  heaven  and  Deit3\  He  was  whoUj"  unartificial,  unconscious, 
and  absorbed  in  his  subject.  He  stood  awed,  3'et  animated,  be- 
tween God  above  and  his  listening  brethren.  "  On  no  account,"  he 
once  said  to  a  young  brother  in  the  ministry,  "on  no  account, — 
in  your  public  services,  try  to  exhibit  by  look  or  tone  an}-  emotion 
which  3"ou  do  not  feel.  If  3'ou  feel  coldl}',  appear  so.  The  sermon 
may  be  lost,  but  your  own  truthfulness  will  be  preserved."  By 
this  rule  he  invariably  governed  himself.  The  effect  which  he  pro- 
duced was  deep  and  indelible,  because  his  eloquence  was  so  lost 
sight  of  and  swallowed  up  m  the  glory  of  his  theme. 

And  tliis  leads  us  to  a  recognition  of  the  chief  source  of  his 
power,  which  we  have  already  noticed  as  characterizing  his  .youth, 
—  his  living  sense  of  spiritual  realities.  The  pulpit  was  to  him  the 
grandest  position  upon  earth,  and  he  entered  it  with  a  most  exalt- 
ing, yet  disinterested,  sense  of  its  dignified  and  solemn  trusts.  In 
standing  up  before  a  congregation  as  a  minister  of  God,  he  was 
conscious  that  he  assumed  responsibilities  as  much  vaster  than 
those  of  the  judge  upon  the  bench,  of  the  legislator  in  the  halls 
of  council,  of  the  executive  officer  upon  his  seat  of  power,  as  con- 
science is  higher  than  intellect,  common  social  affection,  or  natural 
desires.  He  voluntarily  became  a  mediator  between  the  Infinite 
Being  and  finite  spirits.  It  has  been  well  said:  "  There  was  no 
power  of  mind,  however  lofty,  that  his  function  did  not  to  him 
appear  to  bring  into  urgent  requisition.     Preaching  never  seemed 


DR.  CHANNING  AS  A  PREACHER.  385 

to  him  for  an  instant  the  discharge  of  a  mere  professional  clut}',  the 
fulfUment  of  a  formal  task.  It  was  the  great  action  of  his  life.  It 
was  the  greatest  action  that  could  be  demanded  of  any  life.  He 
felt  that  never  Demosthenes  nor  Cicero,  that  never  Burke  nor 
Chatham,  had  a  greater  work  to  do  tlian  he  had  every  Sunday. 
He  poured  into  his  office  his  whole  mind  and  heart.  The  prepara- 
tion for  it  was  a  work  of  consecrated  genius  ;  it  was  as  if  ever}' 
week  he  had  made  a  poem  or  an  oration."^  It  was  more  ;  for  he 
considered  the  sermon,  in  our  day,  as  the  highest  possible  mode  of 
expression,  combining  oration,  poetry-,  and  prophecy  in  one. 

We  cannot  better  sum  up  these  general  views  of  Dr.  Channing 
as  a  preacher,  than  by  continuing  our  extracts  from  the  notice  just 
quoted  :  —  "No  preacher,  perhaps,  had  ever  at  command  the  stores 
of  a  richer  imagination.  But  all  was  sober,  in  his  administration 
of  religion.  To  utter  the  truth,  the  naked  truth,  was  his  higliest 
aim  and  ambition.  The  effect  he  was  willing  to  leave  with  God 
and  with  the  heart  of  the  hearer.  He  never  seemed  to  labor  so 
much  to  enforce  truth  as  to  utter  it ;  but  this  kind  of  utterance, 
this  swelling  and  almost  bursting  of  the  inmost  heart  to  express 
itself,  was  the  most  powerful  enforcement.  There  was  alwa3's, 
however,  a  chastening  and  restraining  hand  laid  upon  the  strong 
nature  Avithin  ;  and  this  manner  has  led  some,  I  believe,  to  deny  to 
Channing  the  gift  of  the  highest  eloquence.  I  know  not  what  they 
call  eloquence  ;  but  this  restrained  emotion  always  seems  to  me 
one  of  its  most  touching  demonstrations  ;  surel}'  that  which  reaches 
the  heart  and  unlocks  the  fountain  of  tears  is  its  very  essence  ;  and 
that  whicli^ penetrates  to  the  still  depths  of  the  conscience,  that  lie 
beneath  tears,  is  its  very  awfulness  and  grandeur.  Such  was  the 
eloquence  of  Channing.  I  shall  never  forget  the  effect  upon  me  of 
the  first  sermon  I  ever  heard  from  him.  Shall  I  confess,  too,  that, 
holding  then  a  faith  somewhat  different  from  his,  I  listened  to  him 
with  a  certain  degree  of  distrust  and  prejudice?  These  barriers, 
however,  soon  gave  wa}' ;  and  such  was  the  effect  of  the  simple 
and  heart-touching  truths  and  tones  which  fell  from  his  lips,  that  it 
would  have  l.>een  a  relief  to  me  to  have  bowed  my  head,  and  to 
have  wept  without  restraint  through  the  whole  service.  And  yet  I 
did  not  weep ;  for  there  was  something  in  that  imin-ession  too 
solemn  and  deep  for  tears.  I  claim  perfection  for  nothing  human  ; 
....  but  certainly  no  preaching  that  I  have  heard  has  come  so 
near,  in  this  respect,  to  the  model  in  m^'  mind,  —  I  say,  not  irrev- 
erently, the  Great  Model,  —  as  the  preaching  of  Channing 

1  Dr.  Dewey's  Discourse  on  tlie  Character  and  "Writings  of  Clianning, 
pp.  7,  8. 

25 


386  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

In  most  men's  religious  feeling,  there  is  something  singularly  gen- 
eral and  vague  ;   .  .   .   .  they  do  not  meditate  their  religion  deeply 

in   their  hearts But  it  was    not  so  with   the  remarkable 

and  venerable  person  of  whom  I  speak.  His  thoughts  on  this 
theme,  the  deep  and  living  verities  of  his  own  experience,  had  an 
original  impress,  a  marked  individuality-,  a  heart-felt  truth,  and  a 
singular  power  to  penetrate  the  heart.  His  words  had  a  strange 
and  heart-stirring  vitality-.  Some  living  power  within  seemed  to 
preside  over  the  selection  and  tone  of  ever}-  word,  and  to  gi\'e  it 
more  than  the  force  and  weight  of  a  whole  discourse  from  other 
men."  ^ 

And  now  let  us  go,  on  some  Sunday  morning,  to  the  meeting- 
house in  Federal  Street,  and  hear  for  ourselves  this  wonderful 
preacher.  The  doors  are  crowded  ;  and,  as  we  enter,  we  see  that 
there  are  but  few  vacant  seats,  and  that  the  owners  of  the  pews  are 
hospitably  welcoming  strangers,  whom  the  sexton  is  conducting  up 
the  aisles.  There  is  no  excitement  in  the  audience,  but  deep,  calm 
expectation.  With  a  somewhat  rapid  and  an  elastic  step,  a  person 
small  in  stature,  thin  and  pale,  and  carefully  enveloped,  ascends 
the  pulpit  stair.  It  is  he.  For  a  moment,  he  deliberately  and 
benignantl_y  surve3-s  the  large  congregation,  as  if  drinking  in  the 
influence  of  so  many  human  beings  ;  and  then,  la3"ing  aside  his 
outer  garments,  and  putting  on  the  black  silk  gown,  he  selects  the 
hymn  and  passage  from  Scripture,  and,  taking  his  seat,  awaits  in 
quiet  contemplation  the  time  for  commencing  the  service.  What 
impresses  us  now,  in  his  appearance,  is  its  exceeding  delicacy, 
refinement,  and  spiritualized  beauty.  In  the  hollow  eye,  the  sunken 
cheeks,  and  the  deep  lines  around  the  mouth,  the  chronic  debilit}'' 
of  many  years  has  left  an  ineffaceable  impress.  But  on  the  pol- 
ished brow,  with  its  rounded  temples,  shadowed  by  one  falling  lock, 
and  on  the  beaming  countenance,  there  hovers  a  serenity  which 
seems  to  brighten  the  whole  head  with  a  halo. 

The  voluntary  on  the  oi-gan  has  been  played,  the  opening  invo- 
cation has  been  offered  by  the  assistant  in  the  pulpit,  and  the  choir 
and  congregation  have  joined  in  singing  the  first  hymn  ;  —  and  now 
he  rises,  and,  spreading  out  his  arms,  says,  "  Let  us  unite  in 
prayer."  What  a  welcome  to  near  communion  with  the  Heavenly 
Father  is  there  in  the  tremulous  tenderness  of  that  invitation  !  Tliis 
is  a  solenm  reality,  and  no  formal  rite,  to  him.  Tlie  Infinite  is  hero, 
around  all,  within  all.  What  awful,  yet  confiding  reverence,  what 
relying  afi'ection,  wliat  profound  gratitude,  what  unutterable  longing, 

'  Dr.  Dewey's  Diseourse  on  the  Character  ami  Writings  of  Clianning,  pp. 
9-11. 


DR.   CHANNING'S  PREACHING.  387 

what  consciousness  of  intimate  spiritual  relationship,  what  vast  an- 
ticipations of  progressive  destinj',  inspire  these  few,  simple,  meas- 
ured, most  variously'  modulated  words  !  How  the  very  peace  of 
heaven  seems  to  enter  and  settle  down  upon  the  hushed  assembl}^ ! 

There  follows  a  pause  and  perfect  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
which  the  spirit  feels  its  need  of,  that  it  may  reassume  its  self-con- 
trol and  power  of  active  thought.  And  now  the  Bible  is  opened  ; 
the  chai)ter  to  be  read  is  the  fifteenth  of  the  Gosi)el  of  John.  The 
grand  announcement  is  spoken,  the  majestic  claim  is  made,  —  "I 
am  the  true  vine,  and  my  Father  is  tlie  husbandman."  How  often 
we  have  hoard  these  sentences  !  and  yet  did  we  ever  before  begin 
to  know  their  exhaustless  wealth  of  meaning?  What  depth,  volume, 
expressiveness,  in  those  intonations  !  ''  That  my  joy  miglit  remain 
in  you,  and  that  your  joy  might  be  fall."  Yes,  O  most  honored 
brother,  now  we  have  gained  a  glimpse  of  the  rich  life  of  thy  god- 
like disinterestedness.  AVe  shall  be  indeed  tli}'  '-'■  friends  "  "  when 
we  love  one  another  as  thou  didst  love  us."  It  is  enough.  No 
mere  rhetorician,  however  trained  and  skilful,  could  have  made  these 
words  so  penetrating  in  pathetic  sweetness,  so  invigorating  in  un- 
bounded hope.  The  very  smile  and  hand  of  the  Saviour  seem  to 
have  been  upon  us  in  blessing  and  power.  Every  emphasis  and 
inflection  of  the  reader  was  fraught  with  his  own  experience.  The 
sa^'ing  is  no  longer  a  m^'stical  metaphor  to  us,  —  "  If  a  man  love 
me,  m}'  Father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  him  and  make 
our  abode  with  him  "  ;  for  the  fact  is  illustrated  before  our  eyes. 
The  liymn  is  read.  What  melod^y  !  what  cadence  !  The  tone  may 
be  too  prolonged,  and  too  undulating  the  accent ;  but  we  can  never, 
never  again  forget  those  lines.  In  many  a  distant  scene  of  doubt 
and  fear,  of  trial  and  temptation,  their  music  will  come  vibrating 
through  the  inner  chambers  of  our  hearts,  and,  at  the  sound,  our 
bosom-sins  will  disappear,  "  awed  by  the  presence"  of  the  "Great 
Invisible." 

The  singing  is  over.  The  hearts  of  the  hearers  are  attuned. 
The  spirit  of  tlie  preacher  has  already  pervaded  them,  and  softened 
them  to  harmony.  It  is  the  "  new  commandment"  of  which  he  is 
to  discourse.  He  begins  by  portraying  the  overflowing  sympatliy 
with  wliich  Jesus  forgot  his  own  impending  sufferings,  in  his  desire 
to  cheer  the  little  band  so  soon  to  be  scattered.  We  are  there  with 
them  in  tlie  upper  chamber ;  we  are  bathed  in  that  flood  of  benig- 
nity ;  can  we  ever  be  faithless  to  this  most  lovely  and  all-loving 
friend?  Thence,  passing  outwards,  he  lays  open  before  us  the 
universal  humanity  of  tlie  Son  of  Man  made  Son  of  God,  till  we  see 
that  the  fulness  of  the  Spirit  in  him,  his  oneness  with  tlie  Father, 


388  THE   MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

was  his  pure  and  perfect  benevolence,  —  till  we  begin  to  apprehend 
how  such  a  sublime  self-sacrifice  might  fit  the  Christ  to  be  the 
abiding  mediator  between  heaven  and  earth,  the  ruler  over  the  ages 
to  introduce  among  mankind  the  kingdom  of  God.  Wliat  affec- 
tionate devotion,  what  adoring  reverence,  what  quick  discrimination, 
what  delicate  perception,  what  vividness,  characterized  this  sketch 
of  the  Master !  Thus  ends  the  first  branch  of  the  sermon.  And 
now  he  is  to  assure  us,  all  selfish,  immersed  in  the  bus}'  anxieties  of 
life,  halMtually  incased  in  prejudices  and  conventionalit}-,  as  we  may 
be,  that  this  spirit  of  unlimited  brotherly  kindness  is  the  only  befit- 
ting spirit  for  an}'  man,  for  every  man, — that  we  are  encouraged 
to  aspire  after  it,  that  we  can  attain  to  it,  that  we  are  Christians 
only  in  the  measure  in  which  it  sanctifies  us.  How  carefull}'  he 
meets  and  disarms  objections  !  how  calmly  he  removes  all  fear  of 
undue  enthusiasm  !  how  deliberate  and  definite  does  he  make  the 
statement  of  his  propositions  !  The  sound  sense  and  judgment  of 
the  preacher  strike  us  now  as  much  as  his  devout  earnestness  did 
before.  There  is  nothing  vague,  dream}',  extravagant,  in  this  cool 
reasoner.  Gradually  he  awakens  the  meraor}-  and  conscience  of 
his  hearers,  and  reveals  to  them,  from  their  own  observation  and 
experience,  with  a  terrible  distinctness  of  contrast,  what  the  pro- 
fessed Christians  of  Christendom  actually  are.  There  are  no  ex- 
pletives, no  fuhninations,  no  fanatical  outpourings.  But  the  small 
figure  dilates,  —  the  luminous  gray  eye  now  flashes  witli  indignation, 
now  softens  in  pit}^  —  and  the  outstretched  arm  and  clenched  hand 
are  lifted  in  sign  of  protest  and  warning,  as  the  wrongs  which  man 
inflicts  on  man  are  presented  with  brief  but  glowing  outlines.  How 
the  accidental  honors  of  the  so-called  great  flutter  like  filthy  rags, 
and  crumble  into  dust,  as  the  meanness  of  arbitrar}'  power  and 
worldly  ambition  is  exposed  !  How  the  down-trodden  outcasts  rise 
up  in  more  than  royal  dignity,  as  the  intrinsic  grandeur  of  man 
reveals  itself  through  their  badges  of  ignominious  servitude  !  The 
preacher  now  enlarges  upon  the  greatness  of  man  ;  he  sliows  how 
worthy  ever}'  human  being  is  of  love,  for  his  nature,  if  not  for  his 
character.  Sin  and  degradation  are  made  to  appear  unspeakably 
mournful,  when  measured  by  the  majestic  innate  powers,  the  celes- 
tial destiny,  appointed  to  the  most  debased  ;  every  spirit  becomes 
venerable  to  us,  as  heir  of  God  and  co-heir  of  Christ,  as  the  once  lost 
but  now  found,  the  once  dead  but  now  living,  the  prodigal  yet  dearly 
loved  child  of  the  Heavenly  Father.  And  as  our  gaze  wanders  over 
the  congregation,  in  kindling  or  tearful  e3'es,  in  pallid  or  flushed 
cheeks,  in  smiling  or  firm-set  lips  of  many  a  hearer,  is  displayed  the 
new  resolve  just  registered  in  the  will,  to  lead  a  truly  manly  life,  by 


CONTINUED  DEBILITY.  389 

consecrating  one's  self  to  the  divine  work  of  raising  all  men  upright 
in  the  image  of  God. 

A  brief  petition  and  benediction  end  the  service  ;  and  after  a  few 
warm  pressures  of  the  hand,  and  mutual  congratulations  that  such  a 
sermon  has  been  heard,  the  congregation  disperses.  If  this  is  the 
first  time  we  have  listened  to  the  preacher,  we  walk  home  through 
the  thronged  streets,  we  look  upon  our  fellow-men,  we  treaxl  the 
earth,  we  breathe  the  air,  we  feel  the  sunshine,  with  a  new  con- 
sciousness of  life.  This  hour  has  been  an  era  in  existence.  Never 
again  can  we  doubt  God's  love,  disbelieve  in  Christ,  despond  for 
ourselves,  despise  our  fellows,  —  never  again  sigh  over  the  drudg- 
er}',  the  tamencss,  the  tantalizing  disappointments  of  this  work-day 
world.  How  solemn  in  grandeur,  how  unspeakably  magnificent, 
how  wonderful,  how  fresh  with  beauty  and  joy,  open  now  before  us 
the  present  lot,  the  future  career,  of  man  !  This  sketch  may  seem 
to  some  readers  extravagant,  but  it  will  be  thought,  on  the  other 
hand,  tame  and  cold  by  those  who  in  memory  recall  the  reality  which 
it  so  faintl}'  resembles. 

It  was  doubtless  owing  to  the  energy  with  which  Dr.  Channing 
threw  liis  whole  soul  into  his  ministrations,  that  he  found  the  usual 
pulpit  services  so  exhausting.  Full  of  conscientiousness  and  deep 
emotion,  ideal  and  aspiring  to  a  most  rare  degree,  concentrated  and 
intense  in  all  his  mental  and  moral  processes,  unhabituated  to  re- 
laxation and  variety  of  employment,  he  constantly  experienced 
extreme  nervous  prostration  after  preaching.  Though  benefited  by 
the  rest  and  refreshment  of  foreign  travel,  he  immediately  found, 
upon  his  return,  that  he  should  be  entirely  broken  down,  if  he  at- 
tempted to  resume  the  whole  of  his  duties.  And  so,  with  the  sense 
of  duty  to  his  parish  which  was  conspicuous  throughout  his  minis- 
try, he  determined  at  once  to  lay  before  them  his  condition  and  the 
exact  measure  of  his  ability.  His  own  wish  was  to  have  a  colleague 
settled  with  him  ;  but  he  chose  to  leave  the  society  free  to  make  the 
first  movement,  and  addressed  them,  therefore,  as  follows  :  — 

"  Portsmouth,  R.  L,  Sept.  4,  1823. 
"Christian  Friends  :  — My  much  esteemed  assistant,  Mr. 
Dewey,  having  made  known  to  me  his  desire  to  be  released  from 
his  present  engagement,  I  am  compelled  to  solicit  again  your  atten- 
tion to  the  subject  of  obtaining  for  me  such  aid  as  circumstances 
may  render  necessary.  I  have  already  stated  to  you,  and  I  beg  to 
repeat  it,  that  the  improvement  of  my  health,  though  very  encour- 
aging, is  not  such  as  to  warrant  me  to  take  on  myself  all  the  duties 
and  services  ordinarily  expected  from  ministers;    nor  ought  I  to 


390  THE   MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

make  the  attempt,  until  the  strength  which  I  have  gained  is  not 
onl^'  confirmed,  but  increased.  Without  undue  solicitude  for  life, 
I  desire  earnestly  to  be  capable,  whilst  I  live,  of  some  exertion 
which  may  be  useful  to  m}'  people  and  family  ;  and  this  object  de- 
mands, especially'  at  the  present  moment,  great  care  in  proportion- 
ing ni}'  labors  to  m^^  strength.  The  thought  of  being  reduced  again 
to  the  inactivity  and  uselessness  to  which  1  have  been  condemned  for 
some  time  past  almost  overwhelms  me  ;  and  although  I  trust,  that, 
should  God  appoint  me  this  trial,  he  would  strengthen  me  to  bear 
it,  still  I  feel  that  I  am  not  onl^'  permitted,  but  required,  to  use 
whatever  means  of  averting  it  he  may  atford.  I  have  no  right,  by 
laboring  beyond  my  strength,  to  throw  away  the  degree  of  health 
which  I  have  gained  b^'  so  many  sacrifices  ;  nor  should  I,  in  this 
wa}',  consult  your  interests  an}^  more  than  my  own  comfort.  Under 
these  impressions,  I  have  endeavored  to  judge  to  what  extent  I 
may  now  resume  m\'  labors.  I  have  a  strong  confidence  that  1  can 
take  half  the  services  on  Sunday  without  injury.  More  than  this  I 
cannot  attempt  with  safet}^,  and  the  experience  of  several  years 
makes  me  fearful  that  it  will  occasionally  be  prudent  for  me  to  ab- 
stain from  preaching  on  both  parts  of  the  day.  How  long  I  may 
require  these  indulgences  I  cannot  even  conjecture ;  for  the  effect 
of  returning  to  labors  which  have  been  so  long  discontinued  is  very 
doubtful.  I  am  compelled,  however,  to  say,  that,  as  debility-  has 
oppressed  me  for  years,  I  am  authorized  to  anticipate  only  a  grad- 
ual and  slow  increase  of  strength,  and  that  there  is  no  probability^ 
of  my  resuming  speedily  all  the  duties  of  my  oflice.  Under  these 
circumstances,  I  am  exceedingly  desirous  that  such  provisions 
should  be  made  for  the  pulpit  as  will  secure  to  mj  people  the  most 
edifying  and  acceptable  services  ;  and  I  feel  as  if  this  would  prove 
a  medicine  to  the  body,  b}'  the  relief  and  joy  it  would  give  to  my 
mind.  For  this  end,  I  have  thought  proper  to  make  this  free  com- 
munication in  regard  to  my  state,  prospects,  hopes,  and  fears,  and 
to  assure  you  of  my  disposition  to  concur  with  you  in  whatever 
measures  the  welfare  and  religious  improvement  of  the  church  may 
be  thought  to  require. 

"  I  cannot  close  this  communication  without  renewing  my  thanks- 
givings to  Almighty  God  for  restoring  me  to  you  with  some  ability 
to  serve  you.  Longer  experience,  and  more  extensive  observation 
of  human  affairs,  have  only  served  to  recommend  to  me  the  Chris- 
tian ministr}',  and  to  strengthen  my  wish  to  live  and  die  in  the  dis- 
charge of  its  duties.  Imploring  for  you  every  blessing  in  this  world 
and  in  the  world  to  come,  I  subscribe  myself 

"  Your  affectionate  friend  and  grateful  pastor." 


DESIRE  FOR  A   COLLEAGUE.  391 

At  a  meeting  of  the  proprietors  of  the  meeting-house  in  Federal 
Street,  September  22,  this  letter  was  read,  and  the  vote  unani- 
mously passed,  "  That  it  is  expedient  to  settle  a  colleague  with  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Chauning,  provided  it  will  meet  with  his  concurrence,  and 
provided  that  an  arrangement  can  be  made  in  relation  to  salaries 
satisfactor}-  to  the  society  and  the  pastors."  A  committee  was  also 
appointed  to  confer  with  Dr.  Channing.  His  wishes  were  thus  ex- 
pressed in  consequence : — 

"  Boston,  Sept.  26,  1823. 

"Gentlemen:  —  The  votes  of  the  proprietors  of  the  church  in 
Federal  Street,  at  their  meeting  on  September  22,  1823,  having 
been  communicated  to  me,  I  take  an  early  opportunity  to  express 
m}'  views  and  feelings  in  relation  to  the  subjects  to  wliicli  they  re- 
fer, and  I  shall  aim  to  do  this  with  all  possible  simplicity. 

"  The  first  question  suggested  by  the  votes  is,  whether  I  wish  a 
colleague.  On  this  point  I  have  not  spoken  freelj',  because  I  have 
not  wished  to  influence  the  opinion  of  my  parishioners.  1  have 
chosen  that  i\\Q.y  should  act  from  their  own  deliberate  and  indepen- 
dent convictions  in  an  affair  so  important  as  the  settlement  of 
another  minister,  —  one  of  the  most  important  in  life,  —  the  effects 
of  which  will  extend  beyond  themselves  to  their  children,  and  be 
felt  in  the  society  perhaps  long  after  I  am  separated  from  it.  But 
now  that  m}-  opinion  is  requested,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 
that  I  shall  jeceive  a  colleague  with  pleasure  ;  not  merely  because 
I  shall  find  the  greatest  relief  in  such  an  arrangement,  but  chiefly 
because  I  hope  from  it  the  greatest  good  to  the  society.  I  should 
be  most  grateful  to  God,  had  I  strength  equal  to  the  whole  duties 
of  the  ministry,  p'or  these  duties  are  my  happiness,  and  I  am 
aware  that  there  are  strong  motives  for  having  them  discharged  by 
a  single  pastor. 

"  But  conscious  as  I  am  that  I  have  at  no  period  had  sufficient 
health  to  perform  them  thoroughly,  and  persuaded  that  I  must  now 
be  assisted  in  them,  the  question  offers  itself,  whether  aid  shall  be 
sought  for  me  in  a  variety  and  succession  of  young  unsettled 
preachers,  or  in  a  permanent  assistant ;  and  the  last  mode  seems  to 
me  to  possess  decided  advantages,  provided  the  parish  can  secure 
an  individual,  whose  piety,  ability,  and  general  acceptableness  shall 
afford  pledges  of  a  useful  ministry.  From  such  a  man  they  will 
receive  instructions  more  adapted  to  their  wants,  character,  and 
state,  more  matured  by  experience,  and  more  imbued  with  a  deep, 
affectionate  interest  in  their  welfare,  than  can  be  expected  from 
young  men  and  strangers ;  and  they  will  receive  pastoral  aids,  not 
only  from  the  pulpit,  but  of  a  more  private  and  perhaps  not  less 


392  THE   MINISTRY   AND   LITERATURE. 

useful  nature.  His  instructions,  too,  will  be  heard  with  less  of  that 
curiosity  and  spirit  of  criticism  b^-  which  the  efflcac}'  of  preaching  is 
weakened,  and  with  more  of  that  personal  regard  which  adds  weight 
to  truth. 

"  Under  such  a  man,  I  should  hope  to  see  an  improvement  of  the 
condition  of  our  society,  —  not  of  its  outward  condition,  for  this  is 
Bufficiently  prosperous,  but  of  its  interior,  religious,  spiritual  state. 
I  should  hope  to  see  the  marks  and  evidences  of  profounder  venera- 
tion for  Christianity,  of  more  faithful  application  of  it  to  the  char- 
acter, of  a  more  living  and  fruitful  piety,  and  of  a  stronger  interest 
in  the  cause  and  diffusion  of  our  religion.  I  feel  that  greater  im- 
provements are  needed  among  us.  Not  that  I  have  ground  to 
complain  of  deficiency  of  attachment  to  myself.  But  Avhat  I  desire 
is,  a  greater  attachment  to  that  cause,  that  religion,  of  which  I  am 
merely  the  instrument,  and  in  comparison  with  which  I  am  nothing, 
and  deserve  no  consideration.  A¥ith  God's  blessing  on  the  labor  of 
another,  joined  to  my  own,  I  trust  that  the  purposes  of  our  connec- 
tion would  be  answered  more  effectually  than  the}'  have  yet  been  ; 
and  this  is  my  great  motive  for  concurring,  as  I  candidly  do,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  society  on  the  subject  of  a  colleague,  as  expressed  in 
their  vote 

"  I  cannot  close  this  communication  without  imploring  Divine 
guidance  for  m}^  people  and  myself,  that  we  ma}'  adopt  such  meas- 
ures as  will  strengthen  our  union,  and  build  us  up  in  the  faith  and 
hope,  in  the  spirit  and  most  exalted  virtues,  of  our  religion. 

"With  great  affection  and  respect,  your  friend  and  pastor." 

On  September  29th,  the  foregoing  letter  was  read  to  the  proprie- 
tors, who  voted,  "  That  the  letter  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing  to  the 
Committee  is  highl}'  acceptable  to  the  proprietors  of  the  Federal 
Street  meeting-house,"  and  that  the  propositions  of  the  letter  and 
of  the  Committee  be  accepted.  The  Committee,  in  their  report, 
had  said  that  the  proposed  salary'  of  Dr.  Channing  "is  the  result 
of  his  voluntary  relinquishment,  in  the  event  of  the  settlement  of  a 
colleague,  of  a  portion  of  his  present  income,  the  continuance  of 
which  he  is  entitled  to  claim.  The  motives  and  views  on  this  head, 
expressed  in  his  letter,  are  entirelj^  satisfactory  to  the  Committee. 
....  They  believe  it  to  be  unnecessary  to  enlarge  on  such  a 
topic,  and  in  relation  to  a  connection  so  highly  and  justly  valued 
b}^  every  member  of  the  society." 

In  the  spring  of  1824,  the  Rev.  Ezra  Stiles  Gannett  w^as  invited 
and  ordained  to  be  the  Associate  Pastor  of  the  Federal  Street 
Society.  The  relations  between  Dr.  Channing  and  his  colleague 
were,  for  the  long  period  of  eighteen  years,  most  intimate,  cordial, 


REV.  E.  S.  GANNETT.  393 

and  mutually  beneficial.  Dr.  Gannett  has  expressed,  for  himself, 
in  his  address  at  the  funeral  services  of  his  spiritual  father,  his 
tender  and  reverential  atfection  "for  one  whom  he  honored  not  less 
because  he  may  have  loved  him  more  than  others  who  beheld  him 
at  a  greater  distance,"  and  has  thus  borne  his  testimony'  to  Dr. 
Channing's  faithfulness  in  the  delicate  and  difficult  duties  of  their 
official  intercourse: — "After  my  connection  with  this  society,  he 
encouraged  me  in  ever^'  plan  I  undertook,  welcomed  ever}'  sign  of 
increasing  S3'mpathy  and  energy  among  us,  and  cheered  me  under 
ever}'  occasion  of  despondenc}-.  How  often  would  my  spirit  have 
wholl}'  sunk  within  me,  if  he  had  not  animated  me  to  new  struggle 
with  the  discouragement  of  ni}-  own  heart !  "  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  Dr.  Channing  paid  the  following  warm  tribute  to  Mr.  Gan- 
nett, on  the  occasion  when  that  conscientious  and  indefatigable 
minister  was  for  a  time  worn  out  b}'  his  excessive  labors,  and  was 
compelled  to  seek,  in  foreign  travel,  a  renewal  of  his  powers  of  use- 
fulness:  —  "Of  the  faithfulness  of  our  friend  to  this  congregation 
I  need  not  speak.  He  toiled  da}'  and  night  for  the  cause  to  which 
he  had  given  himself,  until,  at  length,  he  sunk  under  his  labors. 
Of  his  connection  with  myself,  let  me  say  that  it  has  never  for  a 
moment  been  disturbed  by  a  word,  I  may  add,  by  a  thought,  which 
friendship  would  wish  to  recall.  Mutual  confidence,  a  disposition 
in  each  to  concede  to  the  other  unrestricted  freedom  of  opinion  and 
operation,  and,  I  trust,  a  disposition  to  rejoice  in  one  another's 
success,  have  given  us  the  benefits  of  this  relation,  unmixed  with 
the  evils  to  which  it  is  thought  to  be  liable.  I  rejoice,  my  friends, 
in  the  proofs  you  have  given  our  friend  of  your  interest  in  his 
welfare,  of  your  gratitude  for  his  services.  I  rejoice  in  the  testi- 
mony you  have  borne  to  the  worth  of  the  Christian  ministry.  Our 
friend  will  carry  with  him,  wherever  he  goes,  the  consoling,  cheer- 
ing recollection  of  your  sympathy  and  kindness.  May  he  be  fol- 
lowed by  our  prayers,  as  well  as  affections  !  May  he  meet  friends 
in  sti-angers  !  May  a  kind  Providence  infuse  new  life  and  strength 
into  his  debilitated  frame  !  May  he  return  once  again  to  instruct, 
comfort,  improve,  and  bless  this  congregation  ! " 

Throughout  their  long  intercourse,  from  the  time  of  his  settle- 
ment to  that  of  his  death.  Dr.  Channing  and  the  Federal  Street 
Society  vied  with  each  other  in  liberality  ;  and,  as  the  facts  do 
honor  to  both  parties,  and  reveal  interesting  points  of  character,  it 
seems  but  just  to  give  some  indications  of  the  mutual  respect  and 
kindness  which  bound  them  together.  The  resignation  of  a  portion 
of  his  salary  by  Dr.  Channing,  as  a  means  of  better  enabling  the 
society  to  provide  suitably  for  a  colleague,  has  been  noticed.     But, 


894  THE   MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

from  period  to  period,  as  he  found  that  his  friend's  labors  and 
responsibiUties  were  multiplied,  while  his  own  were  proportionately- 
lessened,  he  gradually  gave  up  the  remainder  of  his  salary,  until 
the  pecuniary  tie  between  himself  and  his  congregation  became 
almost  nominal.  A  few  letters  and  votes,  taken  from  the  records 
of  the  Federal  Street  Society,  illustrate  the  generous  spirit  upon 
both  sides. 

"  My  Christian  Brethren  :  —  Having  reason  to  apprehend  that 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  diminish  my  exertions  for  a  time,  and  feeling 
increased  doubts  as  to  the  degree  of  service  which  I  may  be  able 
to  render  hereafter,  I  have  thought  proper  to  relinquish  five  hun- 
dred dollars  of  my  salary'  after  the  present  parish  3'ear,  which  will 
close  with  this  month.  I  still  hope  to  labor,  and  gradually  to 
extend  m}'  labors  among  you,  as  a  Christian  minister.  This  object, 
however,  requires  that  I  should  carefulh'  abstain  from  ever}'  effort 
which  may  threaten  any  injury  to  my  health,  and  I  trust  that,  in 
exercising  m}'  discretion  on  this  point,  I  shall  not  be  considered  as 
consulting  my  ease  rather  than  ni}-  usefulness,  or  as  deserting  those 
great  interests  to  which  ni}'  life  has  been  devoted.  I  am  happy  to 
add,  that  I  have  found  much  relief  and  satisfaction  in  the  zeal  and 
cheerfulness  with  which  my  colleague  has  performed  the  duties 
which  have  multiplied  upon  him  in  consequence  of  my  impaired 
health  ;  and  I  pray  that  his  connection  with  3'ou  ma}-  prove  a  con- 
tinually increasing  good. 

"  With  Christian  regards,  I  remain 

"  Your  atiectionate  friend  and  pastor. 

"  April  4,  1825." 

"Reverend  and  dear  Sir: — We  duly  received  your  commu- 
nication of  the  4th  instant ;  and  we  should  immediately  have 
acknowledged  it,  but  for  the  hope  we  indulged  that  possibly  a 
more  speedy  restoration  to  health  and  strength,  than  either  your 
friends  or  yourself  at  that  time  anticipated,  might  atlbrd  us  a  rea- 
sonable ground  for  urging  you  to  delay  for  the  present  a  step 
which  seems  to  loosen,  in  some  degree,  your  connection  with  our 
society. 

"It  is  with  the  most  sincere  pleasure  we  now  learn  that  your 
disease  has  abated,  and  that  your  strength  is  returning  to  you,  and 
we  therefore  take  the  liberty  of  making  the  suggestion,  whether  it 
may  not  consist  as  well  with  your  own  views  on  this  subject,  and 
with  the  views  and  wishes  of  your  friends  and  connections,  that 
the  relinquislniient  of  salary  proposed  in  your  comnuniication  to  us 
should  be  deferred,  or  at  least  confined  to  a  limited  time,  until  a 


RELATIONS  TO  THE   SOCIETY.  395 

few  months'  relaxation  should  enable  j'ou  better  to  decide  whether 
your  liealth  and  comfort  will  render  it  impracticable  for  you  to 
continue  to  perform  so  large  a  portion  of  the  pastoral  duties  as  you 

contemplated  at  the  settlement  of  Mr.  Gannett 

"  With  the  most  earnest  praj-ers  that  your  health  may  be  com- 
pletely restored  and  confirmed  to  you,  we  are,  dear  Sir, 

"  Your  sincere  friends  and  parishioners, 

"John  Lee,  &c. 
"  Boston,  April  19,  1825." 

Dr.  Channing's  letter  was  consequently  withdrawn  b}-  him.  In 
his  note,  he  says  :  — 

"  I  made  the  proposition  to  relinquish  a  part  of  m}'  salary,  in  the 
belief  that  I  was  consulting  my  own  usefulness  and  the  welfare  of 
the  society'  I  am  persuaded,  however,  that  you  understand  what 
the  interests  of  the  parish  demand  better  than  I  do ;  and  if  you  ap- 
prehend that  any  injury  will  result  from  communicating  m}-  letter  at 
the  next  i^arish  meeting,  or  that  greater  good  may  be  anticipated 
from  withholding  it,  I  am  entirely  willing  that  it  should  be  passed 
over  for  the  present. 

"  Your  friend. 

"  April  28,  1825." 

"  To  the  Committee  of  the  Relicjious  Society  in  Federal  Street. 
"Gentlemen:  —  I  have  thought  fit  to  relinquish  four  hundred 
dollars  of  my  salaiy  from  the  commencement  of  the  present  paro- 
chial year,  so  that  the  salaiy  will  be  twelve  hundred,  instead  of 
sixteen  hmidred  per  annum.  M}'  intention  was  to  communicate  this 
to  you  before  the  day  of  the  annual  meeting  ;  but,  through  mistake, 
I  have  not  done  it.  I  have  some  views  which  I  ma}'  lay  before  you 
at  a  future  time,  and  can  only  add,  that  I  remain,  with  the  best 
wishes  for  ^-ourselves  and  the  society, 

"  Your  sincere  friend. 

"  May  2,  1827." 

"Dear  Sir:  —  I  believe  that  this  is  the  evening  on  which  the 
Committee  of  the  Federal  Street  Church  meet,  and  I  will  thank  you 
to  inform  the  gentlemen  that  it  is  ni}'  wish  to  relinquish  two  hun- 
dred dollars  of  my  salary  alter  this  time.  I  presume  that  no  objec- 
tions now  exist  to  such  an  arrangement. 

"  Veiy  sincerely,  3'our  friend. 

"  May  4,  1829." 

"Dear  Sir:  — I  believe  that  this  is  the  evening  on  which  the 
committee  of  our  parish  meet ;  and  if  so,  I  will  thank  you  to  ex- 


396  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

press  my  desire  that  mj'  salary  may  be  redaced  to  the  sum  of  eight 
hundred  dollars,  and  that  I  may  be  released  at  the  same  time  from 
the  tax  I  pa}'  for  ni}'  pew. 

"  With  sincere  regard,  3'our  friend. 
"  May  3,  1830." 

On  Ma3'  5th,  a  vote  was  passed  by  the  proprietors  in  accordance 
with  his  wish.  The  three  deacons  were  appointed  "  a  committee  to 
wait  upon  Dr.  Channing,  and  to  express  the  gratitude  of  the  society 
to  him  for  this  act  of  liberahty." 

"  Dear  Sir  :  —  I  learned  from  your  letter  j^esterday  that  a  meet- 
ing of  the  proprietors  of  our  church  is  to  be  held  to-da}',  to  settle 
some  of  its  pecuniary  concerns.  I  will  thank  you  to  inform  the 
meeting,  that,  as  I  was  absent  from  the  country'  half  of  the  last 
year,  it  is  my  wish  and  purpose  to  relinquish  one  half  of  a  year's 
salar}'. 

"  Verj-  trul}'  your  friend. 

"October  24,  1831." 

October  24,  it  was  voted  unanimously,  "  That  the  clerk  be 
directed  to  present  tlie  thanks  of  the  proprietors  to  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Channing  for  his  liberal  offer,  but  respectfully  to  dechne  accept- 
ing it." 

"  To  the  Members  of  the  Congregational  Society  in  Federal  Street. 

"Boston,  Nov.  1,  1832. 

"  My  Christian  Friends  :  —  This  day  being  the  commencement 
of  the  last  half  of  our  parochial  year,  I  have  thought  it  a  fit  time 
for  a  communication  which,  perhaps,  ought  to  have  been  made 
before.  The  uncertainty  of  my  health,  and  consequent  uncertainty 
of  my  ofllcial  services,  have  led  me  to  think  that  a  change,  in  one 
respect,  should  be  made  in  the  relation  subsisting  between  us.  It 
seems  to  me  that  my  salary  should  cease  ;  and,  accordingly,  I  re- 
linquish it  from  the  present  time.  In  taking  this  step,  I  have  no 
desire  to  dissolve  my  pastoral  connection  with  you.  I  wish  to  con- 
tinue it,  provided  you  shall  believe  that,  in  so  doing,  I  may  promote 
your  best  interests.  I  still  hope  that  I  may  recover  strength  for  oc- 
casional preacliing.  To  be  wholly  cut  off  from  this  means  of  use- 
fulness would  be  to  me  a  great  aOliction.  I  feel,  however,  more 
strongly  than  I  have  done,  that  I  ought  never  to  preach  without  a 
decided  conviction  that  my  health  will  not  sutler  from  the  eifort ; 
and  I  beUeve  that,  in  relinquishing  my  salary,  my  judgment  on  this 
point  will  be  more  unembarrassed  than  at  present. 

"■  1  beg  you  to  accept  my  thanks  for  the  interest  which  you  have 


RELATIONS  TO   THE   SOCIETY.  397 

SO  long  taken  in  me  and  m}'  labors.  No  one  of  you  can  feel  more 
than  I  do  how  broken  and  imperfect  my  sermons  have  been.  Under 
my  infirmities,  however,  1  have  found  comfort  in  knowing  that  you 
were  enjoying  the  faithful  and  able  labors  of  my  colleague.  It  is 
m}'  earnest  desire  and  prayer,  that  the  religion  of  Christ  may  be 
preached  to  you  in  its  purity,  and  with  increasing  success.  This 
divine  truth  becomes  more  and  more  precious  to  me,  under  every 
new  visitation  of  sickness  and  suffering.  I  can  ask  nothing  better 
for  my  dearest  friends  than  that  they  may  know,  by  experience,  its 
purifying  influences  and  never-failing  supports. 

"  With  great  affection  and  respect, 

"  Your  friend  and  pastor." 

On  November  19th,  1832,  it  was  "  Voted,  That  a  committee  of 
five  persons  be  appointed  to  express  the  unabated  respect  and  afl^'ec- 
tion  of  the  society  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing,  and  their  grateful 
sense  of  his  past  services,  and  to  request  that  he  will  continue  to 
act  as  their  pastor  on  the  same  terms  as  at  present,  with  the 
understanding  that  he  shall  not  be  expected  to  oflflciate,  except 
when  he  can  do  it  conveniently,  and  with  perfect  safety  to  his 
health." 

"  To  the  Committee  of  the  Federal  Street  Society. 

"Gentlemen:  —  !  will  thank  you  to  express,  at  some  suitable 
time,  to  the  members  of  our  religious  society  my  purpose  of  relin- 
quishing, at  the  end  of  the  parochial  year,  the  compensation  which 
I  now  receive  for  my  services.  It  is  a  deliberate  act,  and  I  beg 
them  to  acquiesce  in  it.  I  am  not  solicitous,  however,  to  give  up 
entirely  my  relation  as  one  of  their  ministers,  should  they  desire 
its  continuance.  My  long  connection  with  the  society,  the  tender 
recollections  which  spring  up  when  I  look  back  on  the  many  years 
devoted  to  the  ministry  among  them,  and  the  hope  that  I  may  still 
confer  some  benefit,  however  small,  incline  me  to  continue  the  re- 
lation as  long  as  it  shall  seem  to  me  not  to  interfere  with  hio-her 
means  of  usefulness.  They  will  naturally  expect  that  my  labors 
among  them  will  be  diminished,  and  will  not  be  surprised,  if  I 
should  use  tlie  freedom  which  I  shall  enjoy  in  giving  a  somewhat 
different  direction  to  my  exertions  in  the  cause  of  humanity  and 
religion.  It  is  my  earnest  prayer  that  their  deliberations  a  nd  efforts 
for  securing  to  themselves  and  their  children  the  means  of  relioious 
improvement  may  be  blessed  by  God,— that  their  union  maybe 
unbroken,  —  that  they  may  be  more  and  more  established  in  Chris- 
tian faith  and  virtue,  — and  that,  under  the  merciful  discipline  of 


398  THE  MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

our  Heavenly  Father,  we  ma}'  all  prepare  ourselves  for  the  indis- 
soluble ties  and  everlasting  happiness  of  the  world  to  come. 

"  Your  sincere  friend. 
"  Jan.  9,  1838." 

This  letter  was  written  because  the  Society  in  Federal  Street  was 
desirous  of  settling  a  colleague  to  aid  Mr.  Gannett,  at  a  period 
when  he  was  very  much  enfeebled,  and  Dr.  Channing  considered 
the  burden  of  three  ministers  altogether  unnecessary.  But  as  Mr. 
Gannett's  health  became  restored,  the  plan  was  abandoned  ;  and, 
at  the  request  of  the  society.  Dr.  Channing  resumed  his  former 
relations.  The  series  of  these  communications  was  closed  by  the 
two  following  letters,  which  seemed  prophetically  to  announce  the 
close  of  his  earthly  ministr}' :  — 

"  To  the  Standing  Committee  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Church  in  Federal  Street. 

"  Gentlemen  :  —  This  day  being  the  beginning  of  our  parochial 
year,  I  think  it  a  fit  season  for  a  communication  which  I  have  for 
some  time  intended  to  make.  I  have,  as  }ou  may  recollect,  pro- 
posed more  than  once  to  relinquish  m}-  salary,  but  have  as  often 
been  requested  by  the  societ}'  to  retain  it.  The  last  request  was 
communicated  to  me  by  the  Hon.  J.  Davis  and  the  Hon.  J.  Welles, 
with  a  kindness  which  I  shall  always  remember  with  gratitude.  I 
observed  to  them,  that  one  reason  for  relinquishing  the  salary  was, 
that  by  receiving  it  I  should  excite  expectations  which  I  might  not 
be  able  to  fulfil.  But  I  was  assured,  that  I  was  to  consider  myself 
as  wholly  free,  and  to  preach  only  when  it  might  be  convenient. 
I  have  never  lost  the  hope  of  being  strengthened  for  greater  public 
labors  ;  but  as  yet  it  has  not  been  realized.  Under  this  experience, 
I  have  gradually  reduced  my  salary,  and  have  resolved  definitely 
to  relinquish  it  l^rom  this  day.  It  is  also  my  wish  and  purpose  that 
all  my  i)ul)lic  functions  should  cease.  1  do  not  desire,  however, 
that  a  formal  dissolution  of  our  connection  should  take  place. 
Having  sustained  the  relation  of  pastor  nearly  forty  years,  it  will 
be  gratifying  to  me  that  it  should  continue,  whilst  circumstances 
remain  as  Ihey  are.  I  wish  that  the  members  of  the  society  may 
feel  that  they  have  a  right  to  seek  friendly  and  spiritual  counsel 
from  me,  when  in  need  of  such,  and  that  I  may  have  a  right  to 
communicate  with  them,  when  I  can  hope  to  do  them  good.  I  beg, 
however,  that  it  may  be  understood,  that  the  prosperity  of  the 
society  is  far  dearer  to  me  than  any  personal  gratification  of  this 
nature  ;  and  if  it  should  be  thought  best  that  there  should  be  a 
formal  dissolution  of  the  relation,  I  desire  that  this  may  immediately 
take  place. 


RELATIONS   TO   THE   SOCIETY.  399 

"  In  thus  bringing  m}-  public  labors  among  3'ou  to  an  end,  I  can- 
not but  acknowledge  with  gratitude  that  kind  Providence  which  has 
sustained  me  so  many  years  amidst  much  plwsical  infirmity,  and 
wdiich  has  made  it  the  employment  of  mj-  life  to  study  and  teach 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  After  a  long  experience,  I  feel  that 
life  could  not  have  been  devoted  to  a  more  worthy  end.  My  time 
has  been  given  chiefly  to  the  work  of  acquiring  juster,  clearer,  more 
quickening  views  of  truth  and  dut}'.  In  this  pursuit  I  have  spent 
mj'  strength,  and  cheerfull}^  surrendered  most  of  what  are  called 
the  pleasures  of  life.  That  in  so  doing  I  have  obe^'ed  a  Divine  im- 
pulse, I  believe  ;  but  I  may  have  followed  it  too  exclusively.  The 
inquiries  and  contemplations  which  belong  to  m}'  profession  may 
have  encroached  on  its  more  active  duties.  My  studies,  which 
would  have  been  light  to  a  man  of  ordinary  strength,  have  produced 
almost  daily  an  exhaustion  which  has  left  me  little  spirit  for  social 
intercourse.  It  might  have  been  better  for  myself  and  for  others, 
had  I  more  frequently  torn  my  mind  from  the  subjects  which  have 
absorbed  almost  my  whole  intellectual  energy.  For  this  error,  if 
such  it  be,  I  ask  and  hope  a  lenient  judgment,  because  I  have  not 
given  myself  to  intellectual  indulgence,  but  have  carried  into  my 
.  seclusion  a  sincere,  and  I  hope  a  growing,  interest  in  my  fellow- 
creatures,  and  in  the  Christian  cause.  Other  and  more  serious 
deficiencies  I  might  recall.  Indeed,  no  one  can  feel  more  than  I 
do  the  imperfections  of  my  ministry.  For  these  I  desire  forgive- 
ness of  God  and  man.  Still  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  had  labored  in 
vain.  My  public  services  have  been  listened  to  with  interest,  and 
I  have  had  proofs,  for  which  I  am  most  grateful,  that  deeper  eflTects 
than  transient  interest  have  been  produced  by  my  ministry.  Not 
that  I  have  accomplished  what  I  wished.  As  a  people,  I  fear  we 
are  greatly  wanting  in  that  spiritual  elevation,  that  superiority  to 
the  world,  that  love  of  God,  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  mankind,  which 
is  the  end  of  religious  institutions.  In  truth,  all  our  churches  need 
a  new  life,  a  new  comprehension  of  the  spirit  and  high  purpose  of 
Christianity.  This  I  say  for  the  truth's  sake,  and  in  sorrow  of 
heart,  and  not  from  any  wounded  feelings,  under  the  consciousness 
of  having  exerted  no  greater  influence.  As  far  as  I  am  personally 
concerned,  I  ha\e  nothing  to  complain  of,  no  reproaches  to  utter. 
I  have  received  for  many  years  expressions  of  kindness,  for  which 
I  oflTer  my  sincere  thanks.  It  is,  indeed,  a  gratifying  consideration, 
that  our  long  union  has  not  been  disturbed  even  by  a  word  of  conten- 
tion. I  am  not  aware  that  a  thought  or  emotion  of  uukindness  has 
risen  within  me  toAvaids  one  of  my  parishioners.  Were  I  now  to 
leave  them,  I  could  from  the  heart  bid  an  affectionate  farewell  to  all. 


400  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

"I  have  spoken  of  the  past.  It  is  natural  for  me,  at  such  a 
moment,  to  cast  a  look  towards  the  future.  It  is  possible  that 
some  sphere  of  action,  not  now  anticipated,  may  open  on  me.  It 
is  more  probable  that  my  present  sphere  will  he  contracted.  When 
I  look  round  me,  1  see  not  one  of  the  ministers  who  filled  the  pulpits 
of  this  city  at  my  ordination.  All  have  gone  to  their  account ;  and 
not  a  few,  settled  since,  have  also  passed  away.  He,  who  seemed 
destined  to  go  among  the  first,  survives  alone.  Can  I  help  apply- 
ing to  myself  the  language  of  the  Apostle,  —  '  The  time  of  my 
departure  is  at  hand '  ?  Nor  is  the  time  very  distant,  when  all  to 
whom  I  have  ministered  will  have  entered  the  unknown  world.  It 
is  ni}'  fervent  pra^'er  that  we  ma}'  meet  in  the  temple  '  not  made 
with  hands,'  and  that  a  holier  worship  than  has  united  us  here  may 
bind  us  together  for  ever. 

"  I  may  on  another  occasion  express  m}^  feelings  more  full}' to 
the  society.  I  earnestly  desire  that  they  may  continue  to  enjoy 
the  labors  of  their  devoted  pastor,  and  that,  through  this  and  other 
means  of  religion,  their  harmony  ma}'  be  perpetuated,  and  their 
spiritual  improvement  never  cease. 

"  With  respect  and  affection,  your  friend. 
"  May  1,  1840." 

"  The  Proprietors  and  Congregation  of  the  Church  in  Berry  Street  to  their  Senior 
Pastor,  the  Rev.  William  Ellerij  Channing,  D.  D. 

"  Reverend  and  dear  Sir  :  —  We  have  received  from  the  stand- 
ing committee  of  the  proprietors  the  letter  you  addressed  them  on 
the  first  instant,  announcing  your  purpose  from  that  day  to  relin- 
quish the  small  remainder  of  salary,  which,  at  our  earnest  request, 
you  had  till  then  consented  to  receive  from  us  ;  and  expressing  your 
desire,  that,  without  formally  dissolving  the  connection  that  has  so 
long  and  so  happily  subsisted  between  us,  your  public  functions  as 
a  minister  of  Christ  to  this  society  may  cease. 

"  We  do  not  wish  to  conceal  from  you  that  we  receive  this  de- 
cision with  regret  and  pain.  Perhaps  we  feel  it  the  more  sensibly, 
because  it  seemed  to  be  our  duty  to  acquiesce  in  it,  and  thus  make 
it  final.  For  several  years,  we  have  known  that  you  considered 
such  a  separation  as  you  now  propose  desirable,  on  account  of  the 
state  of  your  health  ;  and  if  we  have  heretofore  been  unwilling  to 
give  it  our  concurrence,  it  has  been  from  feelings  of  respect  and  at- 
tachment to  yourself,  that  have  grown  old  in  many  of  our  hearts, 
and  sunk  deep  in  all  of  them.  We  may,  from  these  feelings,  have 
resisted  your  wishes  longer  than  we  ought  to  have  done,  but  we 
hope  and  trust  we  have  not  been  unreasonable ;  and  now  that  the 


DUTIES   OF   THE   MINISTER.  401 

time  has  arrived  when  we  are  not  permitted  to  hesitate  in  giving  to 
them  our  full  assent,  it  gi'atifies  us  that  you  do  not  seek  to  make 
the  separation  absohite  and  entire,  but  that  ^-ou  are  desirous  on 
3'our  part,  as  we  are  on  ours,  to  retain  some  of  the  bonds  that  have 
united  us  during  a  connection  tliat  has  been  permitted  to  be  so 
happ}-  and  to  last  so  long 

"  Our  connection,  as  you  intimate,  has  been  continued  through  a 
longer  period  than  could  at  first  have  been  anticipated,  —  a  period, 
indeed,  so  long,  that  few  remain  among  us  who  bore  witness  to  its 
beginning.  You  came  to  us  thirty-seven  ^ears  ago,  when  our 
numbers  were  so  few,  and  our  circumstances  so  humble,  that  it 
was  apparent  3'ou  came  only  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  from  a  dis- 
interested desire  to  serve  your  fellow-men.  Under  your  care,  how- 
ever, we  soon  prospered  and  grew  numerous.  But  at  every  step 
of  our  progress,  we  felt,  that,  under  God's  good  providence,  we 
owed  it  chiefl}^  to  you.  We  have,  too,  as  we  trust,  been  thankful 
for  the  ministrations  we  have  enjoj'ed.  We  have  certainly  felt 
them  to  be  a  privilege,  —  a  great  privilege,  — and  we  have  greatly 
valued  them.  Nor  has  their  influence  been  confined  to  ourselves. 
They  have  been  felt  and  acknowledged  bej'ond  the  limits  of  our 
own  society,  beyond  the  limits  of  our  own  countrj' ;  and  we  trust 
that  even  yet  neither  their  work  nor  ^-ours  is  wholly  accomplished. 
We  trust,  that,  long  after  both  you  and  we  are  gone  to  render  up 
our  last  account,  your  spirit,  m  the  record  of  what  you  have  here 
spoken,  will  be  still  active  in  the  great  cause  of  Christ  and  of 
human  improvement,  to  which  you  have  devoted  your  life.  The 
only  regret  we  feel,  when  looking  back  upon  the  period  of  your 
connection  with  us,  is,  that  we  have  not  profited  as  we  ought  to 
have  done  by  the  privileges  we  have  enjoyed ;  that  we  have  not 
become  spiritual,  and  superior  to  the  world,  devoted  to  duty,  as 
you  have  labored  to  make  us.  We  pray  God  to  forgive  us  for  our 
deficiencies,  and  to  make  your  teachings  more  eff'ectual  to  the  gen- 
erations that  are  to  come  after  us  than  they  have  been  to  us  and 
to  our  own 

"On  behalf  of  the  proprietors  and  the  congregation  of  Berry 
Street  Church, 

"  Samuel  Greele,  Chairman. 
George  S.  Hillard,  Proprietors'  Clerk." 

In  proportion  as  the  ties  were  gradually  loosened  which  bound 
Dr.  Channing  to  the  Federal  Street  Society,  and  as  his  indefatiga- 
ble colleague  became,  by  well-earned  influence,  peculiarly  the  pas- 
tor of  the  congregation,  he  felt  himself  more  free  to  devote  his  time 

26 


402  THE   MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

and  thonghts  to  larger  interests  of  trnth  and  philanthrop}'.  In  fact, 
for  many  years  a  change  had  been  slowly  taking  place  in  his  views  of 
the  relative  importance  of  the  different  branches  of  ministerial  labor. 
In  his  early  professional  life  he  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  most 
devoted  to  his  pastoral  duties,  and  ill  health,  more  than  any  otlier 
cause,  had  compelled  him  to  limit  his  exertions  in  that  direction. 
But  experience  at  length  suggested  to  liim  the  question,  whether 
his  enforced  life  of  secluded  meditation  had  not,  on  the  whole,  been 
more  serviceable  to  his  fellow-men  than  one  of  more  constant  social 
intercourse  and  practical  activity'  would  have  been.  The  course  of 
his  reflections  may  be  partially  indicated  by  giving  the  following 
extracts  from  one  of  his  unfinished  manuscripts  :  — 

"The  several  duties  of  the  minister  may  be  laid  downi  easily; 
but  it  is  not  so  eas^'  to  establish  the  relative  rank  of  his  various 
offices.  Some  would  make  the  minister  a  student,  some  a  visiting 
pastor,  some  a  pnblic  speaker.  Undoubtedly,  the  same  rule  can- 
not be  applied  to  all.  Different  modes  of  labor  are  appropriate  to 
different  men,  and  to  different  conditions  of  society-.  Still  the 
great  idea  of  the  Christian  minister  is  plain.  He  is  to  be  a  teacher ; 
and,  in  order  that  he  may  teach,  he  must  learn.  His  peculiar  work 
is,  to  quicken  the  community  by  the  promulgation  of  exalting  truth. 
The  acquisition  of  this  truth,  and  the  clear,  powerful  expression  of 
it,  are,  then,  his  chief  labors ;  and  these  imply  much  solitary 
thought.  He  is  to  be  a  thinker.  To  this  severe  toil  his  life  is  to 
be  mainly  given.  Of  course,  he  is  to  preach,  converse,  counsel.  But 
the  sermon  which  he  preaches  in  an  hour  may  be  the  result  of  months 
and  years  of  meditation.     The  truth  which  he  utters  in  a  sentence 

may  have  cost  him  long,  laborious,  exhausting  research 

Only  private  meditation  can  lead  him  up  to  worthy  conceptions 
of  the  great  realities  of  the  spiritual  life.  His  chief  work  he  must 
do  alone.  He  must  live  much  in  his  study,  and  live  there,  not  as 
a  hypocrite  and  cheat,  amusing  himself  with  light  reading,  whilst 
the  world  considers  him  a  student,  but  in  good  faith  tasking  his 
powers  for  the  discovery  and  forcible  exhibition  of  truth.  The 
study  is  too  often  an  idle  place,  and  yet  a  faithful  student  is  the 
most  laborious  man  on  earth.  These  views  are  important,  because 
the  age  is  so  much  an  out-door  age.  There  is  little  solitary  thought 
an}' where. 

"Great  stress  is  laid  upon  what  is  sometimes  called  pastoral 
duty,  on  the  personal  intercourse,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  minister 
witli  his  congregation  ;  but  much  visiting  may  be  to  a  minister,  as 
to  others,  a  species  of  dissipation.  Profitable  conversation  is  a 
fruit  of  meditation,  the  overflow  of  a  full  heart  and  mind.     To  do 


DUTIES  OF  THE  MINISTER.  403 

good,  as  lie  goes  from  house  to  house,  a  minister  should  carry  with 
him  living  thoughts,  which  have  been  matured  by  vigorous  inquiry', 
which  belong  to  a  s^'stem  of  truth  forever  enlarging  and  gaining 
strength  in  his  mind.  No  one  believes  more  than  I  do  in  the  bene- 
fits of  free  conference  between  the  minister  and  his  parishioners  ; 
but  their  intercourse  should  be  truly  a  conference,  —  the  suggestion 
of  awakening  ideas,  which  open  the  inward  experience.  Such  con- 
versation requires,  above  all  things,  that  a  minister  should  rid  him- 
self of  the  technicalities  and  formal  restraints  of  his  profession,  and 
exchange  mere  traditional  notions  of  religion  for  fresh,  clear,  pro- 
found views.  Where  a  minister  does  not  lead  a  life  of  thought,  it 
is  to  be  feared  that,  as  a  visitor,  he  will  become  a  gossip  ;  and  a 
religious  gossip  is  no  more  profitable  than  any  other.  To  tell  reli- 
gious news  may  do  in  its  season  and  place,  but  to  fill  up  an}'  con- 
siderable portion  of  life  with  it  is  a  sad  waste  of  power ;  and  a 
minister  should  respect  his  function  too  highly  to  spend  his  hours 
in  such  enfeebling  talk. 

"  It  is  sometimes  said,  that  a  minister  does  more  b}''  winning  the 
love  of  his  people  than  b}-  hard  study,  because  he  thus  secures 
an  access  to  their  hearts  which  no  mere  intellectual  power  could 
give.  A  minister  should,  indeed,  be  loved ;  but  this  sentiment 
should  be  a  moral,  rather  than  a  personal  sentiment.  It  should  be 
a  respect  for  his  high  virtues,  a  trust  in  his  uncompromising  fidelit}^, 
a  grateful  sense  of  his  devoted,  conscientious  labors  for  a  glorious 
end,  more  than  an  attachment  growing  out  of  private  sympathies. 
Respectful  confidence,  founded  on  the  recognition  of  consistent 
principle,^  is  better  than  affection.  The  minister  must  beware  of 
an  intercourse  with  his  congregation  which  flatters  their  self-love, 
and  endears  him  as  a  partial  friend.  The  sympathetic  minister 
may  fail  to  be  the  faitliful  spiritual  guide.  The  onlj"^  sure  ground 
for  a  man  to  stand  upon  is  elevation  and  purity  of  character.  Pop- 
ularity, founded  on  individual  sympathies,  has  no  certain  perma-  / 
nence ^ 

"  These  remarks  are  the  more  important,  because,  in  this  coun- 
try, the  dependence  of  the  minister  on  the  good-will  of  his  congre- 
gation strongly  tempts  him  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  his  hearers. 
If  he  yield  to  this  temptation,  he  is  lost.  If  the  desire  of  pleasing 
takes  the  place  of  aspiration  after  truth,  the  dignity  of  his  mind  is 
gone.  We  never  should  enter  into  communion  with  our  fellow-men 
with  the  view  of  being  agreeable  as  our  chief  end.  We  enter  no 
circle  without  taking  the  chance  of  encountering  opinions  and  feel- 
ings which  we  ought  not  to  reciprocate,  or  of  being  called  to  utter 
what  ma}-  give  pain  or  oflTence.     Our  first  purpose  should  be,  to 


404  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

hold  fast  to  truth  and  justice,  however  we  maj^  fail  of  s3'Tnpathy  ;  and 
this  is  especially  the  duty  of  the  minister,  whose  great  function  is 
to  bear  witness  to  the  truth.  The  minister  is  only  degraded  by  his 
profession,  if  he  seeks  transitory  approbation,  by  accommodating 
truth  to  men's  passions  and  prejudices.  The  whole  power  of  his 
office  lies  in  his  moral  self-subsistence ;  j-et  he  is  tempted  to  veer 
with  every  change  of  popular  opinion.  Let  him,  therefore,  live 
much  by  himself,  that  he  may  learn  to  stand  firm  among  his  fellow- 
men  ;  let  him  dwell  habitually  in  the  region  of  everlasting  truths, 
that  he  may  not  be  the  sport  of  the  caprices  of  the  day." 

The  thoughts  expressed  in  the  foregoing  extracts  embody, 
though  in  a  hasty  and  imperfect  manner,  Dr.  Channing's  views  of 
his  own  special  duties  as  a  minister.  This  will  appear  from  the 
following  letter :  — 

"  January  23,  1828  ^  ....  I  have  been  refreshed  to-day  by  a 
visit  from  our  friend  Tuckerman,  who  seems  to  be,  and  is,  happier 
in  visiting  the  hovels  of  the  poor,  than  any  spoiled  child  of  fortune  in 
haunting  the  saloons  of  taste,  rank,  and  wealth.  He  enjoys  his  poor, 
and  I  enjoy  his  power  of  virtue  in  extracting  from  such  material 
such  rare  happiness.  Tims  virtue  is  a  spreading  good  indeed. 
Next  to  my  own  function,  I  am  tempted  to  think  his  the  best. 

"And  what  is  my  function?  Striving  humbly,  and  not  impa- 
tiently striving,  to  penetrate  the  clouds  which  encompass  us,  and 
to  catch  some  new  glimpses  of  the  Uncreated  Light,  the  Infinite 
Beauty,  the  Perfection  of  the  Parent  Mind,  and  of  the  Human 
Soul ;  and  through  this  to  understand  myself  and  other  beings,  — 
to  turn  all  things  to  their  true  and  noblest  ends.  What  I  have 
lately  published  was  meant  to  be  a  trial  of  the  sympathy  which  I 
might  hope  for. 

"  When  I  told  you  that  my  last  sermon  had  not  answered  my 
hopes,  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that  it  had  not  been  talked  of  enough, 
but  that  it  had  not  excited  the  kind  of  interest  which  I  have  wished. 
Still  I  do  not  complain,  or  for  a  moment  waver  in  my  hope.  I 
blame  as  much,  to  say  the  least,  the  imperfection  of  the  writer,  as 
the  want  of  susceptibility  in  the  readers.  I  believe  that  the  seed 
has  been  sown  in  some  minds  where  it  will  take  root,  and  this  fully 
satisfies  and  recompenses  me.  But  there  has  been  no  general 
response  to  the  sentiments,  or  rather  a  general  indifference  ;  so 
that  to  hear  even  of  a  few  to  whom  they  are  living  truths  is  a  great 
encouragement;  and  my  friends  do  me  good,  when  they  let  me 
know  of  such  cases.     My  own  opinion  of  the  value  of  what  I  pub- 

1  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.  D. 


ESTIMATE   OF  HIS   WRITINGS.  405 

lish  is  not  at  all  affected  b}-  the  general  reception  it  meets  with ; 
but  if  no  souls  are  reached,  there  is  cause  of  distrust." 

The  rare  blending  of  conscientiousness  and  humilit}',  indepen- 
dence and  self-distrust,  firm  faith  and  aspiration,  so  simply  mani- 
fested in  this  estimate  of  his  intellectual  function,  pervaded  the 
writer's  character,  and  determined  the  course  of  his  literary  life. 
Without  the  addition  of  a  word  of  comment,  the  following  series 
of  letters  will  open  to  the  reader  the  hidden  springs  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning's  conduct  as  an  author,  and  reveal,  as  no  description  could, 
the  pure  disinterestedness  by  which  he  was  animated. 

"  May  14,  1842.^  It  is  not  unfrequent  for  an  author  to  be 
praised,  even  admired,  whilst  he  feels  that  the  view  of  his  work 
most  interesting  to  himself  has  been  seized  by  very  few  of  his 
hearers.  He  is  praised,  but  not  understood.  I  remember  a  minis- 
ter who,  on  being  deprived  of  a  particular  hearer,  expressed  great 
sorrow  ;  '  P'or,'  said  he,  '  I  alwajs  felt,  when  he  was  present,  that 
one  of  the  congregation  understood  me.'  I  have  had  some  sad 
proofs  of  the  obtuseness  of  too  many  of  my  readers,  in  the  kind 
of  criticism  passed  on  me.  Some  people  have  groaned  at  my 
deserting  my  profession,  and  becoming  a  politician.  Some  wise 
ones  even  intimated  that  I  had  an  eye  on  a  seat  in  Congress ! 
Things  of  this  kind  do  not  discourage  me,  but  show  what  a  dark- 
ness surrounds  us  on  ever}'  side.  I  thank  3-ou  for  understanding 
me.  Not  that  3-ou  are  the  onl}-  discerner  of  my  spirit ;  others 
have  done  me  the  same  favor ;  and,  indeed,  I  am  persuaded  that 
there  is  an  increasing  tendency  to  see  the  application  of  moral  and 
religious  truths,  of  the  highest  principles  of  Christianit}',  to  politi- 
cal affairs,  to  the  relations  of  nations,  and  to  all  civil  and  social 
arrangements  and  institutions." 

^^  Boston,  July  21,  1828.^  Dear  Sir: — Your  letter  gave  me 
great  pleasure.  Man}^  of  your  expressions  of  approbation  I  am 
compelled,  b}^  my  self-knowledge,  to  limit,  perhaps  I  should  say, 
to  disclaim.  But,  whilst  I  question  the  soundness  of  the  estimate 
which  man}-  make  of  my  labors,  I  do  not  the  less  rejoice  in  the 
proofs  which  occasionally  come  to  me,  that  what  I  have  written  has 
been  quickening  and  exalting  to  some  of  my  fellow-beings.  I  have 
a  deep  conviction  that  Christianity  was  intended  to  communicate 
energy  and  elevation  far  beyond  what  we  yet  witness,  and  that  our 
nature  was  made,  and  is  fitted,  for  the  sublimest  influences  of  this 
religion.     If  I  have  helped  to  spread  this  conviction,  —  if  I  have 

1  To  Ferris  Pell,  Esq.  2  To  the  Rev.  George  Armstrong. 


406  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

awakened  in  any  soul  a  consciousness  of  its  powers  and  greatness, 
—  if  I  have  thrown  any  light  on  the  grandeur  of  God's  puiposes 
towards  his  rational  creatures,  —  if  I  have  done  anything  to  expose 
the  monstrous  error,  that  curbs  and  chains  are  tlie  indispensable 
and  best  means  of  educating  the  individual  and  the  race, — or  if  I 
have  vindicated  for  the  mind  that  freedom  which  is  the  chief  ele- 
ment and  conditi6n  of  its  growth,  then  I  have  accomplished  the  end 
to  which  I  have  devoted  m}-  powers. 

"  I  thank  you  most  sincerely  for  encouraging  me  to  hope  that  I 
have  not  been  wholly  unsuccessful.  I  feel  my  poor  labors  —  for  I  can- 
not estimate  them  ver}^  highly  —  recompensed  beyond  measure  by 
such  language  as  3'ou  have  used.  You  have  given  me  a  kind  of  a^jpro- 
bation  which  I  ma^'  enjoy  without  injury  to  my  virtue,  for  your  letter 
breathes  sympathy  much  more  than  it  expresses  praise.  I  thank  you, 
and  I  thank  God,  for  this.  Truth,  though  not  responded  to,  is  still 
truth;  but  how  are  we  strengthened  and  encouraged,  Avhen,  having 
sent  it  abroad,  it  comes  back  to  us  in  tones  which  show  that  it  has 
penetrated  the  inmost  souls  of  some,  at  least,  who  have  heard  it !  " 

"  August  27,  1828.^  Your  letters  do  not  make  me  vain,  but 
thankful,  b}^  assuring  me  that  I  am  not  living  for  nothing,  —  that 
I  even  give  strength  and  elevation  to  minds  like  jours.  I  am  so 
tempted  to  think  lightly  of  whatever  1  send  forth,  that  1  need  such 
testimonies  to  sustain  my  courage." 

"  Boston,  March  30,  1829. ^  My  dear  Mrs.  Baillie  :  — I  thank 
you  from  the  heart  for  3'our  letter.  Expressions  of  interest  in  my 
writings,  from  the  enlightened  and  virtuous,  are  a  recompense  ibr 
which  I  cannot  be  sufficientl}'  grateful  to  Providence,  and  which  I 
need  as  an  encouragement.  I  am  naturally'  inclined  to  self-dis- 
trust. I  do  not  know  that  vc\y  case  is  singular;  but,  whilst  I  have 
the  deepest  conviction  of  the  truth  and  greatness  of  m}'  leading 
views,  and  look  to  them  as  powerful  means  of  quickening  and 
elevating  the  human  mind,  I  am  so  dissatislicd  with  ni}'  expression 
of  them,  that  I  sometimes  hesitate  about  sending  my  writings  to 
m}'^  friends,  after  they  have  gone  through  the  press.  My  principal 
encouragement  is,  that  the  truths  which  I  have  pubUshed  seem  to 
have  found  their  wa}'  to  the  hearts  of  some  3'oung  men  of  fine 
powers  and  a  noble  spirit,  who,  as  I  trust,  are  to  do  much  more 
than  myself.  I  have  for  manj'  j-ears  had  a  deep  feeling  of  the  present 
degraded  state  of  moral  and  religious  science.  My  desire  and  hope 
has  been,  to  awaken  in  others  the  want  of  something  purer  and 
more  ennobling.     M3'  success  has  certainly  exceeded  my  expecta- 

1  To  Mrs.  Felicia  Hemans.  -  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


HIS   WRITINGS  IN  GERMANY.  407 

tion,  but  has  clone  little  to  remove  the  consciousness  of  deficienc}'. 
I  have  written  this  that  j'ou  may  understand  the  good  which  has 
been  done  me  by  s^'mpath}-  on  your  side  of  the  ocean." 

"'■Boston^  March  8,  1833.^  My  dear  Sir:  —  I  smiled  a  little 
at  your  solicitude  about  the  reception  your  article  would  find  with 
me.  It  will  be  relieved,  when  I  tell  you  that  1  have  not  read  it.^ 
You  will  not  infer  from  this  that  you  have  been  neglected.  I  have 
felt,  for  some  time,  that  the  less  I  read  about  myself  the  better. 
The  most  laudatory  article  on  my  writings  ever  published,  as  I 
suppose,  appeared  in  the  Westminster  Review,  two  or  three  years 
ago,  and  I  did  not  read  it,  though  the  number  containing  it  was 
more  than  once  in  my  hands.  The  vindication  of  me,  in  the 
North  American,  from  Hazlitt's  abuse  in  the  Edinburgh,  I  have 
never  read.  1  am  always  gratified  by  a  few  lines  in  a  letter  or 
newspaper,  showing  me  that  my  writings  are  spreading,  and  are 
producing  their  effects  on  one  and  another  mind.  I  read  such 
notices  now  and  then ;  for  m}'  tendenc}'  is  to  discouragement,  to 
depressing  views  of  whatever  1  do.  None  are  more  grateful  for  a 
word  of  heart-felt  approbation  ;  but  I  can  dispense  with  anything 
more.  So  much  for  my  interest  in  laudatory  criticisms.  As  to 
those  which  expose  m^'  defects,  I  am  glad  to  receive  them  from 

fair-minded  men.     Accordingij-,  I  desired ,  when  reading  3'our 

article,  to  extract  the  fault-finding  passages  ;  and  3'ou  can  judge 
how  they  aflfected  me,  when  I  tell  3-ou,  that,  on  finishing  the 
extracts,  I  asked,  '  Is  this  all?'  " 

"  Boston^  May  5,  1834.^  The  truth  is,  I  have  been  an  author  by 
accident,  not  by  profession  or  of  set  purpose.  Most  that  I  have 
published  was  written  without  a  thought  of  publication,  and  noth- 
ing was  w^ritten  to  api)ear  in  my  own  name  ;  so  that  I  have  not 
been  exposed,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  sensitiveness  which  cleaves  to 
authorship.  I  never  could  attach  much  importance  to  these  almost 
fortuitous  productions.  The  truths  which  I  have  insisted  on  seem 
to  me,  indeed,  infinitely  important,  —  more  so  than  to  anybody 
else.  But  I  am  conscious  of  having  done  no  justice  to  them ;  so 
that  I  am  little  disposed  to  blame  those  who  differ  from  me." 

"  March,  1836.*  I  was  a  little  surprised  by  3'our  application  in 
behalf  of  a  good  duchess  in  the  heart  of  German}-.  I  did  not  sup- 
pose that  my  name  had  ever  been  heard  in  that  countrj',  and  I  can 
hardly  conceive  of  m^'  finding  much  favor  among  a  people  of  such 

1  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.  D.  »  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 

2  Review  of  his  writings,  in  the  Christian  Examiner.  ■'■' 
*  To  George  Ticknor,  Esq.,  Dresden,  Saxony.                                      «  '('     ' 


408  THE   MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

different  habits  of  thought,  and  whose  learned  men  and  men  of 
genius  leave  me  so  very,  ver^^  far  behind.  However,  I  will  send 
my  books  with  pleasure.  I  know  they  contain  some  great  truths, 
written,  not  from  tradition,  but  from  deep  conviction,  from  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  —  ma}'  I  not  say,  from  inspiration?  I  mean 
nothing  miraculous  ;  —  does  not  God  speak  in  us  all  ?  No  one 
does,  or  can,  see  the  imperfections  of  what  I  have  written  as  I  do 
myself.  But  in  the  '  earthen  vessel '  there  is  still  a  heavenl}' 
'  treasure.'  Of  this  I  am  sure.  I  will  therefore  send  my  books, 
with  all  their  imperfections,  to  the  duchess.  They  contain  principles 
which  it  would  be  well  for  dukes  and  duchesses  to  learn,  all  the  world 
over ;  and  who  knows  but  that  I  may  give  to  one  in  high  station  a 
new  sympathy'  with  his  or  her  fellow-creatures,  a  new  reverence  for 
humanity,  a  new  perception  of  the  nothingness  of  the  outward  com- 
pared with  the  inward?  I  live  in  hope  ;  for  is  it  not  the  will  of  God 
that  all  men  shall  be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  ?  " 

"William  E.    Channing  respectfully  requests   the    Duchess   of 
to  accept  the  books  now  forwarded.     He  has  understood  from 


an  American  friend  residing  at  Dresden,  who  has  communicated 

with  Count ,  that  the  duchess  had  ex[)ressed  a  desire  to  see 

his  writings,  and  he  trusts  that  she  will  do  him  the  honor  to  accept 
from  him  such  as  he  can  now  collect.  No  one  can  be  more  aware 
than  himself  of  the  imperfect  manner  in  which  he  has  unfolded  his 
views ;  but,  having  entire  and  joyful  faith  in  the  great  and  life- 
giving  truths  which  he  feels  himself  called  to  teach,  he  takes  pleas- 
ure in  sending  his  writings  to  an}^  who  may  be  disposed  to  read 
them,  and  especiall}'  to  those  whose  high  station  gives  them  peculiar 
influence   over   the    minds   of  their   fellow-beings.     He    begs   the 

Duchess  of to  accept  his  assurances  of  respect,  and  his  sincere 

wishes  for  her  happiness." 

It  thus  appears  how  incidentally^  Dr.  Channing  entered  the 
sphere  of  liter-ature.  The  ethical  element  was  the  predominant  one 
in  his  nature  ;  and  although  his  love  of  beauty-  was  too  strong, 
independent  of  overmastering  enthusiasm,  ever  to  have  permitted 
him  to  be  a  mere  dilettante,  it  was  not  so  active  as  to  make  him 
dissatisfied,  until  he  had  concentrated  into  a  symmetric  work  of 
art  his  thought  and  emotion.  He  was  too  earnest  as  a  prophet, 
to  waste  hours,  which  were  only  too  swift  in  their  flight  for  one 
so  feelile,  upon  giving  form  to  the  inspiring  truth  which  he  knew 
he  was  called  to  communicate.  Fully  aware,  as  he  was,  too,  that 
he  had  attained  but  to  glimpses  of  most  glorious  realities,  he 
could   not  be  so  presumptuous  and  irrevei'cnt  as  to  attach  high 


HABITS   AS  A   WRITER.  409 

value  to  what  he  humbly  regarded  as  fragmentary  suggestions  ;  and 
the  conceptions  struggling  witliin  him,  over  whicli  he  dcliglitedly 
brooded  in  meditative  days  and  wakeful  nights,  were  so  sweet 
and  majestic,  that  any  portraiture  of  them  would  have  seemed 
incomplete  and  unfinished.  He  could  give,  at  the  best,  but  a 
sketch  of  liis  meaning,  like  a  child's  rough  outline  of  some  statue 
or  landscape.  His  chief  care,  therefore,  was  to  be  true  ;  and  he 
left  his  expression  to  take  its  liue  and  shape  spontaneously.  A 
glance  at  his  manuscripts  sliows  how  unlabored  was  his  st^le.  The 
corrections  are,  for  the  most  part,  erasures ;  and  where  words  are 
exchanged  for  others,  in  all  cases,  it  is  by  substitution  of  a  simple 
phrase  for  a  composite  one.  Systematically,  from  even  early 
3'ears,  he  discipUned  his  fancy  to  severe  soberness ;  though  any 
one  who  knew  him  intimately  could  not  but  see  how  riclily  stored 
were  his  galleries  of  thought  wath  exquisite  natural  images.  He 
feared  that  the  sense  of  the  hearer  or  reader  would  be  lured  from 
tlie  aspect  of  trutli  to  tlie  splendor  of  her  robes  by  the  use  of  meta- 
phor, and  so  habitually  cliecked  his  instinctive  propensity  to  present 
laws  and  principles  b}'  the  medium  of  symbols.  His  etfort  was,  to 
utter  himself  plainly.  The  exercise  of  imagination,  also,  he  re- 
strained, limiting  its  sphere  to  giving  a  fresh  and  vigorous  embodi- 
ment to  his  ideas  in  the  most  obvious  form,  though  he  was  apt  and 
able  for  original  creation,  if  he  had  seen  it  to  be  a  befitting  work. 
The  very  play  of  the  affections  he  subdued,  and  constantly  sought 
for  a  calm,  attempered,  equable  tone  of  statement,  though  his  fer- 
vent will  necessarily  infused  a  glow  of  eloquence  through  the  whole 
texture  of  .his  composition.  And,  finally,  he  would  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  abstract  or  scientific  in  his  method  or  vocabulary,  for 
fear  that  the  public  would  be  deterred  from  listening  to,  or  pre- 
vented from  apprehending,  the  divine  thoughts  which  he  was 
empowei'ed  to  teach,  unless  won  to  attention  by  a  familiar  mode  of 
treatment.  In  a  word,  he  saw  an  immediate  duty  to  be  done, 
which  was,  to  rouse  lethargic  fellow-beings  to  a  consciousness 
of  the  grandeur  of  man's  spiritual  existence  ;  and  he  resolutelj' 
consecrated  himself,  by  iteration  and  reiteration  of  one  sublime 
lesson,  now  breathed  softly  in  whispers,  now  rung  out  like  an 
alarum,  to  break  the  dream  of  the  world,  and  to  sunuxion  the  mul- 
titude to  the  labors  and  joys  of  a  brightening  morning. 

The  history  of  his  various  publications  confirms  this  view  of  Dr. 
Channing  as  a  literary  man.  He  became  an  author  unawares. 
When  the  "Anthology  Club"  commenced  the  course  of  labors 
which  did  so  much  to  give  an  impulse  to  the  intellect  of  New  Eng- 
land, he  was  invited  to  be  a  contributor  to  their  journal ;  and,  in 


410  THE  MINISTRY  AND  LITERATURE. 

consequence,  he  communicated  to  its  pages  two  or  three  essays,  a 
few  fragmentary  tlioughts,  and  one  or  more  short  pieces  in  verse, 
which  were  probably  the  only  attempts  he  ever  made  at  poetical 
composition.  But  he  could  not  enter  cordially  into  what  he  felt  to 
be,  for  himself,  at  least,  but  "busy  idleness."  His  work  was  to 
preach.  As  great  politi(;al  occasions  called  from  him  sermons 
which  contained  declarations  of  sentiment  and  opinion  adapted  to 
the  wants  of  the  times,  he  reluctantly'  3'ielded  to  the  demand  for 
their  publication,  and  allowed  them  to  be  printed,  as  first  written, 
with  scarcel}'^  a  verbal  amendment.  In  the  Christian  Disciple, 
he  sought  to  do  what  he  might  to  pour  oil  upon  the  storm}-  waves 
which  were  then  swelling  beneath  the  tempest  of  controversy  ;  and 
only  when  he  could  in  conscience  no  longer  keep  silence,  addressed 
to  his  fellow-Christians  his  remonstrance  against  spiritual  despotism 
in  his  letters  to  Mr.  Thacher  and  Dr.  Worcester.  Thus,  in  the  first 
era  of  his  ministry,  it  is  seen  how  accidentall}- he  found  himself  sum- 
moned from  his  quiet  study  and  round  of  parish  duties,  to  modes  of 
address  for  which  he  felt  no  taste.  And  in  the  last  era  of  his  life, 
until  within  a  very  few  j'cars  before  his  death,  he  had  the  same  dis- 
inclination to  make  any  special  call  upon  the  attention  of  his  fellow- 
men.  Apart  from  the  restraints  of  his  native  modesty,  and  the 
influence  of  his  lofty  ideal,  measured  by  whose  standard  most  of  the 
literature  of  the  age  appeared  tame  and  frivolous  he  was  so  eager  to 
climb  to  serener  heights,  that  it  satisfied  him  to  send  forth  a  cheering 
crj'  to  brethren  struggling  upwards  through  the  shadows,  as  pros- 
pects of  beauty  opened  amidst  the  fog.  His  publications  were  still 
occasional  addresses,  drawn  from  him  by  request.  Friends  urged 
him  continually  to  embod}-  his  thoughts  in  a  more  permanent  form, 
to  which  he  replied,  that  they  were  not  quite  ripe.  And  when 
besought  at  least  to  j-evise,  select,  and  print  in  a  volume  what  he 
had  already  given  to  the  public,  he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
think  it  of  sufficient  importance  to  authorize  his  expending  on  such 
a  work  hours  which  he  felt  bound  to  consecrate  to  progressive 
inquiry. 

At  length  the  desire  to  aid  in  giving  a  higher  tone,  and  securing 
a  wider  sphere  of  influence,  to  the  Christian  Disciple,  which  in 
1824  was  enlarged,  and  took  a  new  form  under  the  name  of  the 
Christian  Examiner,  drew  from  him  some  essays,  which  attained 
a  most  unlooked-for  celebrity,  and  made  him  universally  known  in 
the  world  of  lettei's.  The  attention  excited  by  these  paijcrs  was  a 
great  surprise  to  him,  and  he  always  considered  the  estimate  placed 
upon  them  by  the  i)ublic  exaggerated.  To  redeem  his  promise  of 
communicating  an  impulse  to   the  review  which  was  the  special 


PUBLICATIONS.  411 

organ  of  Liberal  Christianity,  and  to  set  an  example  of  a  bold,  free, 
manly  treatment  of  great  subjects  in  literature,  politics,  education, 
science,  &c.,  he  poured  out,  with  his  usual  rapidity  of  comi)osition, 
trains  of  thought  which  at  all  times  interested  him,  and  which 
were  freshly  recalled  by  the  successive  appearance  of  Milton's 
Christian  Doctrine,  Scott's  Life  of  Bonaparte,  and  Selections  from 
Fenelon  ;  but  his  chief  aim  was,  to  awaken  his  own  immediate 
circle  of  believers  to  a  more  comprehensive,  cordial,  direct  applica- 
tion of  religion  to  life.  The  themes,  however,  were  most  interest- 
ing to  him,  and  the  ver}'  spontaneousness  with  which  he  expressed 
himself  was  favorable  to  the  true  manifestation  of  his  character  and 
mind.  These  hast}'  effusions,  whicli,  considered  as  literary  models, 
he  valued  but  little,  let  a  sympathizing  reader  verj'  deeply  into  the 
essential  spirit  of  tlie  man.  His  tender  sensibility,  delicacy  of  taste, 
chivalric  heroism,  loyal  love  of  truth,  high  integrity,  expansiveness, 
aspiration,  pervade  the  notice  of  the  sublime  poet  and  stern  repub- 
lican. His  profound  veneration  for  man,  grand  estimate  of  the  end 
and  method  of  life,  and  devout  confidence  in  God's  infinite  purposes 
of  benignity  to  his  human  family,  give  to  his  searcliing  analysis  of 
the  springs  of  action  in  the  military-  despot  an  awful  sincerity  ;  and 
as  the  culprit  is  brought  before  the  piei'cing  eyes  of  the  congregated 
spiritual  world,  stripped  of  the  tinsel  rags  of  false  glor}',  pity 
prompts  the  reader  to  recall  every  good  trait  and  deed,  as  a  mantle 
to  cover  his  shame.  The  uncompromising  conscience  of  the  writer 
here  appears  with  the  grave,  firm  aspect  of  an  impartial  judge  upon 
the  l)encli.  The  methodical  habit  of  his  mind  is  also  shown,  in  the 
manner  in  which  he  passes  from  the  condemnation  of  lawless  power 
in  an  individual  instance,  to  the  discussion  of  the  rightful  function 
and  scope  of  government,  closing  with  an  unreserved  expression  of 
reverence  for  the  judiciary.  The  second  part  of  the  essay  on  Bona- 
parte—  it  may  be  said,  in  passing  —  was  written  with  more  care, 
probably,  than  any  of  the  occasional  pieces  of  that  period.  It  is  in 
the  notice  of  Fenelon,  however,  that  what  was  most  characteristic 
of  Dr.  Clianning  appeared.  In  countless  little  strokes  and  touches 
throughout  tliat  paper,  he  sketched  his  own  likeness  with  a  fidelity 
which  no  second  hand  will  ever  rival ;  and  the  almost  angelic  ideal 
of  piety  there  given  was  an  unconscious  portrait  of  the  beauty  of 
his  own  holiness. 

Soon  after  the  publication  of  these  essa^-s  in  the  Examiner,  the 
desire  to  aid  a  friend  induced  Dr.  Channing  to  collect  and  revise 
what  he  thought  worth  preserving  in  his  past  writings,  —  a  private 
feeling  of  kindness  presenting  a  motive,  which  sense  of  duty  as  an 
author  did  not  supply.     And  thus  the  volume  of  Miscellanies  came 


412  THE   MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

to  be  printed  in  1830.     In  tlie  Preface  to  the  first  edition,  he  thus 
indicates  his  own  estimate  of  his  literary  labors  :  — 

"  The  reader  cannot  be  more  aware  than  I  am,  that  these  various 
tracts,  called  forth  b}'^  particular  occasions,  and  never  intended  to 
appear  in  their  present  form,  need  many  and  great  changes  ;  but 
the}^  probably  would  never  have  been  republished,  had  I  waited  for 
leisure  to  conform  them  to  my  ideas  of  what  the}'  should  be,  or  to 
make  them  more  worthy  of  the  unexpected  favor  which  the}-  have 
received.  They  were  written  to  meet  the  wants  of  the  times,  and  to 
place  what  I  deem  great  truths  within  reach  of  the  multitude  of  men. 
If  the  reader  will  bear  this  in  mind,  some  defects  will  more  readily 
be  excused.  The  second  Review  in  particular  should  be  referred  to 
the  date  of  its  original  publication 

"  I  esteem  it  a  privilege  that  my  writings  have  called  forth  many 
strictures  and  been  subjected  to  an  unsparing  criticism.  I  know 
that  in  some  things  I  must  have  erred.  I  cannot  hope,  that,  even 
in  my  most  successful  efforts,  I  have  done  full  justice  to  an}-  great 
truth.  Deeply  conscious  of  my  fallibleness,  I  wish  none  of  my 
opinions  to  be  taken  on  trust,  nor  would  I  screen  any  from  the  most 
rigorous  examination.  If  my  opponents  have  exposed  my  errors, 
I  owe  them  a  great  debt ;  and  should  I  fail,  through  the  force  of 
prejudice,  to  see  and  acknowledge  my  obligation  to  them  in  this 
life,  I  hope  to  do  so  in  the  future  world. 

"  I  have  declined  answering  attacks  made  on  my  writings,  not 
from  contempt  of  my  opponents,  among  whom  are  men  of  distin- 
guished ability  and  acknowledged  virtue,  but  because  I  believed  that 
I  should  do  myself  and  others  more  good  by  seeking  higher  and 
wider  views,  than  by  defending  what  I  had  already  offered.  1  feared 
that  my  mind  might  become  stationary  by  lingering  round  my  own 
writings.  I  never  doubted,  that,  if  an}'thing  in  these  were  worthy 
to  live,  it  would  survive  all  assaults,  and  I  was  not  anxious  to  up- 
hold for  a  moment  what  was  doomed,  by  its  want  of  vital  energy, 
to  pass  away." 

The  publication  of  a  second  volume  made  up  of  Sermons  was 
owing  to  a  like  motive  of  private  benevolence.  He  had  pledged  a 
subscription  of  five  hundred  dollars  to  the  Boston  P^arm  School ; 
and  being  at  the  time  so  situated  pecuniarily  that  he  could  not 
otherwise  well  meet  the  claim,  he  resorted  to  this  plan  as  a  means 
of  raising  the  sum.  It  so  happened,  however,  that  he  was  immedi- 
ately seized  with  severe  illness,  without  having  been  able  to  correct 
and  prepare  more  than  one  discourse  for  the  press.  The  rest  of  the 
volume  was  selected  and  arranged  by  his  friend  Dr.  Dewey,  and  the 


LORD  BYRON. 


413 


sermons  now  appear  as  they  were  first  written  for  the  pulpit.  And 
finally,  it  was  a  characteristic  close  of  his  literary  career,  that  the 
chief  niducement  which  led  him  to  put  forth  the  complete  edition  of 
his  works,  in  six  volumes,  was  a  desire  to  make  the  publication 
serviceable  to  a  brother,  who  was  then  turning  his  attention  to 
printing  and  editing  as  a  branch  of  business.  From  first  to  last 
authorship  was  the  accident  of  Dr.  Channing's  life.  With  o-reater 
physical  vigor,  he  would  have  been  an  evangelist,  preaching  far  and 
wide,  with  the  living  voice,  the  exalting  views  which  had  been 
opened  to  his  earnest,  prayerful,  patient  seeking,  or  an  active  re- 
former, applying  directly  to  the  wants  of  the  age  the  great  principle 
of  love  with  which  he  felt  that  Providence  was  inspiring  mankind. 

Dr.  Channing's  publications  were  the  means  of  introducino-  him 
to  a  society  of  most  refined  and  high-minded  correspondents,  and 
extracts  from  his  letters  to  them  will  still  further  illustrate  his  lit- 
erary character. 

'' Newport,  October  4,  1821.  It  wants  massiveness,  depth,  ful- 
ness of  thought,  that  is,  it  wants  the  essential  properties  of  hioh 
poetry.  I  smile  when  I  hear  poetry  called  light  readino-.  The  true 
poet  has  far-reaching  thoughts,  a  perception  of  the  hannonious  and 
exquisite  relations  of  the  universe,  an  eye  that  pierces  the  depths 
and  mysteries  of  the  soul,  placing  him  amidst  the  most  gifted  and 
exalted  inteUigences." 

'^Jime  28,  1824.^  I  can  hardly  express  the  feeling  the  news  of 
Lord  Byron  s  death  has  given  me.  That  a  mind  so  gifted  should 
have  beenjeft  to  devote  its  energies  to  the  cause  of  impiety  and 
vice,  and  should  be  so  soon  and  suddenly  taken,  without  makin- 
reparation  to  insulted  truth  and  virtue,  -  that  such  a  mind  is  to  live 
lor  ages  in  its  writings  only  to  degrade  and  corrupt,  -  in  all  this  we 
see  the  mysterious  character  of  God's  providence.  I  alwavs  hoped, 
that,  after  the  fever  of  youthfLil  passion,  this  unhappy  mmi  would 
reflect,  repent,  and  prove  that  in  genius  there  is  something  conge- 
nial with  religion.  Rut  he  is  gone -where  human  praise  a^id 
human  reproaches  cannot  follow  him.  Such  examples  of  perverted 
talent  should  reconcile  the  less  gifted  to  their  obscure  lot 

"In  his  whole  life  he  was  by  way  of  eminence  a  lawless  man, 
spurning  all  restraint,  whether  divine  or  human,  whether  from  his 
own  conscience  or  from  society;  and  he  seems  to  have  valued  no 
power  more  than  that  of  defying  and  resisting  all  wills  which  inter- 
fered with  his  own.  That  any  talent,  however  stupendous,  should 
have  made  such  a  man  an  idol  to  your  sex,  shows  that  you  must 
*  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


414  THE   MINISTRY   AND   LITERATURE. 

divide  with  us  the  reproach,  too  justly  brought  against  our  age,  of 

great  moral  degradation 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  think  of  Moore's  doctrine,  that  men  of  the 
first  genius  are  naturally  unfitted  for  friendship  or  domestic  life.  1 
have  no  faitli  in  it The  highest  genius,  I  believe,  is  a  self- 
guiding,  calm,  comprehensive  power.  It  creates  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Author  of  the  Universe,  in  the  spirit  of  order.  It  worships  truth 
and  beaut^'.  There  is  truth  in  its  wildest  inventions,  and  it  tinges 
its  darkest  pictures  with  hues  of  beauty.  As  to  JMoore's  notion, 
that  genins,  because  it  delights  in  the  ideal,  is  soon  wearied  and 
disgusted  with  the  real,  it  is  false.  The  contrary  is  rather  true. 
He  who  conceives  and  loves  beauty  in  its  highest  forms  is  most 
alive  to  it  in  its  humblest  manifestation.  He  loves  it  not  by  com- 
parison, or  for  its  degree,  but  for  its  own  sake  ;  and  the  same  is 
true  of  beauty.  The  true  worshipper  of  beauty  sees  it  in  the  low- 
liest flower,  meets  it  in  every  path,  enjoys  it  everywhere.  Fact  is 
against  Moore.  The  greatest  men  I  have  known  have  been  the 
most  beautiful  examples  of  domestic  virtue.  Moore's  doctrine 
makes  genius  a  curse,  and  teaches  that  the  Creator,  the  source  of 
harmony,  has  sown  discord  between  the  noblest  attributes  of  the 
soul.  I  shall  not  wonder  if  some  half-witted  pretenders  to  genius 
should,  on  the  strength  of  Moore's  assertion,  prove  their  title  by 
brutality  in  tlicir  domestic  and  social  relations." 

'' Portsmouth,  R.  /.,  June  16,  1828. ^  I  received  distinctly  the 
impression  that  Shelley  was  a  noble  nature  sadly  perA-erted,  and 
that,  under  happier  influences,  he  might  have  proved  the  glory  of 

his  race 

"  I  should  like  to  know  something  of  Shelley  from  one  worthy  of 
beUef,  and  capable  of  estimating  him.  I  am  inclined  to  think  him 
a  man  lost  to  religion  through  the  folly,  h3-pocrisy,  and  intolerance 
of  its  '  friends.'  How  many  noble  spirits  have  been  ruined  by  iden- 
tifying religion  with  its  loud  professors  !  But  I  mean  not  to  make 
exc'use  for  such  persons.  They  have  no  right  to  take  their  ideas  of 
religion  from  the  pulpit  and  vulgar  cant.  They  have  access  to  her 
true  oracles  and  expounders,  to  the  teachings  of  the  universe  and 
of  Jesus  Christ ;  and  these  teachings  it  is  their  duty  to  lay  open  to 
their  less  gifted  brethren,  not  to  unsettle  the  foundations  of  human 
hope,  and  to  precipitate  weaker  minds  from  the  Rock  of  Ages  into 
the  gulf  of  doubt,  darkness,  and  despair.  I  mean  not,  however, 
'  to  shut  the  gates  of  mercy'  against  the  sceptic.  That  he  is  some- 
times more  virtuous  than  many  a  believer  who  condemns  him,  I  doubt 

1  To  Miss  Ruth  P.  Olney,  Providence. 


MRS.   HEMANS.  415 

not.  The  mass  of  people  who  never  think  understand  little  the 
trials  of  a  superior  mind  which  must  think,  which  cannot  but  ques- 
tion Nature  and  Providence,  and  which  has  been  taught  to  associ- 
ate almost  indissolubly  with  moral  and  religious  principles  opinions 
which  it  sees  to  be  without  foundation. 

""  On  such  a  mind,  when  it  seems  to  me  to  err,  I  dare  not  pro- 
nounce sentence,  and  I  see  with  pleasure  wliatever  proofs  it  gives 
of  principle,  of  respect  for  duty,  amidst  its  aberrations." 

'■'■June,  1827.  I  have  sometimes  felt,  in  reading  Mrs.  Hemans's 
works,  that  her  sense  of  the  evils  of  life  is  too  keen,  and  colors  her 
views  too  much.  I  love  to  be  touched,  moved,  but  not  depressed. 
No  genius,  no  power  of  execution,  can  recompense  me  for  what  I 
suffer  from  the  tones  of  sorrow  coming  to  me  from  a  highly  gifted 
mind,  in  which  the  deepest  impressions  are  those  of  suHering,  and 
over  whose  brightest  inventions  there  is  a  hue  of  sadness.  My  con- 
fidence in  the  great  purposes  of  God  towards  us,  m^'  persuasion 
that  all  suffering  is  meant  to  purify  and  exalt  the  soul,  to  be  the 
occasion  of  moral  strength  and  victor3',  leads  me  to  feel  that  a  deep 
peace  and  an  unbroken  resolution  in  all  changes  are  due  alike  to 
ourselves  and  to  our  Creator.  1  may  err.  Perhaps  a  life  of  pros- 
perity' has  made  me  incapable  of  understanding  the  sorrow-stricken 
spirit.  But  it  seems  to  me  one  of  the  great  purposes  and  blessed 
influences  of  Christian  faith  to  reconcile  intense  sensibility  with 
peace  and  energ}-." 

''Boston,  March  30,  1830. ^  You  have  not  yet,  I  trust,  fulfilled 
your  mission  on  earth,  though,  were  it  now  to  end,  you  would  leave 
behind  3'ou  emanations  of  your  spirit  to  act  far  and  wide  and  in 
ages  to  come.  I  thank  you  for  the  last  volume  3-ou  sent  me.  The 
last  two  pieces  but  one  were  new  to  me,  and  seemed  to  me  to  ex- 
press with  great  truth  and  pathos  that  union  of  upward  aspiration 
and  earthly  attachment,  which  I  should  call  a  just  tribute  to  both 
worlds,  and  which  shows  the  unity  of  our  whole  being 

"  I  know  that  the  effort  which  you  ask  is  a  slight  one  ;  but,  to  a 
man  overburdened  alread}-,  a  slight  addition  of  labor  is  something 
serious.  The  motive  which  3'ou  suggest  is  a  more  powerful  one 
with  me  than  you  can  well  imagine.  I  perhaps  owe  it  to  myself  to 
say,  that  I  know  no  one  quite  as  anxious  as  I  am  to  multiply  nitel- 
lectual,  moral,  and  religious  bonds,  between  my  own  and  other 
countries.  Few  estimate  as  humbly  as  I  do  the  moral  worth  of 
what  is  called  national  spirit,  compared  with  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity.    I  have  hoped,  b^-  turning  men's  thoughts  on  their  own  na- 

1  To  Mrs.  Felicia  Ilemans. 


416  THE   MINISTRY  AND   LITERATURE. 

tiire,  —  a  nature  which  all  hold  in  common,  —  to  do  something 
toward  sustituting  a  more  generous  and  universal  bond  for  those 
selfish  and  narrow  ones  which,  as  yet,  have  done  more  towards 
dividing  than  uniting  the  human  family.  Of  course  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  exclude  national  attachments,  but  I  would  have  a  new  spirit 
of  humanity,  founded  on  respect  for  human  nature,  spread  abroad, 
and  if,  by  being  a  contributor  to  an}-  literar}-  work  on  your  side  of 
the  ocean,  I  can  strengthen  a  virtuous  sympathy  between  our  coun- 
tries, J  will  do  so  ver}'  cheerfull}',  when  I  have  time  and  strength, 
both  of  which  are  now  wanting." 

"Boston,  May  4,  1838.^  I  have  read  with  great  pleasure  the 
first  six  volumes  of  Scott's  Life,  though  sometimes  wearied  by 
letters  which  might  as  well  have  been  omitted.  The  work  lets  the 
reader  into  the  foi'mation  of  the  subject's  mind,  or  into  the  circum- 
stances which  determined  it,  and  this  is  no  small  merit.  Not  that 
J  think  the  mind  the  creature  of  circumstances  ;  but  some  men  are 
reflections  of  the  outward  more  than  others,  and  this  I  think  was 
eminentl}'  tlie  case  with  Scott.  His  was  not  a  mind  to  penetrate 
itself,  haunted  with  its  own  m^'steries,  and  conscious  of  mightier 
conflic^ts  and  processes  within  than  any  abroad.  He  lived  abroad. 
He  was  a  keen,  shrewd  observer  of  whatever  passed  around  him. 
No  man  ever  understood  more  of  what  is  called  life,  and  of  the 
more  superficial  workings  of  tlic  human  heart.  Philosophy  he  had 
none,  and  he  interpreted  ver}^  poorly  the  passions  which  he  painted, 
or  suspected  little  what  they  indicate.  Tluis  he  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  formed  from  abroad,  and  hence  he  is  a  good  subject  for 
biography.  The  greatest  minds  admit  no  biograph}-.  They  are 
determined  from  within.  Their  works  spring  from  unfathomed 
depths  in  their  own  souls,  from  silent,  secret  thoughts,  inquisitions, 
aspirations,  which  come  they  know  not  whence,  go  they  know  not 
whither. 

' '  You  see  I  do  not  place  Scott  among  the  greatest ;  and  yet, 
when  I  think  of  his  vast  range  of  observation,  of  his  power  of  ap- 
propriating all  he  saw  to  his  purposes,  of  his  inexhaustible  invention, 
of  his  wide  sympathy,  and  of  the  spirit  of  humanit}-  pervading  his 
writings,  I  feel  something  like  self-rebuke,  as  I  think  that  I  may 
have  spoken  of  him  disparagingl}-.  He  discovered  want  of  moral 
greatness  in  his  want  of  reverence  for  his  own  mind,  in  his  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  holy  purpose  to  which  genius  may  always  be  con- 
secrated, in  his  childish  admiration  of  hereditary  honors,  and  his 
incapacity  of  conceiving  of  a  higher  state  of  human  nature  and  of 

1  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


PLANS  OF  AUTHORSHIP.  417 

society  than  now  exists.  He  was,  as  I  have  more  than  once  said, 
tlie  ideal  of  a  man  of  the  world,  —  the  highest,  most  attractive  man- 
ifestation of  that  character  which  I  have  known.  Let  me  add,  that 
in  one  thing  I  sympathize  with  him,  and  that  is,  the  affectionate 
reverence  which  he  bore  to  yourself." 

"  The  increasing  reputation  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  I  think 
a  good  omen,  though  I  difler  from  them  on  so  man3-  points.  They 
have  not  written  for  the  multitude,  and  j-et  live  and  grow,  whilst 
the  writers  for  the  multitude  are  forgotten.  I  mean,  by  this  phrase, 
those  who  write  to  please  the  multitude.  I  honor  those  who  write 
for  the  multitude,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  should  value 
little  the  highest  labors  of  genius,  did  I  not  believe  that  the  mass, 
the  race,  were  to  be  the  wiser  and  better  for  them."  ^ 


Chapter  II.— RELIGION  AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Dr.  Channing  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  prophet.  But  in  propor- 
tion as  his  A'iews  grew  clear  and  complete  to  his  own  mind,  and  as 
he  found  his  words  of  calm  faith  and  earnest  hope  welcomed  by  the 
few,  while  rejected  as  visionary  by  too  many,  even  of  the  good,  he 
became  desirous  to  give  some  fuller  statement  of  the  truth  which 
he  knew  he  was  empowered  to  teach.  He  longed  to  justify'  to 
sober  good  sense  the  thoughts  which,  uttered  in  a  fragmentary 
way,  might  and  did  seem  enthusiastic.  For  his  aim  was  eminently 
practical,  and  he  felt  that  his  work  would  not  be  done,  unless  he 
succeeded  in  filling  men  with  a  fresh  and  profound  reverence  for 
human  nature  in  themselves  and  their  brethren,  a  reverence  which 
should  practically  manifest  itself  in  reformed  modes  of  life,  indi- 
vidual and  collective.  For  many  years  he  had  been,  by  reading, 
observation,  and  patient  thought,  accumulating  a  large  mass  of 
materials ;  and  at  length  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  time  had  come 
when  he  was  in  some  measure  worthily  fitted  to  write  a  work  on 
Man,  —  his  nature,  relations,  destiny,  and  duties.  The  first  allu- 
sion to  this  purpose  which  we  find  in  his  correspondence  appears  in 
the  following  letter  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Carpenter. 

^'-Boston,  March  20,  1824.  I  wish  I  could  send  you,  in  return 
for  your  present,  some  of  my  own  writings.  But  my  state  of  health 
obliges  me  to  be  almost  idle,     I  have  long  given  up  regular  appli- 

1  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.  D. 
27 


418  RELIGION   AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

cation,  and  am  obliged  to  spend  the  greatest  part  of  life  in  nsing 
the  means  of  living.  Sometimes  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  spared  to 
execute  a  work  of  some  extent,  for  which  I  have  made  preparation  ; 
but  time  flies  away,  and  nothing  is  done  but  the  accumulation  of 
more  materials,  and  my  plan  continues  to  grow,  whilst  the  space 
for  accomplisliing  it  is  contracted.  But  this  is  the  history  of  a 
thousand  students, — especially  of  our  profession;  and  it  is  cer- 
tainly well  for  the  world  that  so  man}'  schemes  of  authorship  prove 
abortive." 

Other  references  to  this  proposed  work  appear  in  his  letters,  and 
we  give  a  few  passages,  which  will  serve  at  once  to  illustrate  his 
plan,  and  to  show  how  his  desire  was  constantly'  baffled,  alike  by 
l^hysical  infirmity  and  tlie  constant  drafts  made  upon  his  time  and 
power  b}'  transient  questions  of  immediate  importance. 

'■'•Newport^  July  9,  1827.^  It  will  gratify  you  to  know  that  all 
3'our  counsel  has  not  been  lost  upon  me,  —  whom  you  have  probably 
thought  more  unimpressible  than  any  of  your  new  flock  at  the  North 
End.    I  have  begun  to  accomplish  one  of  the  works  to  which  I  have 

long  looked.     rejoices,  and  I  feel,  that,  after  having  provoked 

you  by  my  insensibility  to  exhortation,  I  ought  to  give  you  a  share 
m  her  jo}'.  What  I  shall  do  I  am  not  sure.  I  sometimes  hope 
that  God  may  give  me  a  place,  however  low,  in  the  class  of  his 
most  honored  servants,  —  I  mean,  of  those  who  throw  some  new 
light  on  the  sul)jects  in  which  human  nature  has  the  deepest  interest. 
At  the  same  time,  I  am  not  foi'getful  that  one  of  our  infirmities  is, 
to  magnify  the  importance  of  our  own  views,  and  that  greater  intel- 
lectual toil  than  mine  has  often  proved  unprofitable." 

"  Srpf,^  1837.^  It  has  long  been  my  purpose  to  give  a  connected, 
S3'stematic  view  of  my  most  important  convictions  on  the  subjects 
to  which  m}'  life  has  been  devoted.  I  have  made  large  accumu- 
lation of  materials,  but  have  wanted  strength  to  labor  on  them 
effectually.  I  am  now  in  better  health,  and  have  begun  my  work. 
What  I  shall  be  able  to  accomplish  I  know  not.  I  cannot  but  fear 
that  I  shall  disappoint  my  friends,  not  only  in  consequence  of  the 
want  of  physical  energy,  but  from  intellectual  defects,  of  which  I 
am  deeply  conscious.  I  am  not,  however,  discouraged  in  the  least 
by  such  thoughts.  We  must  do  what  we  can,  and  be  grateful  if 
we  can  do  but  little.  The  immediate  reward  of  seeking  tiie  highest 
truth  is  inexpressible.  It  is  a  reward  to  know  that  even  a  few  minds 
have  received  light  and  strength  from  our  labors." 

^  To  Joseph  Tiiokerman,  D.  D. 

2  To  William  Pluincr,  Esq.,  Epping,  N.  H. 


OPPORTUNITIES   OF   THE   AGE.  419 

'-'- Juhj  10,  1838.^  B3'  the  kindness  of  Providence  I  have  now 
what  is  called  tolerable  health,  yet  for  four  months  I  have  been  dis- 
abled from  labor.  I  long  to  write,  for  I  feel  as  if  I  had  delivered 
but  a  small  part  of  my  message.  My  whole  life  seems  to  me  but 
a  preparation  for  a  work  which  I  have  not  done,  and  which  I  ma}' 
not  be  able  to  do  in  this  world.  This  is  one  of  the  corroborations 
of  a  higher  life.  I  feel  that  I  have  not  exhausted  all  m^-  spiritual 
activity, — that  there  is  an  indefinite,  I  had  almost  said  infinite, 
power  and  life  within,  which  physical  infirmity  has  not  enabled  me 
to  bring  out.  Is  this  divine  energy  to  perish?  Is  there  nothing  of 
prophecy'  in  these  aspirations  after  higher  spheres  of  action  ?  These 
anticipations  are  joyful,  though  I  cannot  say  that  they  full}-  satisfy 
me.  I  want  to  act  now^ — to  act  in  a  world,  the  darkness,  sins, 
and  suffering  of  which  weigh  often  as  a  heavy  burden  on  my  spirit. 
It  seems  to  me  that  there  never  was  so  much  to  be  done  on  earth 
as  at  this  moment,  —  never  so  great  a  demand  for  clear  and  bold 
expositions  of  truth,  and  for  manifestations  of  the  pure  spirit  of 
Christianity.  There  never  was  more  to  contend  with,  and  never 
more  aids  for  the  conflict.  The  authority  of  the  past  never  was 
more  unsettled,  and  the  possibility  of  acting  beneficently  on  the 
future  never  was  greater.  You  and  I,  however,  m}'  dear  sir,  are 
too  far  advanced  to  do  what  we  would,  or  to  see  the  results  of 
others'  agency.  No  matter.  The  fountain  of  moral  power  is  inex- 
haustible, and  Providence  will  raise  up  mightier  champions  of  truth 
and  virtue." 

"  Muy^  1839.  I  look  forward  with  pecuhar  hope  to  this  summer. 
I  feel  now'  as  if  I  had  done  my  duty  in  regard  to  gi-eat  immediate 
public  interests,  and  my  desire  and  hope  is  to  give  myself  to  what 
seems  to  me  the  work  of  my  life,  — the  exposition  of  my  views  of 
truth  and  duty.  I  am  not  sanguine,  yet  hopeful.  I  have  some- 
thing to  say,  yet  I  feel  I  may  not  be  spared  to  do  it ;  —  nor  shall 
I  count  my  life's  labor  lost  if  1  fail ;  for  all  our  action  here  is  but 
the  child's  preparation  for  the  spiritual  manhood  which  awaits  us, 
and  in  ripening  for  this  we  live  gloriously,  though  we  produce  no 
perceptible  outward  effect  now." 

Before  proceeding  to  a  notice  of  this  work  on  Man,  however,  let 
us  first  contemplate  the  position  of  thought  which  the  author  occu- 
pied, and  breathe  in  the  liberal,  inspiring  atmosphere  in  which  he 
dwelt.  We  shall  thus  catch  the  tone  of  his  mind,  and  be  better 
prepared  to  understand,  if  not  to  sympathize  with,  his  views. 

We  will  commence  with  some  sketches  given  by  himself,  in  an- 

1  To  J.  Blanco  White. 


420  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

nual  addresses  to  his  people,  of  the  discipline  b}'  which  he  had  been 
trained  to  freedom  and  tolerance. 

1827.  "It  has  been  m}'  lot,  as  you  well  know,  to  perform 
among  yon  the  dnties  of  a  minister  in  a  peculiarly  trjing  time,  — 
in  a  day  of  angry  passions,  and  of  revived  intolerance  and  bigotry. 
I  was  about  to  say  that  it  had  been  m^'  misfortune  to  live  and  preach 
in  this  storm}'  season.  But  no  ;  I  have  learned  that  the  great  de- 
sign of  the  present  life  is  to  form  the  mind  and  character  by  diffi- 
culty- and  conflict,  and  I  doubt  not  that  the  all- wise  God  has  assigned 
to  me,  as  well  as  to  others,  the  conflict  which  1  need 

"  Soon  after  coming  into  life,  I  saw  that  a  new  era  was  opening 
in  this  country  and  in  this  age,  —  that  a  violent  struggle  was  com- 
mencing for  the  restoration  of  doctrines  which  had  graduall}-  fallen 
into  neglect.  The  cr}'  of  Orthodoxy  was  opened,  and  a  system  of 
measures  adopted  for  stifling  free  inquir}-.  Vague  apprehensions 
were  industriously  spread  abroad  of  a  secret  conspiracy  against 
what  were  called  the  '  Doctrines  of  the  Reformation,'  —  the  '  Essen- 
tial Doctrines  of  Christianit}' ; '  and  the  brand  of  heresy  was  affixed 
to  doctrines  which  had  been  espoused  by  some  of  the  wisest  and 
greatest  men  in  this  country  and  Europe.  It  was  not  so  much  for 
the  purpose  of  defending  these  opinions,  as  of  encouraging  fellow- 
Christians  to  use  their  own  minds,  and  to  examine  freely  the  doc- 
trines of  religion,  that  I  entered  the  field  of  controA'crsy.  I  felt 
then,  what  I  now  more  deeply  feel,  that  the  human  mind  is  to  make 
progress  by  freedom,  by  the  deliberate,  impartial,  and  independent 
exercise  of  its  faculties.  I  could  not  submit  to  have  m}'  intellect 
chained  by  men  whom  I  knew  to  have  no  warrant  for  their  swa}-, 
and  in  some  of  whom  I  saw  plain  marks  of  inferiority,  both  as 
to  understanding  and  heart.  I  could  not  endure  to  see  chains 
fastened  on  others.  I  felt  the  ignomin}'  which  we  of  this  en- 
lightened Commonwealth  should  incur,  and  with  which  we  should 
be  justly  chargeable,  if  a  few  men  —  for  few  they  were,  and  few 
they  still  are  —  should  be  permitted  to  dictate  to  us  our  opinions 
on  the  most  important  subjects  in  the  whole  range  of  thought,  and 
should  frown  into  silence  the  ingenuous  lovers  of  truth.  The 
attempt  to  fasten  on  us  an  antiquated  faith,  by  excommunicating 
those  who  were  seeking  nobler  views  of  Christianity,  first  sum- 
moned me  to  conflicts  from  which  I  have  not  j'et  been  released. 
The  part  which  I  have  taken  I  have  had  no  cause  to  regret.  My 
love  of  freedom  has  grown  with  the  growth  of  my  mind.  It  is 
now  interwoven  with  all  my  religious  feelings,  and  with  all  my 
sympathies  and  benevolent  sentiments ;  for  I  am  persuaded  that 


f^ 


PURE  CHRISTIANITY.  421 

the  glorj-  of  God,  or  just  and  ennobling  conceptions  of  his  charac- 
ter, and  the  happiness  and  progress  of  the  human  race,  demand 
nothing  so  urgently  as  that  our  faculties  should  be  unimpeded,  and 
the  widest  range  be  given  to  thought.  If  we  are  to  grow,  it  must 
be  by  a  free  use  of  our  powers.  If  we  are  to  attain  brighter  and 
more  enlarged  conceptions  of  Christianity,  we  must  begin  with 
feeling  that  past  ages  have  not  exhausted  Christian  truth,  and  that 
we  ma}'  make  advances  on  the  wisdom  of  our  fathers.  I  know 
nothing  which  indicates  greater  ignorance  of  the  histor}'  of  the 
church  and  of  the  history  of  mankind,  nothing  more  fitted  to  re- 
duce the  intellect  to  imbecility,  and  to  carry  back  the  race  to  bar- 
barism, than  the  idea  that  we  have  nothing  more  to  learn,  that 
Christianit}-  has  come  down  to  us  pure  and  perfect,  and  that  our 
only  duty  is  implicitly  to  receive  the  lessons  of  our  catechisms. 
I  am  sure  that  this  is  not  true.  That  Christianity  has  been  dread- 
fully- disfigured,  all  true  hearts  must  know.  That  it  was  purified 
from  all  corruptions  by  the  first  Reformers  is  to  suppose  them 
gifted  with  miraculous  lights  as  bright  as  those  which  beamed  on 
the  Apostles.  Christianit}'  is  not  thus  purified.  None  of  us  hold 
it  in  its  purit^^  I  feel  deeply  the  imperfections  of  all  classes  and 
denominations  ;  and  the  hopes  of  Christianit}'  rest  on  the  courage 
and  piety  of  men  who,  disclaiming  all  human  authorit}',  and  the 
fetters  of  all  creeds,  give  themselves  to  deliberate,  devout,  fear- 
less study  of  God's  word,  in  connection  wath  his  works  and  provi- 
dence. Freedom  of  intellect,  joined  with  obedience  to  whatever 
truth  is  already  known,  is  the  appointed  spirit  and  energy  b}^ 
which  the  church  and  the  world  are  to  be  disenthralled  from  the 
many  errors  which  3'et  darken  religion  and  impair  its  ennobling 
influence. 

"  If  m}'  own  faculties  have  made  an}-  progress,  I  owe  it  to  noth- 
ing so  much  as  to  the  spirit  of  intellectual  freedom  which  I  have 
imbibed ;  and  the  place  of  this,  I  believe,  no  endowments  of 
nature,  no  books,  no  association  with  learned  men,  would  in  any 
measure  have  supplied.  It  was  my  lot  to  come  forward  at  a 
period  when  the  question  was  to  be  settled  whether  this  freedom 
should  be  enjoyed,  or  whether  an  inquisition,  with  ministers  at  its 
head,  should  bind  the  chains  of  death  on  the  mind  of  this  country. 
God's  good  providence,  joined  with  an  early  disposition  to  live  and 
to  think  alone,  and  with  an  education  which  had  made  freedom 
dear,  decided  the  part  which  I  took.  The  decision  which  I  made 
in  this  gi'eat  controvers}',  the  cause  which  I  espoused,  and  I  hope 
I  may  sa}'  the  consistency  with  which  I  have  adhered  to  it,  you 
know.     M}'  ministr}',  amidst  all  its  imperfections,  has,  I  think, 


422  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

been  uniformly  marked  by  an  assertion  of  the  rights  and  dutj'  of 
every  individual  to  exert  his  own  faculties  ;  and  b}'  urging  on  every 
man  the  duty  of  using  his  best  powers,  in  the  free,  unbiassed  in- 
vestigation of  religious  truth,  I  trust  that  I  have  not  been  wholl}- 
useless.  That  I  have  contributed  something  to  give  to  others 
courage  in  thinking  and  in  expressing  their  thoughts,  I  trust ;  and 
I  have  not  a  doubt  that,  at  this  moment,  this  whole  country  is 
indebted  to  the  exertion  made  in  this  our  city  for  the  degree  of 
religious  liberty  which  it  enjo^'s." 

1830.  "  On  one  point,  3'ou  will  bear  me  witness.  I  have  never 
aimed  to  alienate  you  from  any  body  of  Christians.  I  am  not 
conscious  of  having  yielded  to  a  sectarian  spirit^  even  when  I  con- 
tended most  earnestly  for  m^^  peculiar  views.  I  have  never 
thought  myself  a  better  man  because  1  have  escaped  what  seem  to 
me  gross  errors  prevailing  in  Christendom,  nor  have  I,  as  I  believe, 
ever  shut  my  eyes  on  the  virtue  and  piety  of  those  by  whom  these 
errors  ma}'  have  been  sustained.  I  have  felt  that  it  is  not  the 
greatness  of  our  light,  but  our  faithfulness  to  our  light,  whether 
great  or  small,  b}'  which  character  is  to  be  judged.  If  I  have  ever 
inlused  unkind  or  disparaging  feelings  towards  other  Christians, 
I  have  grievousl}'  injured  you,  and,  instead  of  being  a  minister  of 
righteousness,  have  been  the  minister  of  sin.  Maj-  you  triumph 
over  any  such  unhappy  influence !  .   .   .   . 

"  One  of  your  trials  arises  from  the  state  of  the  Christian  world, 
to  which  reference  has  now  been  made  ;  and  I  would  ofler  30U,  on 
this  point,  a  few  words  of  counsel.  Our  principal  duties  in  such 
circumstances  may  be  expressed  in  two  plain  precepts  :  —  Respect 
those  who  differ  from  you,  and  also  respect  yourselves.  Give  due 
honor  to  men  of  different  sects.  Do  not  feel  as  if  you  had  monop- 
olized truth  or  goodness.  Treat  none  with  derision.  Esteem  no 
man  the  more  for  thinking  as  you  do,  and  no  man  the  less  for 
thinking  otherwise ;  but  judge  all  men  b}-  the  principles  which 
govern  their  lives.  Ascribe  not  what  j'ou  deem  error  to  weakness 
of  intellect  or  corruption  of  heart,  but  rejoice  in  witnessing 
superior  powers  and  tried  virtue  in  the  neighborhood  of  what  you 
cannot  but  account  supei'stition  or  prejudice.  Never  think  of 
Christ's  church  as  shut  up  within  limits  of  human  invention,  but  as 
comprehending  all  sects,  and  let  your  attachment  to  the  whole 
triumph  over  your  interest  in  an}'  of  its  parts.     Honor  all  men. 

"  At  the  same  time  respect  yourselves.  Claiming  no  supcriorit}', 
allow  not  this  claim  in  others.  Expect  and  require  from  others  the 
same  deference  which  3-ou  feel  yoiu'self  bound  to  pay.  As  you  set 
up  no  pretensions  to  exclusive  sanctity  in  yourselves,  distrust  them 


RESPECT  FOR  OPPONENTS.  423 

in  3'Our  neighbor.  Tiie  exclusive  saint  bears  one  broad  mark  of 
the  want  of  sanctit}'.  The  real  Christian  is  tlie  last  man  to  be  a 
pretender.  Never  suffer  3'our  opinions  to  be  treated  with  scorn  in 
social  intercourse,  any  more  than  you  would  your  characters  ;  but 
whilst  you  force  them  on  none,  let  men  see  that  you  reverence 
them  as  the  truth,  and  that  you  expect  decorum  and  courtes}'  in 
those  who  converse  with  30U  on  this,  as  on  other  deeply  inter- 
esting subjects.  Always  feel  3'ourselves  standing  on  the  ground 
of  equalit3'  with  ever3'  sect  and  part3',  and  countenance  none  1)3'' 
your  tameness,  or  by  shrinking  from  your  convictions,  to  assume 
towards  30U  a  tone  of  dictation,  superiorit3',  or  scorn.  Be  true  to 
3^ourselves  and  to  3'our  principles.  One  of  the  great  lessons  taught 
me  b3'  m3'  experience  is,  that  self-respect,  founded,  not  on  outward 
distinction,  but  on  the  essential  power  and  rights  of  human  nature, 
is  the  guardian  of  virtue,  and  itself  among  the  chief  of  virtues." 

The  last  sentence  of  the  foregoing  extract  gives  us  insight  into 
one  of  Dr.  Channing's  chief  springs  of  action.  Though  naturally 
diffident  and  modest  b}'  principle,  though  conscientious  and  cautious 
almost  to  an  extreme,  and  though  even  reverential  to  his  fellow- 
men  of  ever3'  grade  of  intellect  and  character,  he  was  at  the  same 
time  singularl3^  self-relying.  On  his  calm  and  gentle  countenance 
there  reposed  an  expression  of  firm  dignit3^,  which  commanded  a 
just  deference.  His  ver3'  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  the 
human  spirit  in  its  essential  powers  and  heavenl3'  destination  made 
him  incapable  of  trifling  with  another  or  of  submitting  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  felt,  too,  that  the  claims  of  honor  and  manl3'  courtes3% 
as  -well  as  of  Christian  cliarit3',  were  sadl3'  slighted  by  religious 
controversialists,  and  souglit,  therefore,  to  carry  into  the  sphere  of 
theological' discussion  the  same  generous  and  magnanimous,  while 
self-balanced  and  brave,  spirit  which  becomes  high-minded  persons 
in  all  their,  intercourse.  This  trait  was  so  characteristic,  that  it 
may  be  well  to  illustrate  it  b3^  some  passages  from  his  papers  and 
letters. 

1826.  "The  temper  of  the  discourse^  is  censured.  Why? 
Because  it  expresses  anger  or  unkind ness  towards  opponents? 
Is  there  the  least  impeachment  of  their  motives?  Not  a  word  to 
this  effect  can  be  found  in  the  discourse.  The  author  has  onl3'  set 
forth  in  plain  and  strong  language  what  seems  to  him  to  be  irra- 
tional and  dishonorable  to  God  and  injurious  to  the  human  charac- 
ter in  the  S3'stem  which  he  is  opposing.     He  expressl3'  states  that 

1  Sermon  at  tlie  Dedication  of  the  Second  Congregational  Church,  New 
York. 


424  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

he  has  no  disposition  to  make  the  opinions  he  condemns  measnres 
of  cliaracter,  and  cordially  acknowledges  the  virtues  of  multitudes 
who  espouse  them.  And  is  it,  then,  '  uneourteous,'  '  reprehensible,' 
'  unjustifiable,'  '  inexcusable,'  to  say  that  an  opinion  is  absurd  and 
of  degrading  tendency  ?  ....  We  invite  our  fellow-Christians  to 
examine  freely  our  opinions,  and  to  tell  us  plainly  what  the}-  see  in 
them  dishonorable  to  God  or  injurious  to  man.  The  freer  such 
discussion,  the  better.  Let  opinions  be  spoken  of  unreservedl}'. 
We  blame  no  class  of  Christians  for  exposing  the  absurdities  and 
weak  points  of  prevailing  creeds.  We  only  say  to  them  :  '  Do  not 
judge  the  motives  of  3'our  brethren  in  embracing  the  opinions  which 
you  reject.  Do  not  shut  your  eyes  on  their  virtues,  because  they 
adopt  different  views.  Rejoice  in  the  proofs  of  their  piety,  coupled 
though  it  may  be  with  error.  Error  is  not  guilt.  Do  not  blame 
them  for  not  yielding  to  your  arguments ;  3our  judgment  may  be 
as  fallible  as  theirs.  In  a  word,  esteem  them  and  love  them  as 
heartily  as  if  their  creed  was  your  own.'  If  the  sermon  fails  in 
this  generous  feeling,  let  it  be  condemned 

"  It  should  be  considered,  that  false  doctrines,  just  so  far  as  they 
are  wide-spread,  and  deeply  rooted,  need  free  and  firm  resistance. 
Men  through  long  use  grow  blind  and  callous  to  their  inconsistency. 
Old  errors  must  be  placed  in  new  lights  and  broadly  exposed. 
Such  was  the  principle  on  which  this  sermon  was  written,  and  we 
venture  to  say,  that,  if  any  individual  would  do  good,  he  must 
adopt  this  course.  Is  it  said,  men  thus  opposed  will  be  exasper- 
ated? We  answer,  they  may  be  at  first,  but  they  will  learn  by 
degrees  to  bear  with  frankness  ;  whilst,  if  they  are  accustomed  to 
have  their  worst  opinions  treated  with  deference,  they  will  continue 
foolishly  sensitive  to  the  faintest  contradiction.  But  we  repeat, 
that,  the  bolder  the  opposition  to  opinions,  the  greater  should  be 
the  care  to  avoid  personalities 

"  There  are  good  men  who  will  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  make 
this  separation  between  opinions  and  those  who  hold  them  ;  that  to 
attack  the  first  is  to  exasperate  the  last,  and  that  peace  is  so  great 
a  good  as  to  make  it  better  to  leave  errors  to  the  power  of  time 
than  to  create  controversy.  We  answer,  that  truth  is  a  greater 
good  than  peace,  that  we  do  not  despair  of  the  progress  of  the 
human  mind  and  virtue,  that  we  know  those  who  differ  in  views 
yet  who  love  one  another,  and  that  on  the  whole  there  is  a  growing 
forbearance  and  moderation  amidst  the  freest  discussions.  Men 
who,  when  treated  with  respect  and  kindness,  will  not  allow  their 
opinions  to  be  touched,  and  resent  earnest  exposure  of  their  sup- 
posed  errors   as  wrong,   are  alone   responsible  if  controversy  is 


MILDNESS  AND  FIRMNESS.  425 

embittered  ;  nor  must  we  shut  up  in  our  own  breasts  what  we  deem 
great  truths,  lest  some  sensitive  persons  sliould  be  wounded." 

"  September  19,  1827.^  I  could  have  been  amused  with  jour  ac- 
count of  30ur  conversation  with ,  had  he  spared  his  compliment 

at  the  end,  —  '  You  are  an  honest  man.'  There  is  insolence  in  this 
concession  of  honest}'  to  us.  These  exclusive  pretenders  to  piet}^ 
seem  to  think  that  they  confer  a  great  favor  by  admitting  that  we 
are  not  unprincipled.  You  performed  your  part  to  admiration. 
When  will  men  who  hold  great  truth  feel  what  they  owe  to  it,  and 
meet  the  assumptions  of  others  with  a  righteous  confidence?  I 
fear  3"ou  will  think  I  am  somewhat  belligerent  in  ni}'  feelings  ;  but  I 
was  never  calmer,  and  should  not  have  thought  of  religious  contro- 
versy but  for  your  letter." 

Thus  bold  and  strong,  and  even  sternl}^  just,  was  Dr.  Channing 
in  guarding  the  rights  of  all  seekers  of  truth.  His  mildness  was 
free  from  mawkishness.  He  treated  others,  and  expected  to  be 
treated,  with  a  manly  decision.  Practically  he  made  the  discrimina- 
tion between  opinions  and  persons  which  he  so  constantly  urged  as 
a  duty.  He  asked  for  his  errors  no  tolerance  ;  he  only  demanded 
justice  as  a  man.  This  frank,  straightforward  honesty  of  mind 
did  not  contract,  but  deepened  and  widened,  his  liberality.  He 
looked  round  respectfully  and  earnestly  upon  all  fellow-inquirers, 
hoping  to  gain  from  them  the  light  for  which  his  whole  spirit  was 
longing.  This  temper  of  mind  may  be  best  illustrated  by  a  few 
manifestations  of  it,  as  given  in  his  letters. 

"  Boston^  February  26,  1836. ^  I  am  not  a  stranger  to  j^our  writ- 
ings. Your  Letters  on  Spain  were  very  interesting  to  me,  and  made 
me  desirous  to  see  everything  from  your  pen.  I  thank  you  for 
your  testimony  to  great  truths ;  for  the  clear  light  in  which  you 
have  placed  them  ;  and,  above  all,  for  the  ardent  and  all-sacri- 
ficing love  of  truth,  which  has  given  so  singular  a  direction  to  your 
life.  It  would  give  me  great  delight  to  be  near  you,  to  learn  from 
your  own  lips  the  history  of  your  mind,  of  your  doubts,  researches, 
and  ilkmiinations,  of  your  joy  in  reaching  a  brighter  light,  and  of 
your  trials,  obstacles,  discouragements,  and  sufferings.  I  trust,  I 
cannot  doubt,  tliat  you  find,  in  your  more  spiritual  and  enlarged 
views  of  Christianity,  in  your  more  filial  views  of  God,  abundant 
compensations  for  sufferings.  I  have  wished  \o\\  would  give  us,  or 
leave  behind  you,  an  autobiography.  With  what  eagerness  should 
I  devour  such  a  work  !  The  progress  of  every  mind  is  interesting ; 
but  how  few  minds  have  travelled  such  a  path  as  yours  !  On  one 
1  To  Josepli  Tuckerraan,  D.  D.  2  To  J.  Blanco  Wliite. 


426  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

subject,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  the  fruits  of  your  obser- 
vation. We  all  feel  that  there  is  an  evil  to  be  deplored  in  the 
Christian  world  far  more  than  doctrinal  errors  ;  and  that  is,  the 
unfaithfulness  of  Christians  to  the  light  which  the}'  have  attained. 
We  are  sometimes  almost  tempted  to  say  that  Christianity  is  but  a 
name,  so  little  is  its  power  felt.  I  should  like  to  know  among  what 
bodies  of  Christians  there  has  seemed  to  3'ou  to  be  the  greatest 
fidelit}'  to  their  convictions,  be  these  convictions  just  or  not.  I 
should  like  to  know  what  particular  views  of  our  religion  have 
seemed  to  jou  to  take  the  strongest  hold  on  the  human  mind ; 
what  causes  contribute  most  to  the  general  unfaithfulness,  and 
what  seem  to  you  the  most  effectual  means  of  resisting  them. 
That  the  great  moral  purpose  of  Christianity  is  so  little  answered 
would  be  the  most  painful  of  all  thoughts,  had  not  habit  seared  us 
to  it." 

"  Newport,  May  8,  1841.^  I  show  3'ou  by  my  speedy  reply  how 
acceptable  your  letter  was  to  me.  Its  spirit  is  indeed  encouraging 
and  delightful  to  me,  not  for  any  selfish  reasons,  not  because  1 
am  included  in  its  liberality,  but  for  its  own  sake,  because  it  is 
the  spirit  of  Christianit}',  and  such  as  man  should  always  cherish 
toward  man.  I  certainly  ought  not  to  suspect  myself  of  taking 
pleasure  in  another's  candor,  because  I  am  sheltered  under  it,  for 
I  have  learned  to  live  without  experience  of  candor.  I  have  passed 
nearly  fort}'  years  under  no  small  reproach,  denunciation,  and  pro- 
scription. I  have  been  deprived,  not  merely  of  good  name,  but  of 
what  is  far  dearer  to  a  Christian,  of  no  small  degree  of  the  moral 
injiuence  which  I  am  bound  to  exert ;  and  yet  I  have  made  no 
angry  complaint.  Perhaps,  in  my  love  of  quiet,  retired  thought, 
I  have  not  been  sensitive  enough  to  the  injury  done  me.  I  invite 
no  liberality  toward  myself;  but  when  it  is  extended  to  me,  I  wel- 
come it,  especially  as  I  see  in  it  the  sign  of  a  better  day,  of  a 
brighter  manifestation  of  the  spirit  of  our  religion 

"  You  say  that  the  Unitarians  might  make  'many  concessions' 
to  the  Trinitarians.  It  is  true,  I  might  adopt  much  of  the  Trinita- 
rian language,  not  only  on  the  Trinity,  but  the  Atonement.  I 
could  say,  that  Christ  died  to  magnify  the  law,  to  satisfy  Divine 
justice,  and  that  God  cannot  forgive  without  manifesting  his  dis- 
pleasure at  sin.  But  I  cannot  think  with  Talleyrand,  that  the  '  use 
of  language  is  to  hide  our  thoughts.'  Such  approximations  to  those 
from  whom  we  really  differ  seem  to  me  to  put  in  peril  our  '  simpli- 
city and  godly  sincerity.'     I  know  not  where  they  will  stop.     They 

1  To  Professor  George  Bush,  New  York. 


p 


KELATION  TO   UNITARIANS.  427 

also  obstruct  the  progress  of  truth,  and  to  the  truth  every  Christian 
must  be  wiUing  to  be  a  martyr.  Still  more,  the  usurpation  which  de- 
mands such  concessions  is  a  wrong  to  our  common  Lord  and  Master, 
and  to  the  human  mind,  which  must  not  be  debarred  from  seek- 
ing truth,  and  giving  utterance  to  its  deep  convictions.  In  saying 
this,  1  do  not  speak  as  a  Unitarian,  but  as  an  independent  Christian. 
I  have  little  or  no  interest  in  Unitarians  as  a  sect,  I  have  hardly  ' 
anything  to  do  with  them.  I  can  endure  no  sectarian  bonds. 
With  Dr.  Priestley,  a  good  and  great  man,  who  had  most  to  do  in 
producing  the  late  Unitarian  movement,  I  have  less  S3mpathy 
than  with  m.iny  of  the  '  Orthodox.'  I  shall  soon  publish  a  dis- 
course on  '  the  Church,'  which  I  will  send  you,  and  which  will 
show  my  position  in  this  respect.  I  would  not  have  you  imagine 
that  an}-  sectarian  feeling  prevents  m}'  advances  to  other  sects." 

'■'■August  29,  1841.^  Your  religious  experience,  as  3'ou  relate  it, 
has  been  fitted  to  carr}^  you  forward.  There  are  advantages  in 
having  known  error  and  felt  its  power,  if  we  are  so  happy  as  to 
escape  from  it.  We  know  the  truth  more  distinctly'  by  contrast. 
We  have  a  wider  field  for  observation  and  comparison,  and,  what 
is  of  great  importance,  we  can  understand  the  feelings  of  those 
from  whom  we  differ,  and  do  them  greater  justice.  I  am  strongly 
opposed  to  Methodism,  not  for  its  speculative  errors,  but  for  its 
spirit  of  domination.  No  sect  seems  to  me  more  flittered,  or  to 
have  more  the  spirit  of  a  sect.  It  is  a  religious  aristocracy,  com- 
bining a  great  power  for  narrow  ends.  As  I  grow  older,  I  grieve 
more  and  more  at  the  impositions  on  the  human  mind,  at  the 
machinery  by  which  the  few  keep  down  the  many.  I  distrust  / 
sectarian  influence  more  and  more.  I  am  more  detached  from  a 
denomination,  and  strive  to  feel  more  my  connection  with  the  Uni- 
versal Church,  with  all  good  and  holj'  men.  I  am  little  of  a  Uni- 
tarian, have  little  sympathy  with  the  S3'stem  of  Priestley  and 
Belsham,  and  stand  aloof  from  all  but  those  who  strive  and  pray 
for  clearer  light,  who  look  for  a  purer  and  more  effectual  manifes- 
tation of  Christian  truth." 

The  passage  last  quoted,  breathing  as  it  does  the  temper  of  lib- 
erality and  aspiration,  which,  characterizing  Dr.  Channing's  jouth, 
had  strengthened  through  his  manhood,  gave  rise  to  the  rumor  of 
his  having  changed  his  opinions,  —  a  rumor  so  absurd,  that  it  would 
be  unworth}'  even  of  a  passing  notice,  had  not  disingenuous  theo- 
logians systematically  perverted  the  plain  meaning  of  the  words, 
"  /  am  little  of  a    Unitarian^"     William   Ellerj'  Channing  was  a 

1  To  Mr.  W.  Trevilcock,  Carharrack. 


428  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

member  of  the  Church  Universal  of  the  Lovers  of  God  and  Lovers 
of  Man.  He  knew  that  reUgion  was  a  life,  and  not  a  creed  or  a 
form.  In  the  spirit  of  pure,  lioly  goodness,  he  aspired  to  be  one 
with  the  Heavenl}' Father,  —  in  generous,  respectful,  overflowing 
kindness,  he  purposed  to  be  one  with  all  human  brethren.  Mean- 
while he  sought  truth,  —  such  views  of  the  Infinite  God,  of  his 
relations  to  created  spirits,  of  man's  appointed  end  and  rightful 
aims,  as  should  be  in  accordance  with  reality.  Jesus  Christ  he 
welcomed  with  unlimited  reverence  and  affection,  as  the  full  mani- 
festation of  what  human  existence,  in  communion  with  the  Divine 
Being,  might  be  and  should  be.  He  saw  in  this  "first-born  of 
many  brethren  "  a  revelation  of  a  spiritual  mystery-,  whose  depth 
of  glory  no  ages  of  the  past  had  fathomed.  He  waited  in  prayer- 
ful confidence  for  a  fuller  apprehension  of  the  sublime  career  opened 
before  mankind  Out  of  superstition  and  cant,  scepticism  and  fear, 
sophistry  and  selfish  strife,  he  longed  to  be  delivered  into  "  the 
glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God."  On  sectarianism  and  the- 
ological warfare  he  looked  down  with  profound  disgust  and  pit}', 
and  valued  bodies  of  believers  and  individual  disciples  according  to 
the  degree  in  which  he  saw  reflected  in  them  the  image  of  the  com- 
mon Master,  who  prayed  that  "all"  might  be  "one."  Unita-, 
rianism  he  conscientiously  considered  an  advance  towards  an 
unobscured  view  of  the  Christian  religion.  But  the  thought  of 
resting  in  a  Unitarian  creed,  or  of  limiting  his  sympathies  to  a 
Unitarian  denomination,  never  for  a  moment  shadowed  his  mind. 
He  knew  his  ignorance,  he  felt  his  limitations,  too  well  for  any 
such  narrowness.  Christendom  was  to  him  a  living  bod}',  fdl'ever 
animated  from  on  high,  constantly  unfolding,  instinct  with  a  spirit 
of  reform,  providential!}'  guarded  and  guided,  destined  to  become 
a  true  catholic  unity,  by  means  of  love  embodied  in  holy  characters 
and  humane  deeds.  He  joined  hands  with  the  grand  circle  of  the 
hopeful  and  devoted  "followers  of  God"  who  were  working  to- 
gether with  Hull  to  introduce  the  kingdom  of  heaven  upon  earth. 
In  mere  speculative  opinions,  he  was  never  more  decidedly  a  Unita- 
rian, or,  to  use  his  own  definition,  a  believer  that  "  the  God  and 
Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  alone  and  exclusively  the  Su- 
preme and  Independent  God,"  than  m  the  last  year  of  his  life,  and 
on  his  deatli-bed  ;  but  at  ho  previous  period  either  was  he  so  hum- 
bly watching  for  some  influx  of  the  light  of  life  which  might  reno- 
vate the  nations.  Constitutionally  he  had  a  dread  of  sacrificing 
independence  by  too  close  ties  of  association  ;  from  the  whole  cast 
of  his  philosophy,  he  was  led  to  attach  a  superlative  value  to  indi- 
viduality in  character,  thought,  action ;  and  experience  had  taught 


INFLUENCE  OF  NATURE.  429 

him  to  "  fear  the  shackles  which  a  part}'  connection  imposed."  In 
a  word,  he  regarded  himself  "  as  belonging  not  to  a  sect,  but  to 
the  communit}-  of  free  minds,  of  lovers  of  truth,  of  followers  of  Christ 
both  on  earth  and  in  heaven."  ^  In  the  following  passages  he  has 
so  fully  defined  his  position,  that  no  person  of  intelligence  and  can- 
dor can  misunderstand  him. 

1827.  "  It  is  the  influence  of  the  works  of  God  to  set  our  minds 
free  from  all  bigotr3'  and  prejudice.  In  the  presence  of  nature,  I 
forget  the  religious  and  national  distinctions  which  divide  mankind, 
and  S3mpathize  with  the  benevolent  Power  Avhich  sustains  all.  I 
feel  that  I  belong,  not  to  a  part,  but  to  the  whole,  — to  the  universe 
of  God.  The  creation  is  a  powerful  teaclier  of  liberal  feelings,  and 
does  much  to  counteract  the  illiberal  preaching  which  passes  for 
Christianit}'.  After  hearing  in  a  church  a  discourse  which  makes 
God  a  partial  being,  and  identifies  liim  with  a  sect,  I  delight  to 
escape  into  the  open  air,  and  one  view  of  the  heavens,  or  of  an}'  of 
the  great  features  of  nature,  is  enough  to  scatter  the  gloom  which 
had  gathered  over  me,  and  to  teach  me  that  what  has  been  said, 
however  well  intended,  is  false.  God's  works  confirm  his  word,  — 
assure  me,  after  all  which  I  have  heard,  that  he  is  still  tlie  universal 
Father.  I  have  not  come,  then,  from  viewing  God's  works  to 
breathe  into  3'ou  narrowness  and  bitterness  of  feeling.  I  would 
come  in  that  spirit  of  universal  charity  and  benignity  which  befits 
a  pupil  of  the  universe,  and  still  more  a  disciple  of  Christ.  I  aim 
not  to  sever  you  from  others ;  I  aim  only  to  give  you  a  just  self- 
respect,  a  sense  of  what'  is  due  to  jour  own  minds,  —  moral  and 
religious  independence,  energy  of  character  which  will  not  yield 
blindly  to  any  external  influence,  whenever  exerted,  or  however  it 
may  strive  to  wrap  itself  in  a  sacred  garb.  This  spirit  is  not  incon- 
sistent with  true  love,  but  is  its  ally  and  natural  associate." 

'■'■Boston,  June  2,  1828.^  There  was  one  part  of  j-our  letter  which 
gave  me  peculiar  pleasure,  —  that  in  which  j'ou  speak  of  the  favor 
which  my  discourse  on  the  evidences  of  Christianity  has  found  in 
England.  !  pretend  not  to  be  indifferent  to  literary  reputation, 
but  I  hope  I  may  say  that  the  thought  of  contributing  anj-thing  to 
a  more  intelligent  reception  and  to  more  generous  views  of  our 
religion  is  dearer  to  me  than  any  human  praise.  Your  letter  gives 
me  reason  to  think  that  3'ou  accord  with  me,  not,  perhaps,  in  my 
peculiarities  of  faith,  —  for  of  these  j-ou  sUy  nothing,  —  but  in  the 
conviction,  that  Christianit}'  is  often  injured  b}-  narrow  and  degrad- 

1  Works,  Vol.  III.  p.  208.    One  Volume  Edition,  p.  247. 

2  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


430  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

ing  modes  of  exhibiting  it,  and  tliat  its  generous  character  and 
ennobHng  influence  are  very  imperfectly  understood.  Allow  me  to 
say,  that  I  take  the  more  pleasure  in  making  these  inferences  as  to 
your  state  of  mind,  because  your  sex,  with  all  their  merits,  —  and 
these  are  above  praise,  —  have  had  their  full  share  in  fixing  the 
present  low  standard  of  rehgion  by  the  ease  with  which  they  have 
given  up  their  minds  to  be  awed  and  formed  by  vulgar  and  men- 
acing teachers.  I  do  hail  the  marks  of  intellectual  freedom  and 
moral  courage  in  your  sex  with  peculiar  hope  ;  for  woman,  through 
her  maternal  and  social  influences,  must  always  act  on  the  religion 
of  a  community  with  great  power ;  and  if  subdued  b}'  an  illiberal, 
irrational  faith,  she  will  do  much  to  spread  the  infection  around 
her. 

"  I  speak  to  you  freely,  for  j'ou  have  encouraged  me  to  do  so,  — 
and  the  more  freely,  because,  if  you  agree  with  me  as  far  as  I 
suppose,  I  should  rejoice  to  enlist  j'ou  in  what  seems  to  me  the 
greatest  cause  on  earth.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  would  draw  3'ou 
into  sectarian  warfare.  I  would  have  you  bear  your  public  testimony 
to  Christianity,  as  a  religion  of  benignant  aspect,  of  a  liberal  spirit, 
of  lofty  purposes,  given  to  free  and  enlarge  the  intellect,  to  form  a 
higher  order  of  character,  a  filial  .and  elevating  piety,  and  an 
unbounded  charit}-, — and  to  endue  the  will  with  invincible  strength 
in  well-doing.  I  want  our  religion  to  be  taken  out  of  the  hands  of 
technical,  professional  men,  — who  look  at  it  through  the  mists  of 
the  dark  ages.  It  is  the  property,  not  of  priests,  but  of  the  human 
race,  and  ever}'  superior  mind  may  and  should  do  something 
towards  asserting  its  celestial  dignity." 

'■'■June  16,  1831.^  The  immense  moral  power  now  exerted  by 
France  over  the  civilized  world,  a  power  growing  from  her  geograph- 
ical position,  from  her  political  relations,  as  the  centre  and  spring 
of  the  great  revolutionary  movement  in  Europe,  and  from  the 
universality  of  her  language  and  literature,  renders  her  at  this 
moment  the  most  interesting  nation  on  earth.  The  cause  of  free 
institutions  and  of  human  improvement  seems  specially  committed 
to  her.  When  I  take  this  view  of  France,  I  am  greatly  afflicted 
b}'  what  I  hear  of  the  want  of  religious  principle  among  all  classes 
of  the  French  population  ;  for,  without  this  principle,  I  see  not 
bow  a  peoi)le  can  rise  to  an}-  moral  greatness,  or  do  much  for  the 
human  race.  I  wish  to  know  if  the  accounts  I  have  heard  are 
true.  Is  Christianity  classed  by  the  great  majority  of  thinking 
men  in  that  country  among  exploded  impostures?     Is  religion  in 

>  To  M.  J.  C.  L.  Sinionde  de  Sismondi. 


RELIGION  IN  FRANCE.  431 

all  its  forms  neglected,  contemned,  and  without  power?  Are  those 
who  are  alive  to  its  importance  —  for  such  tliere  must  be  —  so  few 
and  scattered  as  to  exert  no  influence  ?  Is  Voltaire  as  much  an 
oracle  as  formerly?  I  once  thought  him  the  truest  expression  of 
the  French  mind.  Is  he  so  still  ?  I  will  not  overpower  you  with 
questions.  But  an  important  one  remains.  From  what  means  or 
efforts  may  a  better  state  of  things  be  hoped  in  France  ?  What  can 
be  done  for  religion  in  that  country?  Your  article  on  religion, 
translated  by  Miss  Sedgwick,  satisfies  me  that  you  sympathize 
with  me  in  my  interest  in  this  subject,  and  I  know  you  must  have 
thought  on  it  seriously.  What  then,  1  repeat  it,  can  be  done? 
My  remoteness  exposes  me  to  many  errors  ;  but  I  have  a  general 
conviction  that  Christianity  is  not  to  revive  in  France  in  any  of  its 
old  forms.  Catholicism  is  fallen,  and  so  is  Protestantism.  In 
truth,  the  last  was  an  antagonist  to  the  first, — a  belligerent  re- 
ligion, framed  to  put  down  Rome,  —  and  so  far  was  a  great  good. 
But  its  work  is  very  much  done,  nor  is  it  enough  adapted  to  the 
present  wants  of  the  human  mind  to  regain  its  power.  A  purer, 
higher  form  of  Christianity  is  needed,  such  as  will  approve  itself, 
to  men  of  profound  tliinking  and  feeling,  as  the  real  spring  and 
most  efficacious  instrument  of  moral  elevation,  moral  power,  and 
disinterested  love.  If  I  may  put  another  question,  I  would  ask  if 
there  are  any  symptoms  of  this  purer  religion  in  France.  Is  the 
want  of  it  beginning  to  be  felt?  St.  Simonianism,  as  far  as  I  know 
it,  is  a  political  engine,  a  worldly  movement,  not  the  struggling  of 
the  moral,  religious,  and  immortal  nature  for  freer  action  and  a 
new  development.  The  writings  of  Cousin  and  Constant  give 
promise  of  a  better  state  of  things.  Do  they  represent  any  con- 
siderable number  of  the  thinking  class?  Can  you  name  to  me 
any  intellectual  men  interested  in  this  subject,  who  would  like  to 
open  a  correspondence  with  me  ?  Can  you  name  any  books  which 
would  enlighten  me  ?  Damiron's  view  of  the  French  philosophy  of 
the  age  I  have  read." 

''Boston,  Jane  29,  1831.1  My  highly  valued  friend.  Miss  Pea- 
body,  has  read  to  me  your  letters,  in  which  you  express  a  wish  to 
know  something  of  the  views  of  Christianity  which  prevail  to  a 
considerable  extent  in  this  part  of  our  country,  and  I  am  encour- 
aged by  your  language  to  hope  that  a'ou  may  look  with  some  inter- 
est into  a  volume  which  I  have  published,  and  which  will  give  you 
the  general  features  of  this  form  of  religion.  I  ought  to  observe, 
however,  that  what  is  here  called  Unitarianism,  a  very  inadequate 

^  To  M.  le  Baron  Degerando,  Paris. 


432  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

name,  is  characterized  by  notliing  more  than  b}-  the  spirit  of  free- 
dom and  individuality.  It  has  no  cstablislied  creed  or  symbol. 
Its  friends  think  each  for  himself,  and  differ  much  from  each  other ; 
so  that  my  book,  after  all,  will  give  you  my  mind  rather  than  the 
dogmas  of  a  sect. 

"  I  am  particularly-  gratified  by  this  mode  of  introduction  to  you, 
because  it  may  authorize  a  request  which  I  have  much  at  heart. 
There  are  few  things  which  I  desire  more  than  to  know  with  some 
accurac}'  the  religious  condition  of  France,  the  tendencies  of  the 
thinking  part  of  society  and  of  the  mass  of  the  people  on  this 
subject,  and  what  are  the  views  of  good  and  intelligent  men,  as  to 
the  best  means  of  inci'easing  the  power  of  religion  among  you. 
France,  from  her  geographical  and  political  position,  and  from  the 
immense  moral  influence  which  she  is  exerting,  may  be  considered 
as  the  central  power  of  Europe,  and  nothing  discourages  me  more 
than  the  accounts  which  I  often  receive  of  the  absence,  the  almost 
total  want,  of  the  religious  principle  among  all  classes  of  her  popu- 
lation. Are  these  accounts  true?  Has  P'rance,  as  a  nation,  lost 
sight  of  man's  connection  with  God,  and  with  a  future  and  higher 
existence?  Is  Christianit}^  without  honor  and  without  power 
among  j'ou?  Are  there  not  signs  of  the  revival  of  the  religious 
principle?  If  so,  what  direction  or  form  is  it  taking?  Is  any  deep 
consciousness  of  the  need  of  it  springing  up  ?  I  know  that  recent 
events  have  absorbed  the  people,  nor  ought  any  striking  develop- 
ment of  religious  feeling  to  be  expected  under  such  circumstances. 
Still,  a  tendenc}'  to  a  better  state  of  things,  if  real  and  profound, 
will  give  some  signs  of  its  existence.  I  wish  to  propose  another 
question,  which  I  trust  you  will  answer  with  entire  frankness.  It 
is,  whether  the  views  of  religion  given  in  m}'  volume  are  in  any 
degree  suited  to  the  wants  and  state  of  mind  of  any  considerable 
class  in  France 

"  You  see  to  what  object  my  mind  chiefl}'  turns.  In  the  struggle 
of  France  for  freedom,  I  have  sympathized  with  her  most  fervently. 
But  I  wish  for  her  a  freedom  worthy  of  the  name  ;  and  this  cannot 
be  hoped  for,  unless  it  shall  ally  itself  with  a  pure  and  rational  re- 
ligion. I  will  only  add,  that  one  part  of  my  volume  may  not  meet 
your  full  approbation.  I  refer  to  my  remarks  on  Bonaparte.  If  I 
know  myself,  I  wrote  that  article  from  a  sincere  interest  in  the 
cause  of  freedom  and  mankind.  I  may  have  erred,  however,  and 
if  my  errors  are  important  enough  to  be  exposed,  I  will  thank  any 
friend  of  truth  to  undertake  the  work." 

'■'■  December  19,  1832.^  I  continue  to  look  towards  France  with 
1  To  M.  J.  C.  L.  Simonde  de  Sismondi. 


ESSENTIAL  CHRISTIANITY.  433 

great  interest.     She  must  be  roused  sooner  or  later  from  lier  pres- 
ent indifference  to  a  new  action  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and  this 
will  have  an  immense  influence  on  the  progress  of  society.     I  am 
not  at  all  discouraged  by  the  failure  of  attempts  to  restore  the  an- 
tiquated systems  of  theology.     I  neither  expect  nor  desire  Chris- 
tian. t3'  to  revive  in  France  under  its  old  forms.     Somethi.icr  ],etter 
IS  needed.    Christianity,  I  conceive,  is  to  be  re-established  by  clear 
developments  of  its  original,  essential  truths.     One  of  the  great 
means  of  restoring  it  is,  to  disconnect  it  from  its  old  forms,  to 
break  up  the  habit,  almost  universal  in  France,  of  identifyino-  it 
with  Catholicism  and  old   Protestantism.     Another   means^  is"  to 
show  Its  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  freedom,  of  philanthropy',  of 
progress,  and  to  show  that  these  principles  require,  in  order  to  their 
ful   expansion,  the  aid  of  Christianity.    The  identity  of  this  relioion 
with   the  most   unconfined  and  self-sacrificing  benevolence  needs 
especially  to  be  understood.     No  religion  can  now  prevail  which  is 
not  plainly  seen  to  minister  to  our  noblest  sentiments  and  powers 
and   unless   Christianity  fulfils    this  condition,   I    cannot   wish   it 
success. 

-With  these  views,  I  do  not  altogether  acquiesce  in  what  yon 
think  the  duty  of  the  friends  of  enlightened  religion  at  the  present 
moment,     lou  think  they  must  wait.     If  you  mean  that  the  time 

Tr\''r7  i"""  ^^''™  '°  organize  themselves  into  a  new  sect,  I 
shall  not  differ  from  you.     I  doubt  whether  that  time  will  ever  come. 
I  doubt^  whether  the  purified  Christianity  which  I  anticipate  is  to 
rise  m  the  form  of  a  sect  or  party,  whether  its  friends  are  to  dis- 
tinguish theniselves  by  any  outward  badge,  or  whether  it  is  to  make 
Its  way  by  the  imposing  efforts  of  masses.     The  age  of  svmbols   of 
pompous  worship,  of  the  priesthood,  and  of  overpowering  relio-i^us 
combinations,  is  passing  away.     Religion  must  be  spread  more  and 
more  by  rational  means,  that  is,  by  the  unfettered  efforts  of  indi- 
vidual  minds     by  clear   development   of  great   truths,    by  moral 
suasion,  and  by  examples  of  its  sublime  efficacy  on  the  character 
and  life.     These  means   are   always  seasonable,   and  were  never 
more  needed  tha.1  now.     I  expect,  indeed,  that  they  who  receive 
tins  higher  manifestation  of  Christianity  will  be  attracted  to  each 
other,  and  will  umte  their  exertions  as  far  as  consists  with  perfect 
ntell  ctual   freedom.     But  their  enlarged  views  and  sympathies, 
and  their  reverence  for  the  religion,  will  make  them  shrink  from 
giving  It  a  sectarian  form." 

-  Boston,  September  11,  1840.^     I  owe  yon  many  thanks  for  the 
volume  you  so  kindly  sent  me  of  the  Liverpool  Lectures.     I  had 
J  To  the  Rev.  J.  H.  Thorn.  Liverpool. 
28 


434  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

read  a  good  part  of  the  Lectures,  but  was  glad  to  read  the  rest,  and 
to  own  all.  I  have  expressed  to  mj  English  friends  m}-  admiration 
of  these  defences  of  the  truth.  I  do  not  know  how  the  cause  could 
have  fallen  into  better  hands,  or  could  have  been  more  worthily 
maintained.     Indeed,  I  ought  to  go  farther,  —  I  doubt  whether  the 

battle  could  have  been  fought  as  well  elsewhere The}^  will 

lead  a  certain  number  to  think,  and  will  give  them  far  higher  views 
than  they  had  before.  The}'  will  stir  up  thought.  They  are  sug- 
gesting, quickening,  fertilizing,  —  and  such  are  the  writings  which 
are  to  do  good,  not  those  which  produce  immediate  superficial 
effect. 

"  I  was  glad  that  3'ou  did  not  undertake  to  defend  any  Unitari- 
anism  but  your  own.  1  know  that  in  this  way  the  benefit  of  author- 
ity is  lost,  and  the  unity  of  the  sect  is  threatened  ;  but  what  unity 
is  of  any  worth,  except  the  attraction  subsisting  among  those  who 
hold,  not  nominall}',  but  really,  not  in  words,  but  with  profound 
conviction  and  love,  the  same  great  truths?  I  see  in  these  Lec- 
tures the  signs  of  a  freer  discussion  than  we  have  had  yet.  .  As  3'et, 
controversialists  who  have  broken  all  other  chains  have  had  a  feel- 
ing of  allegiance  to  their  sect.  Pure,  supreme  love  of  trutii,  how 
hard  an  acquisition  !  Perhaps  our  attachment  to  Christianity  ma}' 
sometimes  blind  us,  by  leading  us  to  force  meanings  on  its  records 
which  fall  below  the  dignity  of  a  revelation.  It  is  no  easy  thing  to 
let  the  records  speak  for  themselves,  to  take  them  as  we  find  them, 
to  let  them  say  what  will  injure  their  authority  in  the  present  state 
of  men's  minds.  We  '  rational  Christians'  are  in  danger  of  acting 
the  part  of  their  patrons,  rather  than  their  interpreters. 

"There  is  another  danger,  too,  to  which  we  are  exposed.  We 
are  more  and  more,  and  very  properly,  inclined  to  rest  Christianity 
on  the  character,  the  spirit,  the  divine  elevation  of  Jesus  Christ ; 
and  llie  tendency  of  this  is  to  beget  a  swollen  way  of  speaking 
about  liim  and  liis  virtues,  very  inconsistent  with  the  simple  beauty 
and  majesty  of  his  character,  and  which  is  fitted  to  throw  a  glare 
over  him,  and  not  to  i)resent  that  distinct  apprehension  of  him  so 
necessary  to  a  quickening  and  transforming  love.  It  is  an  age 
of  swelling  words.  I  must  plead  guilty  myself,  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  Lectures  are  free  from  the  oflTence.  Indeed,  to  see  and  set 
forth  Christianity  in  its  simplicity  is  a  hard  task.  Brought  up  as 
we  have  been,  living  in  a  most  artificial,  unchristian  state  of  soci- 
ety,—  the  antithesis  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  —  it  is  not  easy  to 
preserve  and  feel  the  force  of  any  precept  or  trutli  of  the  religion. 
We  must,  by  one  or  another  means,  escape  the  world  we  live  in,  — 
its  hollow  religious  conventionalisms,  its  denial  throughout  of  the 


UNITARIAN  ORTHODOXY.  435 

worth  of  a  human  spirit,  of  the  fraternal  relation  of  all  human  be 
.ugs,  -  before  we  can  get  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  as  it  is  injesus^' " 
•      "Jum  22,  1840.'    I  can  touch  but  on  one  topic  more      Yon 
speak  of  your  brother  James.     Since  writing  to  you,  n  a™  IZ 

o  r  Lt  rf '  T  ""^' r"  '°  "^  '"™"=  "'^  noblest  Xts  of 
i^ectmes  and  Mr.  Thorn's  give  me  new  hope  for  the  cause  of  trufl. 
n  E„g,.,„  .     Not  that  I  expect  any  great  immediate  effec        " 

an.     1  differ,  as  I  thmls  I  told  you,  from  some  of  your  brother's 

expositions  ;  but  no  matter ;  I  do  not  enjoy  his  mind  the  less  " 

''September  M,  I841.«  Old  Unitarianism  must  „„der<.o  im,,or 
tant  mod,aeat,o„  or  developments.  Thus  I  have  felt  f^r  ears 
Though  an  advance  on  previous  systems,  and  bearin..  some  bete; 

™,ts,  ,t  does  not  work  deeply,  it  does  not  strike  living  sriitsta 
the  soul.  Tins  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the  profound  'iefv  If 
nKhv,du.als  of  the  body.  But  it  cannot  quicken  all  e  "  „c  '  e  the 
world.     No  matter  how  reasonable  it  ma  •  be  if  it  is  wmln 

ts  history  is  singular.     It  began  as  a  protest  a^li^slI-feXn 

as  ;H°fe'rd"'"'r', "''"'■^'  ^'"™'5-     I'  P'«'8«'  itself  opXss 

rervf:ir-i-2^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

dered  at  or  deplored,  for  al,  reL-ming  Sdie  "    cm  Zmed  to  sZ" 

1  r  11  "  ""  -"'°"""'  '""^^  "■  "'"«•  '»"*  "4  1™  V   la    Id' 

forme,      tb   *=''"^'='"'«™'  '"'^'  °»t  of  them  must  sprin.  ,Tew  re! 

I  watch'nn.      ""''"""'  ''"^'■""J-  ^'^^  "»  »'"•     Wit  r  these  Wews 
I  watch  all'  new  movements  witli  great  interest." 

to't'l^f"'  f7»t''  '*"•"    '^'>'"  '■"'■"'«■  inq'iiry  will  lead  vou 

Tour  t™,itL.a  b'e  enu^r^rcr'-"   """'"'  "  ~''"  ™' '"^ 
Of  Christiamty,  I  oa^I;;:!       .  ^  T  stTt^' m:;:,?^^" f"'  T' 

r  '  pomded  I    „n        ■■'■  *?":     '''"■■'*  '  '■''^'  '^'  "■»'  Christianitv, 

n,ostTp;Slti^^ 

name  ,  that,   nstead  of  enslaving  ourselves  to  any.  1^1!,?.  Let  we 

'  I  va  ;J    W      ;  '     '"■'  "°'''  qti'-tening  views  of  Christianitv. 
I  lalue  Unitanamsm,  not  because  I  regard  it  as  in  itself  a  per- 
fect system,  but  as  freed  from  many  great  and  pernieious  erroi 
*  To  Miss  H.  Martineau.  3  Tr.  M,.   tr    i     ^  r^     , 

-  To  the  Rev.  James  Martineau,  LiveJpooT.  "'  ^'^"''"'  ''^'^°'^' 


436  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

of  the  older  systems,  as  encouraging  freedom  of  thought,  as 
raising  us  above  the  despotism  of  the  church,  and  as  breathing 
a  mild  and  tolerant  spirit  into  all  the  members  of  the  Christian 
bod3^  Methodism  seems  to  me  to  have  done  much  good ;  but 
I  apprehend  its  day  is  drawing  to  a  close.  It  is  a  system  of 
ecclesiastical  oppression.  The  concentration  of  power  in  the  Con- 
ference is  intolerable,  and  I  see  not  how  any  free  spirit  can  brook 
it.  We  are  to  be  Christ's  freemen,  not  instruments  in  the  hands  of 
our  fellow-creatures.  I  owe  so  much  to  spiritual,  Christian  liberty 
myself,  that  I  mourn  over  every  infraction  of  it,  and  earnestly  desire 
to  secure  it  to  all  my  Christian  brethren. 

"  I  wish  you  the  best  blessings  from  on  high,  the  '  Spirit  of  Truth,' 
growing  light,  and  growing  love." 

Thus  does  it  appear  how  truly  Dr.  Channing  said  of  himself, 
"  I  desire  to  escape  the  narrow  walls  of  a  particular  church,  and  to 
live  under  the  open  sky,  in  the  broad  light,  looking  far  and  wide, 
seeing  with  ni}-  own  e3'es,  hearing  with  my  own  ears,  and  following 
truth  meekly,  but  resolutely,  however  arduous  or  solitary  be  the 
path  in  which  she  leads.  "  ^  To  him  there  was  "  one  church  grander 
than  all  particular  ones,  however  extensive,  —  spread  over  all  lands, 
and  one  with  the  church  in  heaven,  ....  the  famil}-  of  the  pure 
in  all  worlds,  ....  the  innumerable  multitude  of  the  holy  ever}'- 
where."  With  this  church  he  felt  bound  by  "  vital,  everlasting  con- 
nection," and  regarded  himself  as  "  a  member  of  a  vast  spiritual 
communit}',  as  joint  heir  and  fellow-worshipper  with  the  goodly 
company  of  Christian  heroes  who  have  gone  before."  '^  The  grand 
"  heresy  "  to  him  was  the  substitution  of  anything,  "  whether  creed, 
or  form,  or  church,  for  the  goodness  which  is  essentially,  everlast- 
ingly, by  its  own  nature,  lovely,  glorious,  divine,  ....  which  is 
the  sun  of  the  spiritual  universe,  ....  which  is  God  himself 
dwelling  in  the  human  soul."  Growth  in  goodness  was  what  he 
longed  for  throughout  Christendom. 

Let  us  now  briefly  describe  the  work,  wherein,  as  we  have  seen, 
Dr.  Channing  so  earnestly  hoped  to  embody,  with  some  degree  of 
organic  symmetry,  the  truths  which,  through  long  years,  he  had 
been  assimilating.  It  was  to  have  borne  the  title,  apparently,  of 
"The  Principles  of  Moral,  Religious,  and  Pohtical  Science";  and 
the  following  extracts  from  a  first  draft  of  the  Introduction  will 
show  the  author's  stand-point. 

1  Works,  Vol.  III.  p.  211.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  247. 
'i  Ibid.,  Vol.  VI.  pp.  203,  205,  208,  223,  224.    One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  435-437, 
443,  444. 


PERFECTION   OF   MAN.  437 

"In  a  work  devoted  to  the  exposition  of  moral,  religious,  and 
political  truth,  a  minute  description  of  all  the  principles  and  powers 
of  human  nature  will  not  be  expected.  Volumes  would  be  needed 
for  the  fit  discussion  of  such  a  topic.  The  true  perfection  of  man 
is  the  great  idea  of  the  moral  sciences.  His  nature  is  therefore  to 
be  examined  so  as  to  determine  its  central  law,  and  the  end  for 
which  all  religious  and  political  institutions  should  be  established  ; 
it  is  to  be  studied  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  its  true  propor- 
tions, its  highest  powers,  the  relations  of  its  affections  and  faculties 
to  each  other,  its  ruling  principles. 

"  In  every  department  of  nature  we  discern  differences  and  varie- 
ties. The  universe  is  not  a  monotonous  repetition  of  one  form  of 
being.  Each  single  object  is  composed  of  a  variety  of  parts  ;  each 
sustains  various  relations,  exercises  various  functions,  is  receptive 
of  various  influences.  Nor  are  all  parts  of  equal  importance  ;  some 
are  prominent,  others  subordinate  ;  some  essential,  others  acciden- 
tal ;  some  are  ends,  and  others  means.  The  same  properties,  also, 
are  developed  in  an  infinite  variet}^  of  degi'ees.  As  each  color  pre- 
sents an  indefinite  number  of  shades,  so  each  power  of  living  crea- 
tures is  manifested  with  a  like  diversit}'  of  intenseness.  In  beings 
of  the  same  class  are  found  all  possible  differences  in  the  degrees  of 
their  correspondence  to  the  standard  or  type  of  the  class.  Thus 
nature  everywhere  reveals  Variet}',  Difference,  Relation,  Degrees, 
Order,  Perfection. 

"That  Human  Nature  should  pi^sent  to  us  a  similar  variety  is 
to  be  expected  from  the  analogies  which  are  seen  to  pervade  the 
universe.  Man  is  not  a  single  power,  but  a  wonderful  diversity  of 
properties  are  combined  in  his  constitution.  The  laws  which  control 
the  material  world  are  in  him  conjoined  with  the  energies  of  mind. 
That  his  various  organs,  faculties,  functions,  differ  in  importance, 
—  that  some  are  ends,  while  others  are  means,  —  that  some  are 
supreme  and  others  subordinate,  —  that  there  is  an  Order  or  Har- 
mony of  powers  in  which  consists  the  perfection  of  the  human 
being,  —  may  be  confidently  inferred  from  the  laws  of  variety,  de- 
grees, order,  which  govern  the  universe 

"All  our  inquiries  in  morals,  religion,  and  pohtics  must  begin 
with  human  nature.  The  ends  for  which  a  being  is  made,  his  re- 
lations, his  true  course  of  conduct,  depend  upon  his  nature.  To 
comprehend  the  former,  we  must  understand  the  latter.  Accord- 
ingly, certain  views  of  man  are  involved  in  all  speculations  about 
the  objects  of  life,  and  the  proper  sphere  of  human  action.  On  such 
views  all  schemes  of  societ}'  and  legislation  are  built.  Every  great 
statesman,  every  reformer  who  has  introduced  a  revolution  in  the 


488  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

affairs  of  nations,  has  been  impelled  and  guided  b}-  his  estimate  of 
man.  It  is  the  want  of  a  true  science  of  our  nature,  that  has  vi- 
tiated all  past  s^'stems  of  government,  morals,  and  religion.  No 
book  can  be  written  wiselj^  no  plan  wisel}'  formed  for  the  improve- 
ment of  mankind,  which  has  not  its  origin  in  just  reverence  of  the 
powers  of  the  human  spirit.  And  not  only  is  it  true,  that  morals, 
religion,  and  politics,  in  their  application  to  masses  of  men,  must 
have  their  foundation  in  certain  views  of  human  nature  ;  but  every 
individual's  principles,  his  whole  system  of  duty,  will  take  its  char- 
acter from  tlie  light  in  which  he  regards  himself  and  his  race.  All 
the  relations  of  life  will  wear  different  aspects  to  men  who  interpret 
differently  the  beings  by  whom  the^'  are  sustained. 

"Just  views  of  human  nature  are,  then,  all-important.  In  com- 
prehending man,  we  comprehend  God,  Duty,  Life,  Death,  Provi- 
dence ;  we  have  the  key  to  the  Divine  administration  of  the  world. 
In  proportion  as  man  is  made  known  to  us,  we  learn  why  he  was 
placed  upon  earth,  and  see  the  explanation  of  the  discipline  which 
is  appointed  to  him  here.  The  mysteries  of  his  childhood,  progress, 
and  maturity,  of  his  jo3's  and  sorrows,  of  his  temptations  and  sins, 
gradually  clear  away.  Even  material  nature  becomes  revealed  to 
us  in  a  new  light.  In  proportion  as  we  understand  man, — God's 
greatest  work,  —  we  understand  inferior  creation  ;  we  discover  new 
adaptations  of  the  outward  and  the  inward  worlds,  new  analogies 
between  nature  and  the  human  spirit ;  the  Unity  of  the  Universe 
dawns  upon  us." 

Eight  chapters  only  of  the  First  Part  of  this  work  —  which,  in 
accordance  with  the  preceding  remarks,  was  devoted  to  an  analytic 
and  synthetic  view  of  human  nature  —  were  composed.  The  order 
of  their  arrangement  and  their  titles  are  as  follows:  —  I.  Sensa- 
tion; II.  Idea  of  Matter;  III.  Idea  of  the  I  or  Self ;  IV.  p:x- 
ternal  Perception  ;  V.  Internal  Perception  ;  VI.  Conception;  VII. 
Memory ;  VIII.  Discernment  of  Relations.  The  plan  of  the  au- 
thor was  plainly  to  trace,  b}'  ascending  degrees,  the  Order,  Propor- 
tion, Harmony,  of  man's  powers  ;  and  thus,  by  proceeding  inward, 
from  functions  and  relations  which  are  most  superficial  and  acci- 
dental, to  those  which  are  most  central  and  essential,  to  exhibit  an 
ideal  of  a  perfect  human  being.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  inform 
a  reader  of  Dr.  Channing's  writings,  that  he  recognized  as  the 
supreme  power  in  man  the  Conscience ;  and  that  he  saw  in  this 
primal  spring  of  moral  energy  an  authoritative  manifestation  of 
absolute  right,  justly  entitling  it  to  be  called  the  Oracle  of  God. 
Morality,    in   his   view,    flowed   out   from,    and   ascended  up   to, 


PLAN  OF  THE  WORK.  439 

religion ;  the  finite  will  was  forever  newly  animated  from  the  In- 
finite Will ;  and  goodness  was  the  inspiration  of  the  All-Good. 

Thus  from  Man,  the  author  would  have  been  led  to  speak,  in  the 
Second  Part  of  his  work,  of  God,  whom  he  saw  revealed  in  iiuman 
nature  and  the  universe,  as  the  One,  Eternal,  Infinite  Person, 
whose  essence  and  energy  are  love, — the  Heavenly  Father,  who 
creates  all  spirits  in  his  own  image,  and  continually  re-creates  them 
by  his  inflowing  life.  Man  he  considered  as  actually  a  child  of 
God,  in  exact  proportion  to  the  degree  of  the  fulness  and  con- 
stancy of  his  communion  with  the  Father  of  Spirits.  The  process 
of  a  progressive  life  he  believed  to  be  a  perpetual  regeneration. 
The  end  of  man's  destiny,  to  which  he  should  aspire,  was  oneness 
with  the  Eternal  Being  ;  and  in  Jesus  Christ  —  whatever  his  rank 
in  creation,  and  whatever  his  previous  modes  of  existence  —  he 
saw  with  grateful  trust,  and  all-animating  hope,  a  manifestation  of 
the  glory  to  wliich  man  individually  and  collectively  is  welcomed. 

Having  thus,  in  the  central  portion  of  his  book,  presented  the 
perfection  of  human  nature  in  its  unity  with  its  Divine  Being,  as  a 
reality.  Dr.  Ciianning  would  have  passed  in  the  Third  Part  to  an- 
nounce the  laws  of  dut}-,  personal  and  social,  which  necessarily 
proceed  from  the  principles  which  he  had  established.  In  ethics 
and  politics,  as  in  religion,  his  leading  aim  was  tlie  spiritualiza- 
tion  of  man  through  the  practical  embodiment  of  Divine  charity, 
in  every  relation  of  domestic,  industrial,  commercial,  national  life. 
He  was  assured  tiiat  the  law  of  love  could  be  applied  at  once  to  the 
most  comprehensive  and  most  minute  concerns  of  human  inter- 
course. He  anticipated,  with  unfaltering  faith,  the  coming  of  an 
era  of  Universal  Brotherhood,  when  freedom  and  order  would  be 
perfcctl}"  harmonized,  and  when  mankind  the  earth  round  w^ould  be 
united  in  one  co-operative  familj-  of  the  children  of  God. 

Dr.  Channing  has  been  misapprehended  alike  by  his  admirers 
and  critics,  through  the  supposition,  that  he  assumed  to  teach  a 
much  more  definite  system  than  he  ever  considered  himself  as  hav- 
ing attained  to.  He  left  man}'  views  aside  which  others  earnestly 
advocated,  not  because  he  denied  them,  but  because  he  could  not 
verify  tiiem.  He  had  early  learned  to  discriminate  between  truths 
and  conjectures,  and  he  was  as  conscientiously  strict  in  his  state- 
ment of  the  former,  as  he  was  unrestrainedly'  free  in  si)eculating 
upon  the  latter.  His  soul  was  illuminated  with  the  idea  of  the 
absolute,  immutable  glory  of  Moral  Good  ;  and  reverence  for  con- 
science is  the  ke3'  to  his  whole  doctrine  of  human  destiu}'  and 
dut}'.  Many  difficult  metaphysical  points  he  passed  wholly  by,  as 
being  out  of  the  sphere  alike  of  intuition  and  of  experience,  and 


440  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

in  relation  to  them  was  willing  to  confess  his  ignorance.  He  be- 
lieved, to  be  sure,  in  the  possibility  of  man's  gaining  some  insight 
of  Universal  Order,  and  respected  the  lofty  aspiration  which 
prompts  men  to  seek  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  Divine  Laws ; 
but  he  considered  pretensions  to  Absolute  Science  as  quite  pre- 
mature, saw  more  boastfulness  than  wisdom  in  ancient  and  modern 
schemes  of  philosophy,  and  was  not  a  little  amused  at  the  com- 
placent confidence  with  which  quite  evidently  fallible  theorists 
assumed  to  stand  at  the  centre,  and  to  scan  and  depict  the  pano- 
rama of  existence.     For  himself,  he  was  content  to  wait. 

Much  of  his  correspondence  is  interesting,  however,  as  reveal- 
ing his  habits  of  thought  and  inquiry,  and  enabling  us  to  recognize 
his  cherished  views  in  relation  to  Man,  the  Divine  Being,  and 
Christianity.  With  extracts,  therefore,  from  his  letters  upon  theo- 
logical and  philosophical  subjects,  this  chapter  shall  be  closed. 

"  November  29,  1828.^  I  have  read  the  book^  you  sent  me  with 
much  interest.  The  phrenological  part,  I  fear,  did  me  little  good. 
I  have  a  strong  aversion  to  theories  which  subject  the  mind  to  the 
body  ;  and,  believing  this  to  be  the  effect  of  phrenology,  I  have 
not  felt  the  obligation  to  study  it,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  I  am  very 
ignorant  of  it.  I  have  been  instructed  b}'  3'our  views  of  the  laws 
of  our  nature,  and  of  the  connection  between  our  obedience  to 
them  and  our  happiness.  I  respond  joyfully  to  the  hope  you  ex- 
press of  the  progress  of  the  human  race,  though  I  do  not  expect 
that  any  improvements  of  the  race  will  exempt  the  individual  from 
the  necessity  of  struggle  and  self-denial  in  the  formation  of  his 
own  character,  or  will  in  any  way  do  for  him  what  every  free  being 
must  do  for  himself.  I  was  particularl}-  giatified  b}'  the  earnestness 
with  which  you  insist  on  the  supremacy  of  the  moral  faculties,  and 
point  out  the  inevitable  miseries  which  societ}'  is  to  endure  until 
this  fundamental  principle  be  recognized  by  the  individual  and  the 
community. 

"  I  send  you  a  discourse  recentl}'  published  by  me.  You  saj^, 
you  are  not  of  my  persuasion.  I  hope  this  discourse,  with  all  its 
defects,  will  show  that  I  am  devoted  to  no  part}',  but  that  I  would 
promote,  to  the  extent  of  my  power,  the  cause  of  our  common 
Christianity,  and  of  the  human  race. 

"  I  am,  with  great  regard,  3-our  friend." 

*'''  Boston^  March  6,  1829.^  The  idea  of  death,  as  separating  us 
from  the  outward  universe,  and  shutting  us  up  in  our  own  minds, 

^  To  George  Combe,  Esq.,  Edinburgh. 

2  The  Constitution  of  Man.  »  To  Miss  Ruth  P.  Olney. 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE.  441 

seems  to  me  quite  the  reverse  of  the  truth.     Revelation  speaks 
very  distinctly  of  another  organization  which  we   are  to  receive 
hereafter,  ancf  which  I  consider  as  a  means  of  communication  with 
all  God's  works.     Tliis  doctrine  seems  to  me  very  rational.     There 
is  a  progression  in  every  part  of  nature,  and  to  suppose  the  mind 
to  emerge  from  its  present  connection  with  gross  matter  to  a  purely 
spirituaF existence  is  to  imagine  a  violent  transition,  quite  irrecon- 
cilable with  this  great  principle.     Death  is  not  to  separate  the  muid 
from  matter,  but,  in  the  case  of  the  virtuous,  is  to  raise  it  from  its 
present  subjection  to  matter  to  a  glorious  triumph  over  it.     I  con- 
fess, I  cannot  think  without  depression  of  breaking  all  my  ties 
to  the  material  universe.     When  I  think  of  its  infinite  extent,  of 
the  countless  worlds  which  astronomy  discloses  to  me,  I  feel  that 
material  nature,  including  all  the  beings  connected  with  it,  must 
offer  infinite  food  for  the  mind,  unbounded  and  inexhaustible  dis- 
coveries of  God.     Then  I  find  that,  just  as  fast  as  my  mind  un- 
folds, my  delight  in  the  universe  increases ;  new  correspondences 
are  revealed  between  the  inward  and  the  outwaid  world  ;  a  diviner 
lio-ht  beams  from  the  creation  ;  a  more  thrilling  voice  comes  from  it. 
iT-annot  endure  the  thought  of  being  severed  from  this  harmonious 
and  glorious  universe.     1  expect  death  to  multiply  my  connections 
withlt,  and  to  enlarge  my  knowledge  of  and  power  over  it. 

"  Your  friend  would  limit  us  to  purely  moral  pleasures  after 
death.  Why  so?  One  of  the  great  excellences  of  moral  good  is, 
thlt  it  aids  us  to  enjoy  all  other  good.  The  most  perfect  man  is 
not  he  who  confines  himself  to  purely  moral  gratifications,  but  he 
who  has  a  moral  energy  through  which  all  things  are  received  and 
enjoyed  by  him  in  a  wise  order  and  in  just  proportions.  Other 
gratifications,  thus  controlled,  become  moral.  In  another  world, 
our  pleasures  are  to  be  diversified  and  multiplied.  The  outward 
creation  —  if  on  such  a  subject  I  may  be  allowed  to  speculate  — 
will  minister  an  increasing  variety  of  exquisite  sensations,  of  which 
sight  and  hearing  are  but  t3pes." 

"  Portsmouth,  R.  /.,  Jdy  25,  1829.1  y^u  ^a^t,  you  say,  a 
better  body.  Our  comfort  is,  that,  in  wearing  out  this  body  in 
well-doing,  we  are  earning  a  better  one  ;  and  perliaps  the  agency 
of  the  mind  and  of  our  present  life  in  determining  the  future  frame 
is  greater  than  we  imagine." 

"  St.  Croix,  W.  /.,  February  6,  1831.2  j  believe  in  this  divine 
principle,  this  ray  of  divine  light,  in  the  soul.  But  instead  of 
thinking  it  a  foreign   aid,  I  regard  it  as  the  very  essence  of  the 

1  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D  ^  To  Miss  Emily  Taylor. 


442  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

soul,  the  central  principle  of  our  nature,  —  so  central,  deep,  and 
ineradicable,  that  all  the  appetites  and  passions  are  comparatively 
superficial.  To  bring  the  child  to  a  consciousness  of  the  divinity 
within  him  seems  to  me  the  highest  office  which  parents  and 
teachers  can  perform.  He  should  be  led  to  understand  and  feel 
that  his  moral  nature  —  the  principle  which  speaks  of  dut}',  which 
discerns  the  obligations  of  virtue,  which  carries  in  itself  the  pre- 
sentiment of  a  moral  government  of  the  universe  —  is  the  voice  of 
God,  a  light  from  heaven,  an  infinite  germ,  a  power  given  him  for 
endless  development,  and  under  which  our  whole  nature  is  to  be 
unfolded  in  health  and  beauty.  I  consider  the  knowledge  of  God 
as  important,  chiefly  as  it  shows  his  intimate  connection  and  con- 
stant communication  with  the  soul,  and  thus  awakens  in  us  the 
consciousness  of  Divine  relationship,  of  being  formed  for  perpetual 
approach  to  God  in  his  highest  attributes.  I  consider  Christianity  as 
built  upon  and  adapted  to  these  views  of  human  nature.  Without 
the  divine  principle  of  which  I  have  spoken,  I  can  see  no  ground 
of  accountableness,  no  capacity  of  religion,  no  need  of  the  gospel. 
To  give  this  principle  the  victory  over  sin  and  all  hostile  influences 
is  tlie  very  purpose  of  our  religion.  '  This  is  the  victory  that  over- 
cometh  the  world,  even  our  faith.'  Here  we  learn  the  true  salva- 
tion and  happiness  achieved  by  faith." 

"  St.  Croix,  April  11,  1831.^  I  refer  to  3'our  outlines  of  moral 
philosophy.  Your  opinions  on  this  point  of  science  seem  to  me 
very  valuable.  With  many  of  them  I  entirely  accord.  That  our 
physical  nature  has  been  too  much  overlooked  by  those  who  have 
treated  it,  I  fully  agree.  That  its  end  and  means  have  been  very 
imperfectly  understood  is  equally  true.  It  is  my  hope  to  do  some- 
thing in  this  field  ;  and  I  should  undoubtedly  differ  from  you  in 
some  imi)ortant  i)articulars.  You  would  place  me  among  the  '  ab- 
stract '  authors  who  do  not  study  and  teach  human  nature  '  practi- 
calh','  and  very  possibly  you  would  fcensure  me  with  some  reason. 
I  earnestly  wish  that  you  would  sui)ply  the  defect  by  executing 
your  own  plan.     You  doubt  your  ability  ;  but  the  conception  of  it 

shows  that  you  have   no  reason  for  fear The  success  Of 

your  '  Constitution  of  Man '  in  our  country  has  been  such  as  must 
gratifv  and  reward  you.  It  has  found  general  I'avor.  The  8weden- 
borgians  (who,  in  fact,  republished  it)  arc  particularly  interested 
in  it,  —  why,  I  know  not,  for  I  read  few  of  their  books.  I  have 
heard  of  high  commendation  of  it  from  a  distinguished  Calvinistic 
divine ;  and  as  to  the  more  liberal  class,  they  have  highly  approved 

1  To  George  Combe,  Esq. 


CHRISTIAN  VIRTUE.  443 

and  recommcnrled  it.  Some  of  its  doctrines  have  found  their  way 
into  the  pulpit.  I  haA'e  met  on  this  island  a  lad}'  from  America, 
of  much  distinction  in  the  fashionable  world,  Avho  had  brought  it 
with  her  as  a  text-book,  and  lent  it  ver}'  freely  to  the  intelligent 
here.  She  tells  me  that  a  gentleman  of  Philadelphia  bought  fifty 
or  a  hundred  copies  of  it  —  all  he  could  find  —  for  distribution, 
believing  that  he  could  not  do  more  good.  The  common  remark 
is,  however,  that  the  book  is  excellent  in  spite  of  its  phrenology." 

^'' St.  Croix,  W.  /.,  April  24,  1831.^  I  received  some  time  ago 
A'our  aphorisms,  entitled  '  The  New  P2ra  of  Christianit}-,*  and  1  hope 
you  will  not  consider  m}'  delaying  to  answer  3"our  letter  as  any 
evidence  of  indifference  to  its  object.  It  gives  me  great  satisfaction 
to  find  men  waking  up  anywhere  to  the  present  degraded  state  of 
Christianity,  and  thirsting  and  hoping  for  a  purer  form  of  it.  I 
was  the  more  interested  in  your  communication  from  the  circum- 
stance of  having  read  with  great  pleasure,  and  I  hope  profit,  j-our 
dissertations  on  Methodism  or  Evangelical  Religion,  and  on  the 
Spirit  of  Christianity-.  I  met  with  these  accidental!}-,  and  sent  for 
them  to  England,  and  have  circulated  them  among  my  intelligent 
friends.  I  find  much  in  your  aphorisms  to  approve,  and  perhaps 
my  objections,  were  I  to  make  any,  would  applj'  to  what  I  think 
their  defects  rather  than  to  positive  errors. 

"I  could  wish  that  the  moral  perfection,  which  is  the  great  aim 
of  Christianity  and  the  ultimate  design  of  human  existence,  might 
be  set  forth  in  a  more  enlarged  and  exciting  form.  I  could  wish 
that  the  .parental  character  of  God  might  be  taught  more  as  a  moral 
relation  founded  on  the  affinity  of  the  Divine  with  the  human  mind, 
and  having  for  its  end  the  elevation  of  the  latter  to  greater  and 
ever-increasing  likeness  to  the  former.  I  would  have  men  taught 
that  Jesus  Christ  has  no  other  or  greater  good  to  give  than  the  im- 
provement of  the  human  soul,  than  the  communication  of  his  own 
virtue,  that  goodness  is  essentially  one  and  the  same  thing  with 
heaven,  and  that  every  other  good  separated  from  this  is  delusive 
and  worthless.  One  of  the  important  evidences  of  Christianity,  as 
yet  hardly  touched  upon,  should  occupy  a  new  place  in  the  teaching 
by  which  the  'New  Era'  is  to  be  introduced.  The  virtue  which 
Christianity  inculcates,  and  which  was  embodied  in  Christ,  should 
be  proved,  as  it  has  not  been,  to  be  or  to  constitute  the  perfection  of 
human  nature,  or  to  involve  the  vigorous,  harmonious,  beneficent 
action  of  all  its  powers  and  affections.  This  adaptation  of  the  re- 
ligion to  our  spiritual  nature,  to  its  development,  life,  energy,  peace, 

1  To  William  Burns,  Esq.,  Saltcoats,  Scotland. 


444  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

health,  and  perpetual  growth, — this  fitness  and  power  of  Chris- 
tianity to  connect  us  by  endearing  and  generous  bonds  with  God, 
and  his  whole  rational  offspring,  so  that  we  shall  receive  most  and 
communicate  most,  or  become  living  members  of  the  '  whole  family 
of  heaven  and  earth,'  —  this,  I  think,  is  an  evidence  of  the  divine 
origin  of  our  religion,  particularly  suited  to  its  more  advanced 
stages,  and  suited  to  give  man  the  conviction  so  much  needed,  that 
Christian  virtue  is  the  supreme  good  to  be  sought,  first  for  them- 
selves and  then  for  their  race 

"  Very  truly,  your  friend." 

"  Rhode  Island,  August  29,  1831. ^  If  it  will  afford  you  any  satis- 
faction, I  ought  to  say  that  my  views  on  the  doctrine  which  you 
have  examined  were  much  the  same  with  yours.  At  the  same  time 
I  would  add,  that  for  years  I  have  felt  a  decreased  interest  in  set- 
tling the  precise  rank  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  power  of  his  character 
seems  to  me  to  lie  in  his  spotless  purity,  his  moral  perfection,  and 
not  in  the  time  during  which  he  has  existed.  I  have  attached  less 
importance  to  this  point,  from  having  learned  that  all  minds  are  of 
one  family,  that  the  human  and  tlie  angelic  nature  are  essentially 
one.  Holding  this  doctrine,  I  am  not  shocked  as  many  are  b^^  the 
Humanitarian  S3'stem.  Still,  it  seems  to  me  to  labor  under  serious 
objections  ;  nor  am  I  at  all  influenced  by  the  argument  which  its 
disciples  insist  upon  so  earnestly,  that  it  brings  Jesus  nearer  to  us. 
His  moral  perfection  seems  to  me  his  great  peculiai'ity  and  sei)ara- 
tion  from  all  human  beings,  and  this  remains  the  same  on  all  s^s- 
tems,  and  is  more  inexplicable  on  the  Humanitarian  sjstem  than 
on  an}'  other." 

"  Boston,  March  30,  1832. '^  I  suppose  that  my  desire  to  express 
strongly  the  intimate  connection  between  man  and  God  leads  me 
sometimes  to  use  a  mystical  language,  which  seems  to  imply  that 
I  confound  these  beings.  No  one,  however,  can  be  less  inclined  to 
this  form  of  mysticism  than  myself.  I  have  friends  who  lean  to 
Pantheism,  with  whom  I  often  contend  for  our  individual,  distinct 
existence,  and  who  would  quite  enjoy  your  misapprehension  of  my 
views.  It  seems  that  I  '  spoke  of  the  soul  as  divine,'  by  which  I 
must  have  meant  to  express  the  atlinity  of  its  spiiitual  powers  with 
the  Divine  nature,  —  to  express  particularly'^  its  capacity  of  s^'m- 
pathy  with  the  moral  perfections  of  God,  of  conforming  itself  to 
them  without  limit  or  end.  This  correspondence  of  the  soul  to 
God,  this  tendency  to  him,  this  sensibility  to  the  good,  the  great, 
and  the  infinite,  this  principle  of  virtue  or  inward  law,  impelling  to 

1  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie.  2  To  Miss  Emily  Taylor. 


GREATNESS  OF  THE  SOUL.  445 

unbounded  progress,  I  consider  as  the  very  essence  of  human  nature, 
needing  aid  and  culture,  but  still  belonging  to  every  soul,  whilst 
,  if  I  understand  him,  regards  it  as  a  foreign  principle,  some- 
thing added  to  the  mind  by  a  mysterious  operation  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  I  believe  as  much  as  your  friend  in  the  Divine  influence. 
This  surrounds  us  like  the  atmosphere.  With  an  ineffable  love  to 
the  soul,  which  God  has  made  in  his  own  image,  he  ministers  to  it, 
through  the  universe,  through  outward  nature,  society,  providence, 
success,  adversity,  &c.,  and,  still  more,  he  communes  with  it,  and 
acts  in  it  immediately,  but  always  according  to  its  free  and  high 
nature,  not  to  give  it  new  elements,  but  to  cherish  and  expand  its 
original  and  infinite  capacities,  by  furnishing  objects  and  incite- 
ments to  their  appropriate  action." 

''Boston,  April  4,  1837.     I  feel  that  among  Liberal  Christians 
the  preaching  has  been  too  vague,  has  wanted  unity,  has  scattered 
attention  too  much.     In  my  own  labors  there  has  been  more  unity, 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  tlie  strong  hold  which  one  sublime  idea 
has  taken  of  my  mind.     This  is,  the  greatness  of  the  soul,  its 
divinity,  its  union  with  God,  —not  by  passive  dependence,  but  by 
spiritual  likeness,  —  its  receptiveness  of  his  spirit,  its  self-forming 
power,   its   destination   to   ineffable  glory,  its  immortality.     This 
great  view  binds  together  all  other  truth.     I  think  of  God  as  the 
Father  and  Inspirer  of  the  soul,  of  Christ  as  its  redeemer  and 
model,  of  Christianity  as  given  to  enlighten,  perfect,  and  glorify  it, 
of  the  universe  as  its  school,  nutriment,  teacher,  of  all  outward 
beauty  as  its  emblem,  of  life  as  appointed  for  its  discipline,  and 
death  for  its  passage  to  a  higher  being,  of  heaven  as  its  perfection, 
of  hell  as  its  ruin.    I  understand  the  love  which  passeth  knowledge, 
when  I  consider  that  God  looks,  as  none  other  can  do,  into  the 
soul,  and  comprehends  its  greatness,  perils,  and  destiny.     Love  to 
God  seems  to  me  to  be  founded  not  on  his  outward  benefits,  but  on 
regard  to  him  as  the  Father  of  the  spirit,  present  to  it,  dwelling  in 
it,  calling  it  by  conscience  and  by  his  providence  to  perfection,  to 
himself.     Love  to  man  has  no  foundation  but  in  the  comprehension 
of  his  spiritual  nature,  and  of  his  spiritual  connection  with  God. 
To  awaken  men  to  what  is  within  them,  to  help  them  to  understand 
the  infinite  treasure  of  their  own  souls,  —  such  seems  to  me  the 
object  which  is  ever  to  be  kept  in  sight.     This  is  an  entirely  differ- 
ent thing  from  filling  their  heads  with  vague  notions  about  human 
dignity.     What  we  want  is,  to  awaken  in  them  a  consciousness  of 
their  own  nature,  and  of  the  intimate  relation  which  it  establishes 
between  them  and  God,  and  to  rouse  their  whole  energy  to  the 
work  of  their  own  redemption  and  perfection.     A  sense  of  respon- 


446  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

sibleness,  thus  formed,  will  be  at  once  most  rational  and  quicken- 
ing. It  is  very  possible  that  I  have  been  too  exclusive  in  my 
views,  and  I  have  not  given  this  account  of  myself  for  your  blind 
imitation.  I  feel,  however,  that  preaching  wliich  is  to  do  good 
must  have  its  great  idea.  Christianit}'  undoubtedly  has  such  an 
idea.  This  will  be  revealed  to  ditfcrent  minds  under  a  variet}' 
corresponding  to  their  various  peculiarities.  It  will  not  produce 
monotony.     Each  man  will.be  himself  and  no  other." 

"  Boston^  November  20,  1839.^  1  cannot  agree  with  every  part 
of  your  letter.  You  seem  to  me  to  make  religion  too  exclusively  a 
product  of  the  reason,  and  carry  your  jealousy  of  the  imagination 
too  far,  though  such  jealousy  is  most  natural  in  one  bred  to  Cathol- 
icism. If  imagination  had  no  office  but  to  give  material  forms  to 
God  and  heaven,  I  should  agree  with  you  ;  but  is  it  not  the  func- 
tion of  this  glorious  faculty  to  see  in  the  universe  a  type  of  the 
Divinit}',  in  the  sun  a  shadow  of  his  glory,  in  the  beautiful,  sub- 
lime, and  awful  forms  of  nature  the  signs  of  spiritual  beauty  and 
power?  Is  not  the  imagination  the  principle  which  tends  to  the 
Ideal,  which  rises  above  the  finite  and  existent,  which  conceives  of 
the  Perfect,  of  what  eye  hath  not  seen  or  ear  heard  ?  I  suppose 
we  differ  chief!}'  in  words.  I  consider  religion,  however,  as  founded 
in  the  joint  operation  of  all  our  powers,  as  revealed  b}-  the  reason, 
the  imagination,  and  the  moral  sentiments.  I  think,  too,  j'ou 
speak  too  disparagingh'  of  historical  Christianity,  though  here,  also, 
I  may  misapprehend  you.  To  me,  the  history'  of  Christianity  in 
the  Gospels  is  inestimable.  The  life,  spirit,  works,  and  character 
of  Jesus  Christ  are  to  me  the  brightest  revelations  of  his  truth.  I 
know  no  histories  to  be  compared  with  the  Gospels  in  marks  of 
truth,  in  pregnancy  of  meaning,  in  quickening  power.  I  attach 
great  importance  to  the  miracles.  They  have  a  vital  union  with 
the  religion,  are  full  of  it,  and  marvellously  adapted  to  it.  They 
are  not  anomalous,  arbitrary  events.  I  have  no  faith  in  abstract, 
insulated,  purposeless  miracles,  which,  indeed,  are  morally  impos- 
sible ;  but  the  miracles  of  Christ  belong  to  him,  complete  the 
manifestation  of  him,  are  in  harmony  with  his  truth,  and  at  once 
give  to  it,  and  receive  from  it,  confirmation.  I  should  pay  little 
heed  to  a  narrative,  from  ever  so  many  hands,  of  the  resurrection 
of  a  low-minded  man,  who  had  died  for  no  end,  and  had  risen, 
according  to  tlie  story,  to  lead  as  low  a  life  as  before.  But  the 
resurrection  of  Clirist,  related  as  it  is  to  his  character  and  religion, 
taught  and  sealed  with  blood  by  the  grand  reformers  of  the  race, 

1  To  J.  Blanco  White. 


MORAL  EVIL.  447 

and  recorded  as  it  is  in  the  Gospels,  is  a  fact  which  comes  to  me 
with  a  certainty  which  I  find  in  few  ancient  histories.  The  evi- 
dence of  such  miracles  as  accompanied  Christianity  seems  to  me 
precisely  suited  to  the  moral  wants  of  men  in  present  and  past 
times,  that  is,  to  a  stage  where  the  moral  development  is  sufficient 
to  discern  more  or  less  of  divinit}'  in  Christian  truth,  but  not  suf- 
ficient to  produce  full,  earnest  faith.  I  need  miracles  less  now 
than  formerly.  But  could  I  have  got  where  I  am,  had  not  miracles 
entered  into  the  past  history  of  the  world  ? 

"  Another  topic  about  which  I  may  have  misapprehended  you  is 
supernaturalism.  I  doubt  if  I  know  what  you  mean  by  it ;  but  I 
liave  not  room  to  write  about  it.  I  will  only  say,  that  I  have  no 
sympathy  with  those  who  disparage  the  natural.  Nature,  in  its 
broatl  sense,  as  meaning  the  created  universe,  with  its  order  and 
law,  becomes  more  and  more  sacred,  divine,  in  my  sight.  But  a 
letter  would  not  hold  what  I  might  say  here.  Your  true  meaning 
I  should  like  to  get." 

'■'■Boston.,  November  29,  1839.^  The  part  of  your  discourse  which 
gave  me  the  sincerest  delight,  and  for  which  I  would  especially 
thank  you,  is  that  in  which  \o\\  protest  against  the  doctrine  of 
philosophical  necessity.  Nothing  for  a  long  time  has  given  me  so 
much  pleasure.  I  have  felt  that  that  doctrine,  with  its  natural 
connections,  was  a  millstone  round  the  neck  of  Unitarianism  in 
England.  I  know  no  one  who  has  so  clearly  and  strongly  pointed 
out  as  ^'ourself  its  inconsistency  with  moral  sentiments  in  God, 
and  with  the  exercise  of  moral  sentiments  towards  him  b}'  his 
creatures.  I  have  alwaj'S  lamented  that  Dr.  Priestlej-'s  authority 
had  fastened  this  doctrine  on  his  followers. 

" has  spoken  of  me  as  using  patronizing  language  towards 

Dr.  Priestley.  I  must  be  strangely  wanting  in  humility,  if  I  did 
not  feel  my  great  inferiority  to  that  extraordinary  man,  or  if  I 
could  think  of  him  as  needing  my  patronage.  The  truth  is,  that 
I  could  never  speak  of  him  without  qualification,  in  consequence  of 
xny  deep  conviction  of  injury  done  to  the  cause  of  truth  by  his 
speculations  on  the  moral  nature  of  man,  reaching,  as  they  must 
do,  to  the  moral  nature  of  God." 

'•'■Boston.,  November  2,  1840.  If  ever  a  being  understood  him- 
self, it  was  Jesus  Christ.  He  was  entirely  free  from  the  self- 
partiality  by  which  men  are  so  often  blinded  to  their  destin}-.  His 
profound  humility  must  have  guarded  him  from  all  extravagance  of 
conception  and  hope.  His  clear,  bright  perceptions  of  the  Divinity 
^  To  the  Rev.  James  Martineau. 


448  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

and  of  human  dut}-  and  perfection  were  signs  of  consummate  wis- 
dom, of  an  unclouded  reason,  of  a  sound,  healthful  mind.  He 
was  nothing  of  an  enthusiast  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word,  — 
no  dreamer.  Tliere  was  no  passion  in  his  views  of  life,  of  the 
evils  he  was  to  overcome,  of  the  good  he  was  to  accomplish.  He 
was  calm,  authoritative,  self-possessed,  singularly  just  in  his  appre- 
ciation of  men  and  things,  and  had  always  the  tone  of  a  man 
dealing  with  realities.  I  cannot  explain  his  sublime  yet  calm  con- 
sciousness of  his  end  and  destiny,  —  the  wonderful  grandeur,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  simplicity  and  naturalness,  with  which  he 
expressed  it,  —  the  serene  assurance  with  which  he  looked  forward 
to  his  death,  and  to  the  triumph  of  his  cause  in  future  ages,  under 
the  humble  ministry  of  his  disciples,  —  by  anything  but  the  admis- 
sion of  the  truth  of  his  convictions. 

"This  conception  of  the  Christ  was  his  own,  —  so  remote  from 
that  of  his  nation,  that  it  could  not  have  been  borrowed.  Undoubted- 
ly, there  were  Jews  who  looked  forward  to  a  moral  change  under  the 
Messiah  ;  but  he  was  to  extend  religion  under  the  form  of  Judaism, 
to  spread  the  law  of  Moses,  and  Judea  was  to  sit  on  the  throne  of 
the  world.  The  idea  of  a  purely  spiritual  reign,  the  chief  ministers 
of  which  were  to  be  the  last  and  least,  and  servants  of  all  men,  — 
to  be  persecuted,  raartj-red,  —  was,  as  I  conceive,  altogether  his 
own,  and  wholly  inexplicable  by  outward  influences.  Above  all, 
the  idea  that  this  kingdom  was  to  rise  on  the  ruins  of  Judea  and 
all  Jewish  hope,  shows  the  entire  separation  of  Christ's  mind  from 
all  around  him." 

"  Newport,  June  21,  1841.^  I  have  seen  more  of  the  Philadelphia 
Quakers,  and  love  them  much ;  but,  as  a  people,  they  have  lost 
their  first  life.  Rules,  usages,  and  discipline  have  taken  place  of 
the  spirit.  My  Quaker  library-  has  been  increased  by  the  journals 
of  P^lias  Hicks,  David  Wheeler,  and  John  Woolman.  Have  you 
read  Woolman  ?  I  was  so  affected  by  his  journal,  two  or  three  years 
ago,  that  I  began  a  review  of  it,  and  went  a  good  way,  but  was 
drawn  aside  by  other  olijects.  A  Quaker  lady  told  me,  that  Charles 
Lamb  used  to  sa}'  that  '  Woolman  drew  tears  from  his  eN'es,'  In 
his  exquisite  essay  on  Quaker  Meetings  he  sa^^s,  '  Get  the  writings 
of  John  Woolman  by  heart.' 

"  I  have  read  this  last  week,  with  inexpressible  delight,  Nichol's 
'  Architecture  of  the  Heavens.'  How  it  lifts  one  above  the  earth, 
and  makes  him  free  of  the  universe  !  What  a  wonderful  being  is 
man,  who,  from  such  slight  hints,  can  construct  the  universe  !    How 

»  To  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody. 


THEODORE  PARKER.  449 

paltiy  seem  the  strifes  of  the  world  after  this  journey  through  crea- 
tion !  Should  we  explore  this  creation  with  such  joy,  were  it  not  to 
be  our  everlasting  inheritance  ? 

"As  to  our  friend  Theodore  Parker,  he  deals  too  much  in  exag- 
gerations. He  makes  trath  unnecessarily  repulsive,  and,  as  I  think, 
sometimes  goes  beyond  the  truth.  I  shall  judge  for  myself  of  his 
discourse.^    Current  opinions  do  not  weigh  a  feather  in  such  a  case. 

Send  me  the  sermon  as  soon  as  it  is  published I  infer  from 

your  letter  that  you  are  somewhat  excited  about  the  controversy  in 
Boston.  Possess  your  soul  in  patience.  Let  not  rude  attacks  on 
any  disturb  you.  Yours  faithfully." 

"  Newport,  July  6,  1841.2  I  thank  you  for  Mr.  Parker's  sermon, 
and  request  you  to  thank  him  for  the  copy  he  sent  me.  You  will 
wish  to  know  my  opinion  ;  and,  though  I  cannot  go  into  the  subject, 
I  feel  that  I  ought  to  send  a  line. 

"  The  great  idea  of  the  discourse,  the  immutableness  of  Christian 
truth,  I  respond  to  entirely.  I  have  labored  to  separate  the  notion 
of  arbitrariness,  positiveness,  from  men's  notions  of  Christianity. 
That  this  religion  is  universal,  eternal  truth,  the  expression  of 
the  Divine  mind,  and  corresponding  to  the  Divine  principles  in 
human  nature,  is  what  I  feel,  perhaps,  as  deeply  as  any ;  and  I  was 
moved  by  Parker's  strong,  heart-felt  utterance  of  it.  Still,  there 
was  a  good  deal  in  the  discourse  I  did  not  respond  to.  I  grieved 
that  he  did  not  give  some  clear,  direct  expression  of  his  belief  in  the 
Christian  miracles.  His  silence  under  such  circumstances  makes 
me  fear  that  he  does  not  believe  them.  I  see  not  how  the  rejection 
of  these  can  be  separated  from  the  rejection  of  Jesus  Christ.  With-  x,- 
out  them  he  becomes  a  mere  fable,  for  nothing  is  plainer  than  that, 
from  the  beginning,  miracles  constituted  his  history.  There  is  not 
a  trace  of  a  time  when  he  existed  in  men's  minds  without  them. 
His  resuiTcction  was  always  the  essential  grand  fact  in  men's  im- 
pressions of  him,  —  at  least  as  distinctly  recognized  as  his  crucifix- 
ion. Miracles  enter  into  all  his  conceptions  of  himself,  as  these 
have  been  handed  down  to  us.  They  are  so  inwoven  into  all  his 
teachings  and  acts,  that  in  taking  them  away  we  have  next  to  noth- 
ing left. 

"  Without  miracles,  the  historical  Christ  is  gone.  No  such  being 
is  left  us  ;  and  in  losing  him  how  much  is  lost !  Reduce  Christianity 
to  a  set  of  abstract  ideas,  sever  it  from  its  teacher,  and  it  ceases  to 
be  the  '  power  of  God  unto  salvation.'     Allow  that  it  could  give  us 

1  Discourse  on  the  Transient  and  Permanent  in  Christianity. 
-'  To  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody. 

29 


450  RELIGION  AND  nilLOSOPHY. 

the  idea  of  perfection,  — which  I  cannot  concede,  —  what  I  want  is, 
not  the  naked  idea,  but  the  existence,  the  reahzation,  of  perfection. 
Some  seem  to  tliink  that  the  idea  of  infinite  perfection  answers  all 
the  purposes  of  a  God.  But  no  ;  the  existence  of  this  perfection  is 
the  ground  of  my  hope,  my  happiness,  and  so  I  want  the  existence 
of  human  perfection.  Christian  truth  coming  to  me  from  the  hving 
soul  of  Jesus,  with  his  living  faith  and  love,  and  brought  out  in  his 
grand  and  beautiful  life,  is  a  ver}-,  ver}-  different  thing  from  an 
abstract  system.  The  more  I  know  of  Jesus,  the  less  I  can  spare 
him  ;  and  this  place  which  he  fills  in  my  heart,  the  quickening  office 
which  his  character  performs,  is  to  me  no  mean  proof  of  his  reality 
and  his  superhuman  greatness. 

"In  regard  to  miracles^  I  never  had  the  least  difficulty.  The 
grand  miracle^  as  often  has  been  said,  is  the  perfect^  divine  character 
of  Christ ;  and  to  such  a  being  a  miraculous  mode  of  manifestation 
seems  natural.  It  is  by  no  figure  of  speech  that  I  call  Christ  mirac- 
ulous. He  was  more  separate  from  other  men  than  his  acts  from 
other  acts.  He  was  the  sinless,  spotless  Son  of  God,  distinguished 
from  all  men  by  that  infinite  peculiarity,  freedom  from  moral  evil. 
He  was  the  Perfect  Image  of  God,  the  perfection  of  the  spiritual 
nature.  Is  it  not  plain  that  such  a  being  must  have  been  formed 
under  discipline  and  influences  distinct  from  those  of  all  other  men  ? 
that  he  cannot  be  explained  by  the  laws  under  which  we  live  ?  that 
he  is  thus  a  moral  miracle,  though  not  such  as  implies  any  compul- 
sory influence?  To  such  a  being,  the  miracles  of  Christ's  history 
wonderfully  agree.  The  outward  and  the  inward  correspond  in 
God's  system.  God  reveals  himself  to  us  by  outward,  material 
types.  So  his  Son  is  revealed.  What  beautiful  types  of  Christ's 
moral,  healing,  quickening  power  we  have  in  the  miraculous  parts 
of  his  history  !  I  feel,  as  I  read  them,  that  the  conception  of  such 
a  character  as  Christ,  and  the  unfolding  of  it  in  such  harmonious 
acts  or  operations,  transcended  human, power,  especially  in  that  low 
moral  age,  and  that  nothing  but  the  truth  of  the  history,  nothing 
but  the  actual  manifestation  of  sucJi  a  being  in  such  forms,  can  ex- 
plain or  account  for  the  Gospel  narratives. 

"Mr.  Tarkcr  supposes  Christ's  truth  to  have  been  revealed  to 
him  by  his  moral  perfection.  I  will  not  stop  to  examine  this,  but 
will  only  say,  that  the  men  to  whom  Christ  was  to  unfold  this  truth 
were  unspeakably  distant  from  this  perfection,  —  that  they  were 
low,  gross,  spiritually  dead,  —  that  the  spiritual  evidence  which  was 
enough  for  him  hardly  gleamed  on  their  darkened  understandings, 
How  needed  was  some  outward,  visible  symbol  of  the  truth  to  such 
minds !    How  did  they  need  that  the  great  spiritual  Deliverer  should 


MIRACLES.  451 

be  first  made  known  to  them  b}'  merciful,  majestic  acts  of  out- 
ward deliverance  !  Even  the  more  spiritual  men  of  that  time,  who 
had  longings  for  immortality',  were  exceedingly  assisted  in  their 
earthly  state  of  mind  by  Christ's  resurrection.  It  shows  great  igno- 
rance of  human  nature,  and  of  God's  modes  of  operation,  to  suppose 
that  he  would  approach  a  darkened,  sensual  world  by  purely  spirit- 
ual, abstract  teaching. 

"As  to  Christ's  authority^  there  is  a  sense  in  which  I  think  it 
important,  and  reliance  on  it  most  natural  and  reasonable.  I  never 
meet  a  superior  mind  without  some  degree  of  reliance  on  it.  From 
such  a  mind  as  Christ's,  I  am  sure  I  can  hear  nothing  but  truth. 
Whatever  he  says,  I  am  sure  will,  when  full}-  understood,  be  found 
in  harmou}'  with  God's  perfection.  This  leads  me  to  a  rcA^erential 
study  of  his  words,  as  of  no  other  man.  If  in  the  course  of  such 
study  I  meet  anything  which  seems  inconsistent  with  any  known 
truth,  and  especially  with  the  pure,  liberal  conceptions  which  Jesus 
has  given  me,  I  feel  that  I  have  not  reached  his  meaning.  I  wait 
for  further  light,  I  examine  the  dark  passage  again  and  again,  and 
the  probability  is  that  the  light  will  at  length  shine.  If  not,  I 
cannot  suffer  from  my  ignorance. 

"  I  will  only  add,  that  to  us  the  great  evidence  of  the  miracles  is 
found  in  the  religion  itself,  and  in  Christ's  character,  neither  of 
which  can  be  understood  without  them,  and  with  which  they  have 
vital  connections.  Without  the  divine  excellence  of  Christ,  the  tes- 
timony' of  the  miracles  would  not  satisfy  us.  This  is  the  grand 
foundation  and  object  of  faith.  Still,  the  miracles  do  not  cease  to 
be  important,  for  the}'  are  among  the  bright  manifestations  of  his 
character.  Their  harmony  with  it  is  a  proof  of  its  existence  ;  and, 
above  all,  there  are  vast  multitudes,  who,  with  some  moral  appre- 
ciation of  Christ,  are  yet  so  imperfect,  so  earthly,  that  these  out- 
ward manifestations  of  his  greatness  and  of  his  connection  with 
God  have  real  value  as  helps  to  faith. 

"  I  have  written  this  letter  with  an  impatient  haste,  which  some- 
times gets  possession  of  me.  I  cannot  correct  it.  AYill  you  copy 
it  fairly,  and  show  it  to  Mr.  Parker,  letting  him  understand  that  I 
have  written  as  a  friend,  and  not  as  an  author,  and  without  any  aim 
at  precision?  Will  you  then  send  it  back  to  m6,  as  there  are 
thoughts  which  I  may  wish  to  expand  when  I  can  get  time  ? 

"  Your  sincere  friend." 

"  Newport,  July  18,  1840.^  ....  I  hold  a  clear  conviction  of  truth 
to  be  essential  to  a  religious  teacher,  and  I  reprobate,  as  well  as 

1  To  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody. 


452  RELIGION  AND   PHILOSOPHY. 

dread,  the  teaching  of  that  which  we  liave  not  thought  upon  calmly 
and  seriously,  or  which,  on  being  examined,  has  opened  before  us 
problems,  perplexities,  difficulties,  rendering  much  reflection  needful 
in  order  to  our  speaking  with  the  deliberate  consciousness  of  truth. 
The  want  of  reverence  for  truth,  manifest  in  the  rash  teaching  of 
our  times,  shocks  me  greatly.  I  owe  the  little  which  I  am  to  the 
conscientiousness  with  which  I  have  listened  to  objections  springing 
up  in  my  own  mind  to  what  I  have  inclined  and  sometimes  thirsted 
to  believe,  and  I  have  attained  through  this  to  a  serenity  of  faith 
that  once  seemed  denied  in  the  present  state. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  find  3'ou  insensible  to  the  clear,  bright  distinc- 
tion between  Jesus  Christ  and  ourselves.  To  me,  and  I  should 
think  to  every  reader  of  the  New  Testament,  he  stands  apart,  alone, 
in  the  onlj'  particular  in  which  separation  is  to  be  desired.  He  is  a 
being  of  moral  perfection,  unstained  by  sin.  The  great  conscious- 
ness which  pervades,  haunts,  darkens,  all  human  spirits,  that  of 
moral  evil,  throws  not  the  slightest  shade  over  him.  His  conscious- 
ness is  his  own  ;  his  whole  tone,  indeed,  is  his  own,  and  would  be 
false  in  any  other.  Though  he  came  to  be  an  example,  yet  in  the 
points  in  which  we  so  much  need  an  example,  in  our  conflict  with 
inward  evil,  in  our  approach  to  God  as  sinners  in  penitence  and 
self-purification,  he  wholly  fails  us.  It  was  in  reference  to  this  that 
I  spoke  of  him  as  a  '  moral  miracle,'  not  intending  by  this  to  refer 
at  all  to  the  formation  of  his  character,  which,  though  wholly  un- 
known to  us,  was  wholly  free,  but  to  the  exception  wliich  his  char- 
acter forms  to  all  human  experience.  To  my  mind,  he  was  intended 
to  be  an  anticipation  of  the  perfection  to  which  we  are  guided,  to 
reveal  to  us  its  existence,  to  guide  and  aid  us  towards  it,  to  show 
us  that  which  exists  in  a  germ  in  all  souls.  This  view  you  must  ■ 
have  gathered  from  my  writings.  But  my  own  history,  and  the  his- 
tory of  the  race,  and  of  the  best  beings  I  have  known,  have  taught 
me  the  immense  distance  of  us  all  from  Christ.  He  is  to  be  ap- 
proached by  gradual  self-crucifixion,  by  a  war  with  the  evil  within 
us  which  will  not  end  till  the  grave.  The  idea  that  the  germ 
within  us  is  to  shoot  up  at  once  into  the  perfection  of  Jesus,  —  that 
we  are  to  be  'gifted'  in  this  stage  of  our  being  '  with  his  powers,' 
to  be  '  as  powerful  as  a  teacher,'  —  this  certainly  never  entered  my 
thoughts,  and  it  shows  such  a  self-ignorance,  such  an  ignorance  of 
human  history-  and  human  life,  that  one  wonders  how  it  can  have 
cnteied  a  sound  mind.  Of  the  formation  of  Christ's  mind  we  know 
nothing,  and  the  seci'ccy  in  which  his  spiritual  history  is  veiled  is  no 
small  presumption  against  its  applicableness  to  ourselves.  Infinite 
wisdom  has  infinite  modes  of  disciplining  and  unfolding  the  spirit. 


u- 


THE   NEW   MOVEMENT.  453 

His  great  end,  of  revealing  to  us  the  Perfect,  is  equally  answered, 
be  his  spiritual  history  what  it  may.  All  spirits,  however  unfolded, 
are  essentially  one.  In  the  response  of  our  spirits  to  his  perfection, 
in  his  deep  fraternal  sympathy  with  the  human  soul,  and  in  his 
divine  promises,  we  have  foundations  of  the  profoundest,  most  joy- 
ful faith  in  our  heavenly  destin}'.  I  am  grieved,  as  I  must  say,  b}' 
extravagances  on  this  and  other  points,  because  I  ha^e  lived  in 
hope  of  the  manifestation  of  a  truth  and  spiritual  life  which  is  to 
give  a  new  impulse  to  the  world,  and  it  is  some  trial,  at  my  time 
of  life,  to  have  such  hope  baffled.  However,  I  do  not  despair. 
The  true  teachers,  who  are  to  unite  '  love  and  power  and  soundness 
of  mind,'  will  come. 

"•As  to  Mr.  Parker,  I  wish  him  to  preach  what  he  thoroughly 
believes  and  feels.  I  trust  the  account  you  received  of  attempts  to 
put  him  down  was  in  the  main  a  fiction.  Let  the  full  heart  pour  itself 
forth.  And  still  more  it  will  rejoice  me  to  find  a  good  accomplished 
which  I  cannot  anticipate.  I  want  no  dark  prophecies  accom- 
plished, but  I  do  assure  3"ou,  the  weaknesses  of  the  good  are 
among  the  trials  of  my  faith.  I  repeat  it,  I  am  too  much  occupied 
to  follow  up  this  subject  now.  Give  my  love  to  Mr.  Parker.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  him,  and  in  perfect  freedom.  I  think  he 
is  probablv  one  of  the  many  who  are  to  be  made  wise  bj'  error  and 
suffering,  but  I  honor  his  virtues,  I  feel  that  he  has  seized  on  some 
great  truths,  and  I  earnestly  desire  for  him  the  illumination  which 
will  make  him  an  unmixed  blessing  to  his  fellow-creatures." 

^^  Newport^  August,  184:1.'^  .  .  .  .  You  will  not  infer  from  my  let- 
tei-s  that  I  am  at  all  grieved  at  the  publication  of  views  from  which 
I  dissent.  Let  the  honest,  earnest  spirit  speak,  and  the  more  fully 
and  freely  for  attempts  to  put  it  to  silence.  I  am  somewhat  disap- 
pointed that  this  new  movement  is  to  do  so  little  for  the  spiritual 
regeneration  of  society,  which,  however,  must  go  on,  and  which  no 
errors  can  long  keep  back.  To  me,  Christ  is  the  great  spiritualist. 
This  view  binds  me  to  him.  Under  him,  the  battle  of  the  human 
race  is  to  be  fought.  Any  speculations  which  throw  mists  or 
doubts  over  his  history,  and  diminish  the  conviction  of  his  grandeur 
and  importance,  are  poor,  and  must  come  to  naught.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  the  great  object  of  faith,  which  is  the  perfection  of  the 
human  soul,  or  evei'lasting,  unbounded  spiritual  development,  is  to 
be  seized  as  a  reality,  and  made  the  grand  aspiration  and  end  of 
life,  without  the  quickening,  inspiring  influences  of  his  character 
and  truth.     Indeed,  perfection  becomes  a  dim  shadow,  without  the 

1  To  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody. 


454  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

help  of  his  Uving  manifestation  of  it.  I  do  fear  a  tendenc}',  in  tlie 
present  movement,  to  loosen  the  tie  which  binds  the  soul  to  its 
great  Friend  and  Deliverer.  It  would  seem  as  if  your  experience 
had  shown  you  human  nature  developing  its  highest  sentiments 
without  help  and  confirmation  from  abroad.  To  me,  histor}'  and 
observation  and  experience  read  very  different  lessons,  and  the  con- 
sequences of  overlooking  them  are  not  doubtful.  The  profound 
ignorance  of  Jesus  Christ  shown  by  those  who  find  in  him  a  re- 
straint, and  also  talk  of  outgrowing  him,  is  discouraging.  I  find  in 
him  only  freedom. 

"  I  have  little  hope  in  this  new  movement,  except  as  it  indicates 
deep  wants  of  the  soul,  and  a  consciousness  of  its  greatness.  Nor 
have  I  fears.  I  believe  in  the  purity  of  those  who  are  concerned  in 
it.  I  believe,  too,  that  it  will  spread  but  little,  for  there  is  little 
in  the  times  to  favor  an}^  who  se})arate  themselves  comparatively 
from  the  grand  impulse  given  by  Christ  to  the  world.  1  see  as  yet 
but  one  decided  step  towards  a  higher  practical  manifestation  of 
Christianity,  and  that  is  Abolition^  and  how  imperfect  that  is  we 
both  know. 

"  I  have  seen,  this  last  week,  a  member  of  the  Mendon  commu- 
nit3\  I  look  to  that  with  a  good  deal  of  hope.  1  never  hoped  so 
strongly  and  so  patiently." 

'•''  September  10,  1841.^  Here,  as  in  England,  we  have  a  stir. 
Happily,  we  have  no  material  anti-supernaturalists.  Our  reformers 
are  si)iritualists,  and  hold  many  grand  truths  ;  but  in  identifying 
themselves  a  good  deal  witli  Cousin's  crude  S3'stem,  they  have  lost 
the  life  of  an  original  movement.  Some  among  them  seem  to  lean 
to  the  anti-miraculous,  have  got  the  German  notions  of  '  m3'ths,' 
&c.,  and  I  fear  are  loosening  their  hold  on  Christ.  The}'  are  anx- 
ious to  defend  the  soul's  immediate  connection  with  God.  The}' 
fear  lest  Christ  be  made  a  barrier  between  the  soul  and  the  Su- 
preme, and  are  in  danger  of  substituting  private  inspiration  for 
Christianity.  Should  they  go  thus  far,  my  hopes  from  them  will 
cease  wholly  ;  but  as  yet  the  elements  are  in  great  agitation,  and  it 
is  hard  to  say  how  they  will  arrange  themselves.  I  have  great 
sympathy  with  the  spiritualists  ;  but  I  know  so  well  the  needs  of 
the  soul,  and  the  conditions  of  its  growth,  that  I  look  jealously  on 
whatever  may  shake  the  foundations  of  Christianity.  For  myself, 
I  see  no  inconsistency  between  admitting  miracles,  and  resting 
Christianity  on  a  spiritual  basis  —  between  recognizing  the  inward 
as  supreme,  and  reverencing  the  authority  of  Christ.     You  will  see, 

^  To  the  Rev.  James  Martineau. 


DIVINE  GOODNESS.  455 

from  these  views,  that  I  go  along  with  your  movement  more  than 
with  ours." 

1841.  "The  fearful  amount  of  sin  and  suffering  in  the  world 
depresses  and  troubles  you.  How  is  God's  goodness  to  be  recon- 
ciled with  what  we  see  and  read  of  in  human  affairs  ?  This  is  the 
old  problem  of  the  '  origin  of  evil,'  which  has  perplexed  thinking 
minds  from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  I  cannot  hope  to  explain 
what  the  greatest  minds  have  left  obscure.  In  truth,  I  do  not 
desire  to  remove  obscurity  from  Providence ;  for  in  making  the 
luiiverse  a  plain  thing,  I  should  bring  it  down  to  the  littleness  of 
my  own  mind  ;  I  should  rob  it  of  all  its  grandeur.  If  it  be  infinite, 
the  work  of  an  infinite  mind,  it  must  transcend  my  conceptions, 
stretch  bej'ond  my  intellect,  and  I  must  live  encircled  with  impene- 
trable mjsteries.  The  darkness  of  God's  providence  is  to  me  an 
expression  of  its  vastness,  its  immeasurable  grandeur.  I  cannot 
doubt.     I  adore. 

"  Of  much  that  is  evil  in  human  life  I  see  the  cause  and  the  cure. 
Man}'  forms  of  human  suffering  I  would  not  remove,  if  I  could  ;  for 
I  see  that  we  owe  to  them  all  the  interest  and  dignity'  of  life,  and  I 
am  sure,  that,  in  proportion  as  I  shall  be  able  to  penetrate  the  sys- 
tem, much  which  now  perplexes  me  will  be  revealed  in  a  glorious 
light.  Man,  if  a  free  moral  being,  must  be  tried,  must  be  exposed 
to  temptation,  must  have  a  wide  range  of  action,  must  be  liable  to 
much  sin  and  much  suffering.  He  cannot  be  happy  in  the  begin- 
ning of  his  career,  for,  from  the  essential  laws  of  a  free  being,  he 
can  have  no  happiness  but  what  he  wins  amidst  temptation.  A 
brute  may  be  made  as  happy  as  he  can  be,  at  first.  Man,  God's 
free  moral  child,  cannot  know  happiness  till,  by  his  own  striving, 
he  has  risen  to  goodness  and  sanctity.  I  do  not  see  how  sin  and 
suffering  can  be  removed,  but  by  striking  out  from  our  nature  its 
chief  glories. 

"I  have  expressed  some  views  on  this  general  subject  in  a  dis- 
course recently  published,  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  an  excellent 
friend  on  board  the  Lexington,  which  I  send  you.  Perhaps  some 
of  these  may  interest  and  reheve  you.  It  is  so  long  since  doubts 
of  the  Divine  goodness  have  crossed  my  mind,  that  I  hardly  know 
how  to  meet  them.  This  truth  comes  to  me  as  an  intuitive  one.  I 
meet  it  everywhere.  I  can  no  more  question  it  than  I  can  the  su- 
preme worth  and  beautv  of  virtue." 


456  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 


Chapter  III.  —  SOCIAL   REFORMS. 

Temperament  and  training,  religious  aspirations  and  philosophi- 
cal views,  above  all,  the  tendencies  of  the  times,  conspired  to 
make  Dr.  Channing  a  Social  Reformer ;  although  the  loftiness  of 
his  desires  and  aims,  the  delicac}'  of  his  feelings,  the  refinement  of 
his  tastes,  his  habits  of  contemplative  thought,  and  his  reverence 
for  individual  freedom,  enveloped  him  in  a  sphere  of  courteous  re- 
serve, and  guarded  him  from  familiar  contact  with  all  rude  radical- 
ism. He  was  as  loyal  as  he  was  independent,  as  gentle  as  he  was 
resolute,  as  soft  to  receive  any  impress  of  beauty  as  he  was  firm  to 
resist  wrong.  In  a  letter  written  but  a  few  months  before  his  death, 
he  has  thus  faithfully  portrayed  his  own  dispositions. 

"  Boston^  March  12,  1842.^  I  understand  full}'  j'our  language, 
when  you  speak  of  reform  as  3'our  '  work-shop.^  I  fear  I  understand 
it  too  well,  that  is,  I  am  too  prone  to  shrink  from  the  work.  Reform 
is  resistance  of  rooted  corruptions  and  evils,  and  my  tendency  is  to 
turn  awa}'  from  the  contemplation  of  evils.  M}^  mind  seeks  the 
good,  the  perfect,  the  beautiful.  It  is  a  degree  of  torture  to  bring 
vi\'idly  to  my  apprehension  what  man  is  sufllering  from  his  own 
crimes  and  from  the  wrongs  and  cruelty  of  his  brother.  No  perfec- 
tion of  art,  expended  on  purely  tragic  and  horrible  subjects,  can 
reconcile  me  to  them.  It  is  only  from  a  sense  of  dut}'  that  I  read  a 
narrative  of  guilt  or  woe  in  the  papers.  When  the  darkness,  indeed, 
is  lighted  up  b}'  moral  greatness  or  beauty?  I  can  endure,  and  even 
enjo}'  it.  You  see  I  am  made  of  but  poor  material  for  a  reformer. 
But  on  this  very  account  the  work  is  good  for  me.  I  need  it,  not, 
as  many  do,  to  give  me  excitement,  for  I  find  enough,  perhaps  too 
much,  to  excite  me  in  the  common  experience  of  life,  in  meditation, 
in  abstract  truth  ;  but  to  save  me  from  a  refined  selfishness,  to  give 
me  force,  disinterestedness,  true  dignit}'  and  elevation,  to  link  me 
by  a  new  faith  to  God,  by  a  deeper  love  to  my  race,  and  to  make 
me  a  blessing  to  the  world. 

"  I  know  not  how  far  I  have  explained  my  shrinking  from  the 
work  of  reform,  but,  be  the  cause  wdiat  it  may,  let  us  not  turn  away 
from  us  the  cross,  but  willingly,  gratefully,  accept  it,  when  God  lays 
it  on  us  ;  and  he  does  lay  it  on  us,  whenever  he  penetrates  our 
hearts  with  a  deep  feeling  of  the  degradation,  miseries,  oppressions, 
crimes,  of  our  human  brethren,  and  awakens  longings  for  their  re- 
demption.    In  thus  calling  us,  he  imposes  on  us  a  burden,  such  as 

1  To  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child. 


UNIVERSAL  LOVE.  457 

the  ancient  prophets  groaned  under.  We  must  '  drink  of  the  cup ' 
and  be  '  baptized  into  the  baptism '  of  our  Master.  We  must  expect 
persecution  in  some  form  or  other  ;  but  this  is  a  light  matter,  com- 
pared with  the  painful  necessity  of  fixing  our  ej-es  and  souls  on  evil, 
and  with  the  frequent  apparent  failure  of  our  labor.  Here,  here  is 
the  trial.  Could  we  lift  up  our  fellow-creatures  at  once  to  the  happi- 
ness and  excellence  which  we  aspire  after,  what  a  joy  would  reform 
be  !  But,  alas  !  if  we  do  remove  a  few  pressing  evils,  how  many  re- 
main !  What  a  cloud  still  hangs  over  the  earth  !  Sometimes  evil 
seems  to  grow  up  under  the  efforts  to  repress  it.  Were  it  not  for 
our  faith^  who  could  persevere?  But  with  this  faith,  what  a  secret, 
sustaining  joy  flows  into  and  mingles  with  sincere  labors  for  human- 
ity !  The  little  we  accomplish  becomes  to  us  a  pledge  of  something 
infinitely  greater.  We  know  that  the  brighter  futurit}'  which  our 
hearts  j-earn  for  is  not  a  dream,  —  that  good  is  to  triumph  over  evil, 
and  to  triumph  through  the  sacrifices  of  the  good. 

"  You  see  I  would  wed  3'ou  and  m3'self  to  reform ;  and  yet  we 
must  be  something  more  than  reformers.  We  must  give  our  nature 
a  fair  chance  ;  we  must  not  wither  it  by  too  narrow  modes  of  action. 
Let  your  genius  have  free  play.  We  are  better  reformers, — be- 
cause calmer  and  wiser,  because  we  have  more  weapons  to  work 
with,  —  if  we  give  a  wide  range  to  thought,  imagination,  taste,  and 
the  affections.  We  must  be  cheerful,  too,  in  our  war  with  evil,  for 
gloom  is  apt  to  become  sullenness,  ill-humor,  and  bitterness. 

"  Your  sincere  friend." 

The  following  extracts  will  best  reveal  the  spirit  with  which  Dr. 
Channing  was  animated  as  a  social  reformer. 

1825.  "Christianity  through  its  whole  extent  is  a  religion  of 
love.  I  know  no  better  name  for  it  than  Universal  Love.  God, 
not  satisfied  with  giving  lessons  in  his  works  and  in  our  own  frames, 
has  sent  a  messenger  of  special  glory,  to  teach  us  with  new  clear- 
ness and  power  the  obligation,  happiness,  and  dignity  of  benevo- 
lence. Christianity  everywhere  inculcates  love,  and  a  love  so  much 
wider,  purer,  nobler,  than  had  before  entered  men's  thoughts,  that 
it  is  with  propriet}'  called  a  new  commandment.  Men,  as  we  have 
seen,  have  felt  and  practised  social  kindness  before,  without  a  rev- 
elation, for  nature  alwa3s  inspired  it.  But  this  kindness  had  been 
confined.  It  had  been  accumulated  on  a  few  objects.  Collected, 
like  the  sun's  ra3's,  to  a  point,  it  had  burned  intensely  ;  but  be3^ond 
that  point  it  had  exerted  little  power.  Before  Christianit3',  the 
private  affections  had  exhausted  men's  stock  of  love.  The  claims 
of  famil3'  and  of  countr3'  had  been  recognized,  but  not  the  claims  of 


458  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

mankind.  The  bond  of  consanguinity  was  felt,  but  not  the  bond  of 
a  common  nature.  A  stranger  was  hardly  distinguished  from  a  foe. 
Bej'ond  the  limit  of  his  country,  the  individual  imagined  he  had  no 
duties  to  perform,  and  even  trampled  on  the  rights  and  happiness 
of  human  beings  with  little  compunction.  But  the  ties  of  faniil}' 
and  of  country  were  never  intended  to  circumscribe  the  soul.  Man 
is  connected  at  birth  with  a  few  beings,  that  the  spirit  of  humanity' 
may  be  called  forth  b}-  their  tenderness  ;  and  whenever  domestic  or 
national  attachments  become  exclusive,  engrossing,  clannish,  so  as 
to  shut  out  the  general  claims  of  the  human  race,  the  highest  end 
of  Providence  is  frustrated,  and  home,  instead  of  being  the  nursery, 
becomes  the  grave  of  the  heart. 

"  Christiauit}'  la^-s  the  foundation  of  a  universal  love,  b}-  reveal- 
ing to  us  the  greatness  of  that  nature  in  which  all  men  participate, 
—  b}'  inspiring  reverence  for  the  human  soul,  be  that  soul  lodged 
wherever  it  ma}',  —  b}'  teaching  us  that  all  the  outward  distinctions 
of  birth,  rank,  wealth,  honor,  which  human  pride  foolishly  swells 
into  importance,  and  which  separate  different  classes  from  each 
other,  as  if  they  were  different  races,  are  not  worth}-  to  be  named 
in  comparison  with  those  essential  faculties  and  affections  which 
the  poorest  and  most  unprosperous  derive  as  liberally  from  God 
as  those  who  disdain  them.  Christian  love  is  founded  on  the 
grandeur  of  man's  nature,  its  likeness  to  God,  its  immortality,  its 
powers  of  endless  progress, — on  the  end  for  which  it  is  created, 
of  living  forever,  diffusing  itself  ilUmitabl}',  and  enjoying  God  and 
the  universe  through  eternity.  He  who  has  never  looked  through 
man's  outward  condition,  through  the  accidental  trappings  of  for- 
tune and  fashion,  to  the  naked  soul,  and  there  seen  God's  image 
commanding  reverence  and  a  spiritual  grandeur  which  turns  to 
littleness  all  that  is  most  glorious  in  nature,  —  such  a  man  maj- 
have  kindness,  for  of  this  he  cannot  easily  divest  himself,  but  he  is 
a  stranger  to  the  distinctive  love  of  Christianity,  and  knows  noth- 
ing of  the  iutenseness  and  diffusiveness  with  which  the  heart  can 
bind  itself  to  the  human  race. 

"  The  true  Christian,  who  is  instructed  b}'  Christ  in  the  nature 
of  the  soul,  and  in  the  purposes  for  which  it  was  made,  comes  to 
love  man  as  man^  and  to  be  interested  in  him  wherever  he  dwells. 
The  bounds  of  family  or  of  country  cannot  confine  him.  Wherever 
human  nature  has  put  itself  forth  in  power  and  virtue,  he  delights 
to  contemi)late  it,  and  feels  a  brother's  union  with  the  excellent  who 
have  shed  a  lustre  on  past  times,  or  who  shine  in  distant  regions, 
and  even  with  the  good  who  have  ascended  to  heaven.  The 
thought,  that  each  human  being  has  within  him  the  capacities  of 


SOCIETY  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  459 

like  excellence,  and  that  Christ  has  lived  and  died  to  kindle  this 
divine  life  in  all  souls,  creates  an  interest  in  every  human  being 
which  neither  distance,  nor  strangeness,  nor  injury,  nor  even  vice, 

can  destroy 

"Much,  much  indeed  remains  for  Christianity  to  achieve  and 
to  conquer,  before  it  will  accomplish  its  office  of  inspiring  in  all 
men  this  universal  love.  It  has  to  break  down  the  aristocracy'  of 
birth,  tlie  aristocracy  of  wealth,  the  sectarianism  and  bigotry  of  the 
religious  world,  the  clannish  spirit  of  nations,  and  many  other 
barriers  of  pride  and  selfishness.  But  it  is  equal  to  its  work.  It 
is  silentl}^  but  steadil}',  teaching  men  to  recognize  their  nature  and 
the  great  purposes  of  their  being,  —  proving  to  them  that  there  is 
no  glory  but  in  self-conquest  and  in  a  wide  charity-,  —  pleading  the 
cause  of  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  the  stranger,  —  infusing  a 
candor  which  sees  with  joy  the  virtues  of  other  parties,  other  sects, 
other  countries,  —  and  gradually  generating  in  the  individual  the 
consciousness  that  lie  is  made  for  his  race,  for  God,  and  for  the 
universe.  This  spirit  is  too  godlike  to  be  gained  and  perfected  in 
a  moment  or  a  century,  or  even  during  man's  existence  in  this 
world.  It  is  enough  that  we  see  in  men  the  dawning  and  promise 
of  this  universal  love." 

Measured  by  this  ideal  of  unity,  harmonj',  and  perfect  co-opera- 
tion, the  actual  life  in  professedly  Christian  communities  appeared 
to  Dr.  Chanuing  as  little  like  the  true  "kingdom  of  heaven,"  as 
the  unsteady  steps  and  awkward  gestures  of  a  child  just  learn- 
ing to  walk  resemble  the  graceful  vigor  of  mature  manhood.  But 
from  the  successes  of  the  past  he  drew  animating  hopes  for  the 
future.  His  views  of  the  social  needs  of  Christendom  are  thus 
presented :  — 

'•'-  November,  1833.  I  do  not  mean  to  represent  society  as  openly 
or  utterly  hostile  to  Christianity.  I  do  not  found  m^'  exhortations 
on  any  prevalent  profligacy  of  manners.  I  do  not  deny  that  an 
important  change  has  been  made  in  our  social  character  by  Chris- 
tian principles.  On  the  contrary',  I  affirm  this.  I  maintain,  how- 
ever, that  this  very  improvement  of  the  community  —  being  as  yet 
very  partial,  and  rather  on  the  surface  than  in  the  heart  —  is  one  of 
our  perils,  tending,  as  it  does,  to  reconcile  us  to  a  mediocrity  of 
virtue,  and  to  blind  us  to  the  great  evils  with  which  society  is  yet 
deformed.  I  do  not,  then,  feel  myself  called,  in  order  to  enforce 
my  exhortation,  to  paint  in  dark  and  revolting  characters  the 
present  state  of  the  world.  And  that  man  must  indeed  be 
chargeable   either   with   gross   ignorance   or  gross  prejudice,  who 


460  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

does  not  see  in  Christian  countries  many  happy  influences  of  the 
gospel 

""Manners  are  softened,  and  the  domestic  relations  hallowed; 
woman  is  rescued  from  degradation,  and  parental  authority  is 
changed  from  a  harsh  tyranny  into  affectionate  control.  Human 
suffering  awakens  new  sympathy,  and  individual  and  associated 
efforts  are  continually  diminishing  its  amount.  War  has  parted 
with  much  of  its  cruelty,  and  the  claims  of  a  disarmed  eneni}'  are 
recognized.  Even  despotism,  though  it  resists  attempts  to  limit 
its  power  by  constitutional  barriers,  is  restrained  by  the  spirit  of 
society  from  its  ancient  excesses,  and  is  laboring  to  improve  the 
condition,  education,  and  morals  of  its  subjects.  Here  are  glorious 
revolutions,  and  Christianity,  were  it  to  win  no  other  victories, 
would  deserve  for  these  reforms  the  everlasting  gratitude  of  the 
human  race.  But  these  are  onl}'  superficial  changes,  compared  with 
its  great  purpose.  Its  design  is,  to  work  more  deeply',  to  guide 
and  rouse  men  to  the  culture  of  that  spiritual  and  universal  charity 
which  distinguished  Christ ;  and  this,  however  cherished  in  indi- 
viduals, has  not  yet  become  the  spirit  of  society,  —  has  not  yet 
cast  down  the  strongholds  of  human  selfishness  and  pride,  and 
made  the  world  a  school,  to  the  lessons  and  influences  of  which  we 
may  surrender  ourselves  without  fear 

"  Am  I  asked  in  what  respects  the  spirit  of  the  world  is  opposed 
to  that  of  Christian  love  ?  To  answer  this  question  fitly,  I  should 
set  before  you  distinctly  what  I  understand  by  Christian  love  or 
cliarit}' ;  but  I  can  now  only  suggest  two  thoughts,  which,  indeed, 
are  so  intimatel}-  connected,  as  hardly  to  admit  of  division  :  — 
Christian  love  is  founded  on  just  and  enlarged  views  of  human 
nature ;  and,  next,  it  is  universal,  and  tends  to  embrace  all  man- 
kind  

' '  Christian  benevolence  is  built  on  Christian  views  of  human 
nature,  and  can  rest  on  nothing  else.  This  religion  is  distinguished 
by  revealing  man  as  a  being  with  stronger  claims  on  interest,  s^'m- 
path}^  and  benevolent  concern  than  can  well  be  conceived.  We 
see  in  him  the  most  striking  and  touching  contrasts.  We  see  in 
him  the  germs  of  all  truth,  virtue,  and  beautiful  and  generous 
aflfections,  and  storm}'  passions,  lawless  appetites,  and  insatiable 
desires.  We  see  in  him  the  child  of  God  and  the  victim  of  sin, 
now  manifesting  the  disinterested  love  of  an  angel,  now  betra3'ing 
the  pride,  malignity,  sensuality,  of  a  demon.  We  see  him  falle7i 
and  redeemed,  needing  infinite  compassion,  and  compassionate  ac- 
cording to  his  need.  Who  can  tell  the  worth  of  such  a  being? 
Who  can  count  the  treasures  locked  up  in  one  human  breast,  or  the 


THE   SPIRIT  OF  SOCIETY.  461 

amount  of  joys  or  woes  for  which  every  man  is  preparing  ?  Men 
travel  far  to  see  the  wonders  of  nature  and  of  art.  The  greatest 
wonder  is  man  himself.  One  soul  is  worth  more  than  material 
worlds.  Such  is  man  as  set  before  us  in  Christianity,  and  on  these 
views  Christian  love  is  built. 

"  And  need  I  ask  you  whether  a  love  thus  grounded  and  nourished 
is  the  spirit  of  society  ?  Is  it  the  habit  of  society  to  meditate  on 
the  great  purposes  for  which  each  human  being  was  framed  ?  Has 
society  yet  learned  man's  relation  to  God,  his  powers,  his  perils,  his 
immortality?  Are  these  the  thoughts  which  circulate  in  conversa- 
tion, these  the  convictions  which  are  brought  home  to  you  in  your 
ordinary  intercourse  ?  Need  I  tell  you  how  blind  the  multitude  yet 
are  to  what  is  nearest  them  and  concerns  them  most  deeply,  to 
their  own  nature,  — how  they  overlook  the  spiritual  in  man,  — how 
they  stop  at  the  outward  and  accidental,  —  how  few  penetrate  to 
the  soul  and  discern  in  that  responsible,  immortal  being  an  object 
for  unbounded  solicitude  and  love  ?  The  multitude  are  living  an 
outward  life,  discerning  little  but  what  meets  the  eye,  valuing  little 
but  what  can  be  weighed  or  measured  by  the  senses,  estimating  one 
another  by  outward  success,  conflicting  or  co-operating  with  one 
another  for  outward  interests.  The  consciousness  of  what  is  in- 
ward and  spiritual  and  immortal,  —  how  faintly  does  it  stir  in  the 
multitude !  Man's  solemn,  infinite  connections  with  God  and 
eternity  are  unacknowledged  or  forgotten,  and  so  little  are  they 
comprehended,  that,  when  urged  on  the  conscience  as  realities,  as 
motives  to  action  and  as  foundations  of  love,  they  are  dismissed  as 
too  unsubstantial  or  refined  to  exert  a  serious  influence  on  life. 
Thus  the  spirit  of  society  is  virtually  hostile  to  those  great  truths 
in  regard  to  human  nature  on  which  Christian  love  is  built,  and 
without  which  we  cannot  steadfastly  and  disinterestedly  bind  our- 
selves to  our  race. 

"  I  now  pass  to  the  second  view  of  Christian  love  which  I  pre- 
pared to  set  before  you,  and  which  is  intimately  connected  with  the 
preceding.  It  is  universal,  or  tends  to  embrace  all  the  various 
orders  and  conditions  of  mankind.  Having  its  foundation  and  chief 
nutriment  in  just  views  of  human  nature,  it  cannot  but  comprehend 
all  to  whom  this  nature  belongs.  It  is  a  love  of  man  as  man,  as 
the  spiritual  and  immortal  child  of  God  ;  and  from  this  dignity  no 
human  being  is  excluded.  It  sees  and  feels  how  poor  are  all  the 
outward  distinctions  of  men  in  comparison  with  those  powers  and 
prospects  which  are  the  common  property  of  the  race.  To  the 
enlightened  Christian,  the  barriers  which  divide  men  vanish.  What 
is  high  birth,  as  it  is  called?     To  him,  all  men  are  born  of  God, 


462  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

are  of  heavenl}'  parentage,  and  bearing  the  image  of  their  Father. 
What  is  wealth  ?  To  the  Christian,  everj' man  has  infinite  wealth 
within  his  reach, — the  imperishable  treasures  of  intelligence,  con- 
science, affection,  and  moral  strength,  of  faith,  hope,  charit}',  — 
and  nothing  seems  more  insane  than  to  weigh  against  these  silver 
and  gold.  Christian  love  bounds  itself  to  none  of  this  world's  dis- 
tinctions. It  is  not  even  repelled  by  crime.  Enemies  are  not  ex- 
cluded from  its  concern,  for  they  are  still  men,  and  share  the  mercy 
of  a  common  Father. 

"Thus  universal,  all-comprehending,  is  the  love  which  springs 
from  just  views  of  man's  nature  and  relation  to  God.  And  is  this 
the  spirit  of  society?  Does  society  breathe  and  nurture  this,  or 
does  it  inculcate  narrowness,  exclusiveness,  and  indifference  towards 
the  great  mass  of  mankind  ?  Do  we  see  in  the  world  a  prevalent 
respect  for  what  all  human  beings  partake?  On  the  contrar}-,  do 
not  men  attach  themselves  to  what  is  peculiar,  to  what  distinguishes 
one  man  from  another,  and  especially  to  outward  distinction  ;  and 
is  there  not  a  tendency  to  overlook,  as  of  little  value,  those  who  in 
these  respects  are  depressed?  Do  they  not  worship  the  accidents, 
adventitious,  unessential  circumstances,  of  the  human  being,  — 
birth,  outward  appearance,  wealth,  manner,  rank,  show,  —  and 
ground  on  these  a  consciousness  of  a  superiorit}-  which  divides 
them  from  others?  Can  we  say  of  that  distinction,  which  is  alone 
important  in  the  sight  of  God,  which  is  confined  to  no  condition, 
which  is  to  outlive  all  the  inequalities  of  life,  and  which,  far  from 
separating,  binds  those  who  possess  it  more  and  more  to  their  race, 
—  I  mean  moral  and  religious  worth,  —  can  we  say  of  this,  that  it 
is  the  object  of  general  homage,  before  whose  commanding  presence 
all  lower  differences  among  men  are  abased?  The  influence  of  out- 
ward condition  in  attracting  or  repelling  men's  sympathies  and  in- 
terest is  one  of  the  most  striking  features  of  modern  society',  and 
gives  mournful  proof  of  the  faint  hold  which  Christianity  has  as 
yet  gained  over  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men.  Jesus  deigned  not 
to  wear  the  outward  distinctions  of  life,  and  chose  for  the  highest 
office  on  earth,  and  as  his  intimate  friends,  those  who  wanted  these ; 
and  his  design  was,  that  the  sympathies  and  affections  of  his  dis- 
ciples should  embrace  all  their  fellow-creatures,  unchecked  b}'  out- 
ward barriers,  that  man  in  ever^'  situation  should  be  regarded  with 
tenderness  and  respect.  I  do  not  say,  that  his  design  has  wholly 
failed.  Christianity  is  breaking  down  the  walls  which  divide  the 
children  of  God's  great  family  ;  but  how  much  of  the  work  remains  to 
be  done  !  and  who  can  deny,  that,  on  the  whole,  the  spii'it  of  society 
is  adverse  to  this  enlarged,  all-embracing  spirit  of  Christ?  .... 


THE   SPIRIT  OF  CHRIST.  463 

"  Such  is  the  spirit  of  societ}^     Christianity  teaches  lis  to  feel 
ourselves  members  of  the  whole  human  family ;  society,  to  make 
or  keep  ourselves  members  of  some  favored  caste.      Christianity 
calls  us  to  unite  ourselves  with  others  ;  society,  to  separate  our- 
selves from  them.     Christianity  teaches  us  to  raise  others  ;  society, 
to  rise  above  them.     Christianity  calls  us  to  narrow  the  space  be- 
tween ourselves  and  our  inferiors  by  communicating  to  them,  as  we 
have  ability,  what  is  most  valuable  in  our  own  minds  ;  society  tells 
us  to  leave  them  to  their  degradation.     Christianity  summons  us  to 
employ  superior  ability,  if  such  we  have,  as  a  means  of  wider  and 
more  beneficent  action  on  the  world;  society  suggests  that  these 
are  a  means  of  personal  elevation.     Christianity  teaches  us  that 
what  is  peculiar  in  our  lot  or  our  acquisitions  is  of  Uttle  worth  in 
comparison  with  what  we  possess  in  common  with  our  race  ;  society 
teaches  us  to  cling  to  what  is  peculiar  as  our  highest  honor  and 
most  precious  possession.     Fraternal  union,  sympathy,  aid,  is  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  ;  exclusiveness  is  the  spirit  of  the  world.     And 
this  spirit  is  not  confined  to  what  is  called  the  highest  class.     It 
burns,  perhaps,  more  intensely  in  those  who  are  seeking  than  in 
those  who  occupy  the  eminences  of  social  life.     It  is  a  disposition 
to  undervalue  those  who  want  what  we  possess,  to  narrow  our  sym- 
pathies to  one  or  another  class,  to  forget  the  great  bond  of  humanity. 
This  spirit  of  exclusiveness  triumphs  over  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
and,  through  its  prevalence,  the  great  work  given  to  every  human 
being,  which  is  to  improve  his  less  favored  fellow-being,  is  slighted. 
The  sublime  sphere  of  usefulness  is  little  occupied.     A  spfrit  of 
rivalry,  jealousy,  envy,  selfish  competition,  supi)lants  the  spirit  of 
mutual  interest,  the  respect,  support,  and  aid,  by  which  Christianity 

proposes  to  knit  mankind  into  a  universal  brotherhood 

"  If  we  may  trust  the  opinions  of  foreigners,  the  spirit  of  society 
in  this  country  is  peculiarly  hostile  to  that  of  Christian  love.  They 
tell  us,  that,  as  a  people,  we  are  singularly  restless  and  aspiring ; 
that  for  the  old  aristocracy  of  birth  we  have  substituted  that  of 
wealth  ;  that  every  nerve  is  strained  to  accumulate,  and  by  accumu- 
lation to  scale  the  high  i)laces  of  society  ;  that  mammon  has  no- 
where such  fervent  worshippers ;  that  the  intellect  of  the  nation  is 
contracted  into  a  selfish  shrewdness,  and  that  the  generous  senti- 
ments are  absorbed  in  the  spirit  of  calculation.  We  pronounce  this 
false;  l)ut  falsehood  has  often  a  foundation,  however  slight,  in 
truth.  In  a  country  like  ours,  where  industry  is  unshackled  and 
the  partition-walls  of  rank  are  easily  cleared,  where  examples  of 
brilliant  success  and  sudden  elevation  appeal  to  the  hopes  of  the 
multitude,  where  wealth  is  of  easier  acquisition  and  confers  higher 


464  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

privileges  than  among  any  other  people,  we  have  reason  to  dread 
tlie  prevalence  of  a  self-seeking  and  self-elevating  spirit,  of  a  burn- 
ing thirst  for  gain  and  distinction  singularly'  hostile  to  the  generous 
and  all-comprehending  benevolence  of  Jesus  Christ." 

Having  thus  learned  the  central  principle  of  love,  one  in  essence, 
and  universal  in  aim,  that  animated  Dr.  Channing  as  a  reformer, 
and  the  uncompromising  justice  with  which  he  condemned  the  per- 
vading selfishness  of  modern  societ}',  while  gratefully  recognizing 
the  humanit}'  already  infused  by  Christianit}'  into  legislation  and 
manners,  let  us  proceed  to  consider  in  what  modes  he  brought  his 
benevolence  to  bear  upon  particular  evils. 

The  following  paper,  drawn  up  by  him,  will  show  the  spirit  which 
he  desired  to  call  out  in  his  own  congregation,  and  the  direction 
which  he  sought  to  give  to  their  energies. 

"It  being  the  duty  of  those  who  are  favored  with  the  Christian 
religion  to  promote,  as  the}'  have  abilit}',  piet}',  good  morals,  and 
human  happiness,  we,  the  subscribers,  members  of  the  religious 
society  in  Federal  Street,  agree  to  pay  annually  the  sums  annexed 
to  our  names,  to  be  applied,  by  a  committee  chosen  annuallj'  by 
ourselves,  to  the  following  objects,  viz.:  —  1.  The  provision  of 
moral  and  religious   instruction   for   the   destitute    in   this   town ; 

2.  the  publication  of  useful  tracts  ;  3.  the  education  of  3'oung  men 
of  suitable  qualifications  for  the  ministr}',  especially  of  an}-  belonging 
to  this  society,  and  needing  pecuniary  aid  ;  4.  the  support  of  mis- 
sionaries in  parts  of  the  country'  destitute  of  a  regular  ministry  ;  and 
5.  in  general,  the  encouragement  of  any  useful  design  which  the 
benevolence  of  the  age  and  the  wants  of  the  community  ma}'' 
suggest. 

' '  Among  these  designs  the  following  may  be  named  :  —  1 .  The 
improvement  of  the  poor,  and  the  introduction  of  more  economical 
and  eflflcacious  methods  of  teaching ;  2.  The  investigation  of  the 
state  of  prisons,  and  the  introduction  of  a  moral  treatment  of  crim- 
inals, and  of  methods  of  relieving  worthy  but  unfortunate  debtors ; 

3.  The   purification   of    parts   of  the   town    notoriously   corrupt; 

4.  The  suppression  of  intemperance  and  kindred  vices ;  5.  The 
employment  of  the  poor,  the  removal  of  abuses  by  which  they  are 
involved  in  litigation,  the  introduction  among  them  of  economical 
improvements,  and,  in  general,  the  extension  of  just  ideas  as  to  the 
best  methods  of  relieving  and  preventing  poverty  ;  6.  The  improve- 
ment of  particular  classes  of  men,  whose  occupations  are  found  to 
be  peculiarly  unfavorable  to  good  morals  and  religion. 

"The  committee,  availing  itself  of  the  service  of  individuals  in 


WEDNESDAY  EVENING  ASSOCIATION.  465 

the  society,  who  have  leisure  and  benevolence,  and  b}'  directing  a 
continued  attention  to  one  or  more  of  these  objects,  according  to 
tlie  number  and  dispositions  of  their  associates,  may,  it  is  believed, 
produce  important  results,  and  convert  into  realities  what  are  now 
onl}'  the  wishes  and  suggestions  of  philanthrop}'." 

An  "Association  of  the  Members  of  the  P^ederal  Street  Society 
for  Benevolent  Purposes"  was  also  formed,  June  Gth,  1824,  which 
continued  its  operations  for  ten  years,  contributing  generously  to 
various  charitable  enterprises,  encouraging  Sunday  schools,  mis- 
sions, and  the  ministry  at  large,  and  supporting  students  at  the 
Divinity  School. 

Besides  these  efforts  witliin  his  own  congregation,  Dr.  Channing 
co-operated,  so  far  as  health  and  time  allowed,  with  the  deservedly 
honored  "Wednesday  Evening  Association,"  sometimes  called  the 
"  Beneficent  Association,"  which  was  the  mother  of  so  many  wise 
and  generous  plans  of  moral  and  social  improvement.  Its  first 
meeting  was  held  at  his  house,  in  Februar}',  1822,  and  for  many 
years  it  carried  on  a  series  of  thorough  investigations,  and  quiet 
but  efficient  reforms,  which  were  greatly  instrumental  in  giving  to 
Boston  its  peculiar  character  of  philanthropic  earnestness.  The 
leading  objects  of  this  society  were,  —  "1.  To  extend  the  knowl- 
edge of  true  religion,  and  to  advance  its  practical  influence  ;  2.  To 
promote  any  plans  of  a  public  nature  for  improving  the  condition 
of  society  ;  3.  To  produce  a  unity  of  purpose  and  effort  among 
Unitarian  Christians."  Under  date  of  May  17th,  1826,  it  is 
recorded  among  the  proceedings  of  the  Association,  that  "  Dr. 
Channing' made  an  address  on  the  expediency  and  practicability  of 
procuring  for  the  poor  of  the  city  a  preacher,  who  should  associate 
with  himself  as  instructors  intelligent  laymen,"  &c.  The  subject 
of  suitable  habitations  for  the  poor  was  at  the  same  time  brought 
forward,  and  thenceforth  frequently  considered,  until  finally  was 
originated  Dr.  Tuckerman's  "Ministry-  at  Large."  How  deep  and 
constant  was  Dr.  Channing's  interest  in  the  plans  of  his  fervent 
and  devoted  friend  will  hereafter  full}'  appear.  His  thoughts  were 
continually  becoming  concentrated  more  and  more  upon  the  terrible 
problem  of  Pauperism,  before  which  the  benevolence  of  all  civilized 
states  stands  paralyzed  and  aghast ;  and  he  saw  more  clearly  each 
year  that  what  the  times  demanded  was,  that  the  axe  should  be 
laid  at  the  very  root  of  ignorance,  temptation,  and  strife,  by  sub- 
stituting for  the  present  unjust  and  unequal  distribution  of  the 
privileges  of  life  some  system  of  cordial,  respectful,  brotherly  co- 
operation. But  before  presenting  his  views  on  this  fundamental 
reform,  from  which  alone  can  trul}-  efficient  charit}-  grow  up,  let  us 

30 


466  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

first  trace  the  course  of  his  opinions  in  relation  to  various  benevo- 
lent movements. 

We  have  seen,  at  an  earlier  period,  how  strong  was  Dr.  Chan- 
ning's  desire  to  advance  the  triumph  of  Peace  over  the  custom  of 
War,  which  Barbarism  has  left  in  disastrous  legac}'  to  CiAdlization ; 
and  on  ever}'  suitable  occasion,  through  his  whole  life,  he  sought 
with  increasing  zeal  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  humane  policy',  which 
might  banish  from  among  Christian  states  this  hoary  crime,  that 
has  so  long  pre3'ed  on  their  prosperitj'  and  virtue.  Though  thus 
opposed  to  war,  however,  he  could  not  see  that  the  principle  of 
Non- Resistance  was  a  right  one,  either  between  individuals  or  na- 
tions. His  objections  to  the  "ultra"  peace  doctrine  are  thus 
stated  b}'  himself. 

'■'■September  9,  1829.^  I  received  and  have  read  with  much  pleas- 
ure the  book  jou  sent  me  on  the  '  Unlawfulness  of  AVar.'  You 
ask  ni}'  opinion  on  this  subject.  I  agi^ee  with  3'our  author  in  every- 
thing but  the  main  point.  I  abhor  war  as  much  as  he  does,  but  the 
view  of  its  '  absolute  unlawfulness,'  I  cannot  accede  to.  I  think  my 
opinion  of  some  weight,  because  my  feelings  carry  me  strongly  to 
this  doctrine,  and  nothing,  it  seems  to  me,  but  the  power  of  truth, 
prevents  my  joining  the  most  rigid  interpreters  of  the  Christian 
precei)ts  which  relate  to  this  subject.  I  think  the  author  has  erred 
fundamentally  in  supposing  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  obey 
the  laws  of  Christianity  without  reasoning  al)Out  them,  or  that  our 
rehgion  prescribes  particular  acts  or  courses  which  we  are  to  follow 
without  a  thought  of  consequences.  Christianity  does  anything 
but  lay  down  a  precise  law,  telling  us  where  to  plant  every  foot- 
step, and  giving  such  plain  prescriptions  that  we  need  only  hear 
the  words  to  i-eceive  their  full  significance  immediately.  Its  laws 
are  given  in  bold,  and  sometimes  hyperbolical  language,  and  re- 
quire the  constant  exercise  of  good  sense  and  reason  to  determine 
their  precise  import.  Above  all,  they  enjoin  a  spirit,  or  inward 
principle,  leaving  us  ver}-  much  to  our  own  discretion  as  to  the 
mode  of  applying  it.  The  precept,  '  Resist  not  evil,'  is  plainly  to 
be  understood  with  much  limitation,  for.  were  it  literally  followed, 
without  exception,  by  the  private  individual  and  magistrate,  all 
government,  domestic  and  civil,  would  cease,  and  society  would 
fall  a  prey  to  its  worst  members.  The  precept  was  not  intended  to 
forbid  all  resistance,  but  to  forbid  the  had  passions  from  which 
resistance  generally  springs.  A  discipline  of  the  heart  is  enjoined, 
not  any  outward  course.     Christianity  is  intended  to  raise  us  to 

1  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe,  Liverpool. 


NON-RESISTANCE.  467 

universal,  unbounded  love,  and  the  only  question  is,  whether  war 
is  inconsistent  with  this  spirit.  You  may  say  it  is.  You  may  ask, 
How  can  I  turn  against  one  whom  I  sincerely  love  instruments  of 
death  ?  I  answer,  it  is  very  possible  to  possess  a  sincere  regard 
for  the  happiness  of  anotlier  being,  sympathize  strongly  witli  his 
sufferings,  and  yet  to  subject  him  to  severe  suffering,  and  even  to 
deatli.  "l-Iow  often  does  the  judge  pass  sentence  on  a  criminal  for 
whom  he  feels  deeply  !  I  am  to  love  the  bad  man  ;  but  I  am  also 
to  love  society,  to  loVe  my  family,  my  friends,  my  country ;  and  if 
tlie  bad  man  arm  himself  for  the  ruin  of  these,  I  am  bound  to  repel 
him.  In  so  doing,  do  I  not  act  from  a  principle  of  charity,  espe- 
cially if  to  save  the  good,  to  defend  the  community,  I  expose  my 
own  life  in  resisting  the  bad?  I  can  certainly  oppose  a  wicked 
man's  purposes,  and  in  so  doing  can  inflict  on  him  severe  pain, 
without  hating  liim,  and  even  with  the  deepest  grief  for  his  char- 
acter and  punishment.  I  may  even  feel,  through  the  strength 
of  my  philanthropy,  a  severer  pain  than  I  inflict.  War,  then,  is 
not  necessarily  inconsistent  with  the  spirit  of  Christian  love.  On 
the  contrary,  I  fear  tliat  I  sliould  want  this  love,  were  I  to  look 
quietly  and  unresistingly  on  the  undisguised  efforts  of  unprincipled 
men  to  spoil  and  enslave  my  country,  my  children,  —  all  who  are 
especially  confided  to  my  care.  War,  then,  is  not  absolutely,  or  in 
all  possible  cases,  a  crime.     Here  I  dissent  from  your  author. 

''But  practically  I  should  go  almost  as  far  as  he  would.  The 
whole  system  of  war,  as  it  now  exists,  is  abominable.  The  profes- 
sion of  a  soldier,  according  to  this  system,  is  immoral,  and  most 
actual  wars  are  unjust;  so  that  a  philanthropist  and  Christian 
should  die  sooner  than  engage  in  them.  These  views,  I  think,  if 
wisely  expounded,  would  go  much  farther  towards  the  suppression 
of  war  than  the  doctrine  of  its  absolute  unlawfulness. 

"  I  know  it  is  objected,  that,  if  any  war  is  allowed  to  be  just, 
all  will  be  found  so ;  that  no  lines  can  be  drawn  between  the  lawful 
mid  unlawful.  So  the  fanatic  says  no  line  can  be  drawn  between 
innocent  indulgence  and  luxury,  between  moderate  and  excessive 
ornament,  and  therefore  all  indulgence  and  ornament  niust^  be  re- 
nounced. I  do  not  believe  in  the  wisdom  or  virtue  of  escaping  the 
labor  and  responsibility  of  moral  discrimination  by  flying  to^  an 
extreme  principle.  Every  moral  question  is  as  open  to  this  objec- 
tion as  war.  Perhaps  a  sound  mind  can  make  the  right  distinctions 
on  war  as  easily  as  on  most  of  the  solemn  concerns  of  life.  I  can- 
not, however,  explain  myself  now." 

But  thougli  inclined  to  fear  that  the  earnest  band  of  Non-Resist- 
ants,  who  were  then  firmly  applying  the  principle  of  perfect  and 


468  SOCIAL   REFORMS. 

perpetual  peace  to  all  the  relations  of  individuals  and  states,  would 
rather  retard  than  hasten  the  growth  of  sound  feeling  in  the  public 
heart,  and  thus  compelled  in  justice  to  stand  aloof  from,  and  even 
by  discriminating  statements  to  oppose,  a  body  of  reformers  whom 
as  individuals  he  profoundlj^  respected,  Dr.  Channing  was  still  less 
disposed  to  co-operate  with  those  over-prudent  peace-men,  who, 
loud  and  zealous  in  hours  of  tranquillit}',  are  unseen  and  unheard  in 
times  of  peril.  The  moral  intrepidity,  which  prompted  him  in 
early  manhood  to  condemn  from  the  pulpit  the  war  of  1812,  had 
only  gained  vigor  through  years  of  observation  and  experience  ; 
and  no  considerations  of  expediency  or  caution  made  him  hesitate 
for  an  instant  to  reprove  the  popular  madness,  when  unscrupulous 
politicians  hurried  this  nation  to  the  brink  of  hostilities  for  a  paltry 
indemnit}'  and  a  strip  of  land.  In  1835,  though  the  Executive  of 
the  United  States  advised  war  with  France,  and  man}"  eloquent 
men  in  Congress  advocated  violent  measures.  Dr.  Channing  ap- 
peared before  his  people  in  a  discourse,  that  was  afterwards  printed, 
in  which  he  exposed  with  sublime  sincerity'-  the  deadness  of  the 
national  conscience  to  the  claims  of  humanity  and  the  true  honor 
of  states.^  And  again  in  1838  and  1839,  — though  leading  states- 
men, and  influential  papers,  and  guides  of  opinion  m  commercial 
and  social  circles  reluctantly  yielded  to  the  seeming  necessity  of  a 
struggle  with  England,  —  in  a  lecture  on  war,  which,  when  pub- 
lished, was  prefaced  with  a  few  pages  of  most  plain  and  pungent 
appeal,  he  indignantly  exposed  the  abominable  horrors  and  gra- 
tuitous wickedness  of  this  infernal  usage. '■^  Tlie  following  letters 
will  show  how,  also,  through  private  channels,  he  endeavored  to 
exert  his  influence  for  the  preservation  of  peace. 

"  Boston^  December  5,  1835.^  You  have  borne  yom  testimony 
against  war  very  strongly.  Ought  not  Christians  to  speak  on  this 
subject  as  they  have  never  done  before  ?  At  the  present  moment 
we  are  threatened  with  war  for  a  punctilio,  a  matter  of  etiquette. 
All  the  crimes  and  miseries  of  war  are  to  be  encountered  for  noth- 
ing, and  yet  the  public  press  utters  not  a  word  on  our  obligations 
as  a  Christian  community.  The  politicians  have  the  whole  affair 
in  their  hands.  The  Christians  among  us  sit  still  and  silent,  and 
leave  worldly,  self-seeking  politicians  to  decide  whether  they  shall 
imbrue  their  hands  in  the  blood  of  their  brethren.  Is  Christianity 
always  to  remam  a  dead  letter  in  the  determination  of  national 

1  Works,  Vol.  IV.  pp.  237-263.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  654-064. 
'^  Ibid.,  Vol.  V.  pp.  100-147.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  664-679. 
3  To  Francis  Wajland,  D.  D. 


CHRISTIANITY  OPPOSED  TO   WAR.  469 

concerns,   and  especially  of  peace  and  war?     I  wish  j'ou  would 
revolve  this  subject  in  your  mind." 

"  Boston^  February  17,  1836.^  We  may  hope  that  this  exposi- 
tion will  not  be  lost.  Many,  I  am  assured,  have  received  such 
impressions  from  the  work  as  we  should  desire.  We  shall  neither 
of  us  probabl}'  hve  to  see  the  accomplishment  of  this  and  other 
benevolent  objects  in  which  we  have  been  engaged,  but  we  must  be 
grateful  if  we  can  do  anything  to  advance  them.  You,  I  am  sure, 
have  not  labored  in  vain.  You  must  have  been  gratified  with  see- 
ing the  great  disinclination  of  the  community  to  second  the  recent 
war  movements  of  the  President.  Undoubtedly,  wise  or  pruden- 
tial considerations  had  a  large  share  in  producing  this  reluctance ; 
but  I  believe  an  important  effect  was  produced  by  more  Christian 
and  moral  views  of  war,  and  by  the  diffusion  of  juster  views  of 
military  glory.  Undoubtedly,  much,  very  much,  remains  to  be 
done.  The  spirit  of  nations  and  of  the  multitude  is  not  the  spirit 
of  Christ.  But  is  not  the  true  relation  of  man  to  man  better  under- 
stood? Is  it  not  felt,  that  to  butcher  God's  children,  our  spiritual 
brethren,  is  a  fearful  crime  ?  I  do  not  despair  of  the  power  of  truth, 
because  the  victory  is  not  immediately  won,  because  we,  creatures 
of  a  day,  do  not  witness  the  utter  prostration  of  long-established 
errors  and  corruptions.  It  is  a  privilege  to  witness  silent  changes, 
and  this  happiness  is  not  denied  us.  It  is  my  earnest  desire,  that 
your  last  days  may  be  cheered  by  brighter  hopes  and  a  stronger 
faith.    Accept  the  assurances  of  the  sincere  respect  of  your  friend." 

'•'•  Boston,  March  7,  1841.^  I  have  received  3'our  'resolutions' 
on  the  subject  of  war,  and  I  should  be  unjust  to  my  feehngs,  if  I 
did  not  thank  you  for  them  in  the  strongest  manner.  It  is  very 
cheering  to  find  that  a  man  may  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  a  legisla- 
tive chamber  and  escape  its  deadly  influence.  You  will  be  told,  I 
doubt  not,  of  the  futilit}'  of  all  such  movements,  but  I  trust  you 
will  not  be  discouraged.  There  is  at  this  moment  in  our  commu- 
nity a  disposition  to  apply  great  principles  to  practice,  to  realize 
moral  and  religious  ideas,  such  as  never  existed  before.  It  works 
silently  where  it  is  little  suspected,  and  is  repressed  chiefly  by  the 
fear  of  finding  no  sjmpathy.  On  this  account  I  attach  much  im- 
portance to  the  strong  expression  of  great  principles  by  men  in 
pubhc  life. 

"  In  regard  to  your  first  resolution,  it  has  often  occurred  to  me, 
that  non-intercourse  might  and  should  be  substituted  for  war ;  but 
the  question  arises,  whether  in  the  present  state  of  the  world  it  can 

1  To  Noah  Worcester,  D.  D.  2  To  John  L.  O'SulUvan,  Esq. 


470  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

be  carried  out.  The  merchants  of  both  countries  would,  to  a  man, 
employ  all  their  ingenuity  in  eluding  it ;  and  would  not  an  indirect 
intercourse  be  established,  which  would  make  the  policy  of  the  gov- 
ernment a  mere  name  ?  I  know  too  little  of  trade  to  judge  of  the 
A'alidity  of  this  objection  ;  but  it  is  the  only  one  which  occurs  to  me, 
and  I  should  hope  that  a  government  resolved  on  enforcing  non- 
intercourse  might  do  it. 

"  I  have  much  faith  in  the  pacific  sj'stem  cordially  adojjted  by  a 
nation.  A  nation  speaking  in  a  voice  of  true  good-will  and  philan- 
thropy, shrinking  from  war,  not  through  fear  or  interested  motives, 
but  from  reverence  for  justice  and  Christian  love,  and  appeahng  to 
the  world  against  wrong,  would  not  speak  in  vain.  But  a  ^'ast 
change  is  first  to  be  wrought,  before  such  a  voice  can  go  forth  from 
any  community.  I  pray  God  that  you  ma}'  help  to  bring  on  this 
better  age. 

"The  objections  of  my  friend  Dr.  Follen  to  a  congress  of  na- 
tions, published  in  the  Democratic  Review,  seem  to  me  stroug.  The 
essential  idea  which  we  wish  to  establish  is  Arbitration.  The  mode 
is  unimportant,  if  we  can  but  secure  impartiality." 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  sa}',  that  Dr.  Channing  felt  the  strong- 
est detestation  for  that  remnant  of  antiquated  inhumanity  called 
duelling ;  but  as  a  scandalous  occurrence  in  his  own  community 
called  forth  a  slight  expression  of  his  feelings  on  the  subject,  it  may 
be  well  here  to  record  it. 

'  '•  I  have  been  much  shocked  within  a  few  days  b}'  the  want  of 
Christian  feeling  on  the  subject  of  duelling  here.  A  Christian  com- 
munity, instructed  as  ours  is  in  the  benevolent  principles  of  our  re- 
ligion, ought  to  have  spoken  with  an  authority  and  a  severity  of 
rebuke  wliich  would  teach  the  3'oung  and  uprincipled,  that  this  out- 
rage on  our  institutions,  faith,  and  manners  cannot  be  endured. 
1  see  in  this  case  how  httle  the  sublimity  and  beauty  of  the  spirit  of 
Christ  are  felt.  Even  those  who  oppose  duelling  rest  too  nmch  on 
mere  authority,  and  not  on  its  hostility  to  all  the  principles  which 
ennoble  the  soul.  This  is  in  a  discouraging  tone,  and  yet  I  am  not 
discouraged.  The  more  I  see  of  evil,  the  more  I  am  assured  of  the 
power  which  is  to  triumph  over  it.  We  are  low  enough,  I  feel,  and 
yet  we  have  risen  in  comparison  with  the  past." 

Closely  connected  with  his  views  of  the  lawfulness  and  unlawful- 
ness of  the  exercise  of  force,  as  an  instrument  of  justice  between 
nation  and  nation,  were  Dr.  Channing's  opinions  in  regard  to  legal 
restraints  and  penalties,  as  a  means  of  internal  policy,  lie  looked 
with  warm  and  eager  sympathy  upon  ever}-  attempt  to  reform  the 


PENAL  JURISPRUDENCE.  471 

cruel  abuses  which  have  so  long  disgraced  the  dens  where  Chris- 
tians have  pent  up  their  erring  brethren  to  fester  in  their  crimes, 
and  was  ready  to  assert,  with  the  noble-hearted  Roscoe,  "  that 
beneficence,  and  not  revenge,  should  be  the  motive  of  all  criminal 
proceedings,"  and  that  "  prisons  cannot  be  conducted  upon  oppo- 
site and  discordant  principles,  but  must  be  either  places  of  vindic- 
tive and  exemplar}'  punisliment,  or  places  of  instruction,  industr}', 
and  reform."  ^  The  following  letters  will  show  the  gradual  devel- 
opment of  his  faith  in  the  mighty  power  of  humane  treatment  to  lift 
up  the  most  debased  and  brutal  to  the  full  stature  of  man. 

"  October  28,  1825.^  I  wish,  through  3'ou,  to  thank  your  father 
for  his  last  publication  on  '  Penal  Jurisprudence.'  1  liave  intended 
for  some  time  to  answer  his  kind  letter,  but  have  waited  in  hope 
of  being  able  to  give  more  attention  to  the  subject  in  wliich  his 
benevolence  is  so  deeply"  engaged.  I  incline  much  to  his  views  of 
punishment,  but  do  not  hold  them  with  that  strength  of  conviction 
which  would  give  me  courage  to  act  upon  them  were  I  a  legis- 
lator. 

"  My  compassion  towards  criminals  generall}'  prevails  over  my 
indignation.  When  I  consider  how  closely  the  whole  community 
is  bound  together,  how  all  the  parts  act  upon  one  another,  how  the 
poorer  classes  depend  on  the  higher,  and  catch  from  them  the  infec- 
tion of  vice,  and  how  large  a  share  of  the  guilt  of  every  crime  be- 
longs to  society,  which  has  exposed  the  offender  to  temptation 
without  giving  him  moral  strength  or  means  of  defence,  I  wonder 
with  what  face  an}'  man  can  denounce  vengeance,  and  vengeance 
only,  upon  criminals.  Punishment,  I  suppose,  will  correspond 
with  the  character  of  the  communit}',  and  will  grow  mild  as  man- 
ners soften.  In  an  iron  age  it  will  be  cruel.  In  proportion  as  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  is  understood  and  felt,  it  will  become  an  in- 
strument of  reform.  I  rejoice  that  your  father  is  provoking  dis- 
cussion, and  doubt  not  that,  however  some  of  his  views  may  be 
questioned,  he  will  lead  man}'  to  feel  more  than  they  have  done 
that  they  have  a  common  nature  with  the  unhappy  convict,  and 
are  bound  to  labor  for  his  restoration." 

"  November  30,  1828.^  Can  legislation  do  much  towards  reform- 
ing men  ?  Has  not  the  power  of  government  in  this,  as  in  every- 
thing, been  overrated?  Can  associations  do  much?  Is  it  not  by 
individual  interest,  b}'  unaffected  individual  friendship,  b}'  teaching 
from  the  lips  of  philanthropy,   and  not  by  official  acts,  that  the 

1  Manuscript  letter  of  Wm.  Roscoe,  Esq.,  to  Dr.  Clianning,  1825. 
-  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe.  3  w^i^. 


472  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

offender  is  to  be  brought  to  feel  what  he  is,  and  especially  what  he 
maj'  be  ? 

"  According  to  these  views,  a  great  object  of  a  prison  should  be 
to  bring  the  prisoner  within  the  influence  of  enlightened  and  good 
minds  ;  and  until  such  minds  are  formed,  until  individuals  rise  up, 
who,  instead  of  acting  in  societies,  will  cultivate  personal  inter- 
course with  the  individual  prisoner,  are  we  to  expect  reformation  ? 
The  prisoner  must  see  himself  to  be  an  object  of  interest,  and  must 
see  that  his  nature  is  still  respected,  that  there  are  those  who  hope 
well  and  highly  for  him,  or  the  redeeming  i)rinciple  will  not  be 
awakened  in  him.  That  we  shall  arrive  at  this  state  of  things  by 
and  by  I  doubt  not.  The  barbarous  separation  made  between 
societ}'  and  the  criminal  is  not  —  what  we  are  too  apt  to  call  it  — 
a  relic  of  barbarous  times,  but  a  part  of  a  barbarous  system  noio  in 
being ;  and  it  must  give  way  just  as  far  as  the  light  of  truth  and 
Christian  virtue  penetrates  the  darkness  which  still  hangs  over  us." 

'•''Boston,  March  30,  1829.^  I  am  glad  that  your  father  sees 
ground  of  hope  in  the  views  of  prison  discipline  which  are  gaining 
ground  in  this  country.  I  should  prefer,  wei^e  it  practicable,  a 
system  which  would  separate  the  prisoners  wholly  from  one  another, 
and  at  the  same  time  give  them  work  and  other  society.  Their 
old  connections  should  be  wholly  broken  off".  They  should  have  no 
communion  with  one  another.  This  is  one  step  toward  reformation. 
Remove  the  offender  from  bad  influences. 

"But  3'ou  will  say,  Do  I  defend  solitary  confinement?  No. 
Whilst  I  wish  bad  influences  to  be  cut  off,  I  wish  good  ones  to  be 
brought  to  bear  on  the  criminal.  The  vicious  are  to  be  raised  by 
the  help  of  the  virtuous.  I  would  have  the  enlightened  and  virtu- 
ous brought  into  connection  with  the  guilty.  The  good  must  feel 
that  their  goodness  is  imparted  to  them  to  be  imparted  to  others. 
Those  who  have  been  preserved  from  great  crime  must  not  think  of 
themselves  as  raised  by  this  purit}'  above  the  vicious,  but  as  thus 
preserved  that  they  may  restore  the  fallen.  Tlie  influence  of  the 
enlightened  and  pure  on  the  criminal  seems  to  me  an  essential  ele- 
ment of  a  system  for  the  reformation  of  offenders.  I  would  have  a 
few  trustworthy  individuals  interested  in  a  prisoner,  taught  to  look 
upon  him  as  their  charge,  accustomed  to  visit  and  talk  to  him  as  a 
friend,  and  to  encourage  his  work  ;  and  expected  to  make  provision 
for  him  on  his  leaving  prison,  that  is,  to  find  him  a  field  of  virtuous 
industry. 

"We  are  not,  perhaps,  good  enough  for  this  system,  but  we 

1  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe. 


PRISON  DISCIPLINE.  473 

must  grow  up  to  it ;  and  until  the  good  take  this  immediate,  active 
interest  in  the  improvement  of  the  offender,  the  surest  means  will 
be  untried.  A  chaplain  would  answer  my  purpose  very  imperfectly. 
I  want,  not  an  official,  but  a  friendly  connection." 

^'■Philadelphia^  April  10,  1832.  Yesterday  I  almost  exhausted 
m^'self  in  a  very  interesting  visit  to  the  Penitentiary,  a  ver}'  noble 
establishment.  I  was  allowed  —  which  is  not  a  common  privilege  — 
to  enter  the  cells  and  talk  with  the  prisoners.  I  saw  four,  I  think, 
who  had  committed  murder  in  the  second  degree.  They  and  all  the 
prisoners  are  confined  in  solitary'  cells,  and  seldom  see  any  counte- 
nance but  that  of  the  keeper.  The  system  is  thought  by  some  to 
be  too  severe,  as  human  nature  shrinks  from  nothing  so  much  as 
from  this  utter  loneliness,  and  man}'  have  feared  that  the  spirit 
would  be  broken  and  the  understanding  palsied.  I  think  that  terri- 
ble effects  might  follow,  if  the  poor  secluded  beings  were  not  allowed 
to  work.  Work,  which  men  at  large  are  apt  to  think  hard,  is  to 
them  more  than  recreation.  It  saves  them  from  a  fate  worse  than 
death.  I  found  that  their  minds  were  bright  and  active,  and  that 
the}'  seemed  desirous  to  make  a  good  use  of  their  discipline.  I 
endeavored  to  make  them  feel  that  society  was  punishing  them,  not 
from  revenge,  but  kindness,  and  that  Providence  was  most  merciful 
in  putting  this  check  on  their  crimes.  We  must  never  lead  the 
most  wicked  to  look  on  their  condition  as  desperate.  The}'  are  still 
our  brethren ;  and  if  we  can  once  persuade  them  of  our  sincere 
interest  in  them,  we  do  something,  perhaps  much,  for  their  recovery. 
I  am  not  rested  yet  from  this  visit." 

"  Philadelphia,  April  17,  1832.^  If  you  have  not  already  visited 
the  Penitentiary  here,  I  know  no  place  so  worthy  your  attention. 
I  visited  this  institution  a  few  days  ago,  and  was  very  much  dis- 
posed to  regard  it  as  the  greatest  advance  yet  made  in  prison  dis- 
cipline. The  discretionary  power  of  punishing  given  to  the  warden 
on  the  Auburn  system,  and  which  I  dread  and  abhor,  is  altogether 
unnecessary  here,  and,  indeed,  no  punishment  but  the  occasional 
withholding  of  a  meal  is  resorted  to.  I  talked  with  the  prisoners  as 
long  as  I  had  power,  to  ascertain  the  influence  of  the  system  of 
seclusion  on  the  intellect  and  tlie  moral  character  ;  and  my  fears  as 
to  its  stupefying  effect  seemed  to  be  wholly  groundless.  I  intend  to 
see  the  attending  physician  on  this  subject.  The  only  bad  influence 
which  I  saw  came  from  the  preaching  and  religious  tracts.  I  think 
two  of  the  prisoners  were  bewildered  by  what  they  had  heard  of  the 
sinner's  inability  to  change  liis  heart.     Truly  this  plague  of  Calvin- 

^  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D. 


474  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

ism,  like  tlie  vermin  inflicted  on  Eg^'pt,  finds  its  wa}'  everywliere. 
I  pitied  tlie  poor  creatures,  wlien  I  found  tlieir  cells  furnislied  with 
tracts  of  tlie  common  sort. 

"  M}'  great  desire  has  been  to  connect  prisoners  with  intelligent 
and  religious  people,  two  of  whom  should  have  the  intellectual  and 
moral  care  of  each  convict ;  but  when  I  think  into  what  hands  this 
care  would  fall,  I  have  some  misgivings.  However,  the  good  would 
prevail.  The  S3'mpathies  of  human  nature  are  too  strong  for  the 
spirit  of  theological  systems." 

Chief  among  the  temptations  of  modern  society  which  seduced 
men  into  crime,  Dr.  Channing  recognized  intemperance.  In  com- 
mon with  all  deep  observers,  he  believed  that  the  existing  genera- 
tion of  civilized  states  is  peculiarly  subject  to  this  vice,  from  the 
combined  effects  of  extreme  nervous  development,  —  of  restlessness 
and  anxiety,  engendered  from  worldh^  competition,  — of  exhaustion, 
produced  by  excessive  and  monotonous  toil,  —  of  defective  social, 
intellectual,  and  physical  excitements, — and,  finally',  of  the  depress- 
ing influence  of  general  culture,  contrasted  with  tantalizing  inequal- 
ities of  condition.  With  his  habitual  love  of  individual  freedom, 
and  his  excessive  dread  of  the  tyrann}'  incident  to  associated  action, 
he  refrained,  indeed,  from  joining  the  temperance  societies,  and 
never  adopted,  or  advised  others  to  adopt,  their  pledges.  But  by 
precept  and  example  he  lent  the  full  weight  of  his  influence  to  the 
temperance  reform,  and,  by  addresses  to  his  people  and  to  the 
public,  endeavored  to  unite  all  classes  in  a  grand  co-operative  move- 
ment to  put  out,  once  and  forever,  the  wasting  fire  that  was  eating 
up  forest  and  prairie,  cornfield  and  garden,  the  scattered  village 
and  the  crowded  city.  The  frankness  and  thoroughness  with  which 
he  discussed  the  causes  and  cures  of  this  terrible  evil  may  be  best 
learned  from  the  address  delivered,  in  1837,  before  the  Massachu- 
setts Temperance  Society.^  But  one  or  two  passages  selected  from 
his  manuscripts  give  interesting  suggestions  as  to  practical  methods 
of  advancing  this  reform  ;  and  from  the  last  of  these  it  will  appear 
that  he  had  anticipated,  at  least  in  hope,  the  sublime  Washiugtonian 
movement,  which  has  wrought  throughout  our  land  such  miracles  of 
love. 

1825.  "  In  the  spirit  of  these  remarks,  I  beg  to  suggest  a  few 
means  of  preventing  intemperance  in  the  community.  One  means 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  greater  attention  to  physical  education,  to  the 
production  of  a  vigorous  constitution  in  our  children.  There  is  a 
puny,  half-healthy,  half-diseased  condition  of  the  body,  perhaps  more 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  301-346,     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  99-116. 


PREVENTION   OF  INTEMPERANCE.  475 

common  in  this  country  than  in  man}'  others,  which,  b}'  producing 
irritableness  and  restlessness,  and  weakening  the  energy  of  the  will, 
is  a  strong  temptation  to  the  free  use  of  stimulants,  and  many,  I  firmly 
believe,  become  sots  through  bodily  infirmity.  Physical  vigor  is  not 
only  valuable  for  its  own  sake,  but  it  favors  temperance,  and  all  the 
virtues,  by  producing  clearness  and  soundness  of  intellect,  and  b}' 
removing  those  indescribable  feelings  of  sinking,  disquiet,  depres- 
sion, which  no  man  who  has  not  felt  them  can  possibly  understand. 
Physical  education  needs  more  attention.  The  intellect,  indeed, 
calls  for  chief  care  ;  but  the  mind  is  now  lodged  in  matter,  and  acts 
through  organs,  and  suffers  and  pines  with  them.  A  child  owes 
little  gratitude  to  the  parent  who  gives  him  knowledge  at  the  ex- 
pense of  health.  Beware  of  sacrificing  the  body  to  the  intellect,  for 
they  are  intended  to  be  friends  and  joint  workers.  Whilst  you  give 
your  children  languages  and  science  and  literature,  strive  to  give, 
too,  that  strength  of  muscle  which  will  enable  them  to  turn  these 
acquisitions  to  account.  Let  them  not,  in  their  first  years,  be  ni- 
structed,  as  is  too  common,  in  close,  unventilated  rooms,  breathing 
a  tainted,  unhealthy  air,  and  let  them  not,  at  a  later  period,  give  up 
exercise  for  study.  The  body  cannot  be  neglected  with  impunity  ; 
bad  temper,  discontent,  and  intemperance  follow  in  the  train  of 

nervous  debilit}' 

"I  am  naturally  led  to  another  means  of  checking  intemperance, 
which  is,  to  extend  the  means  of  intellectual  improvement  among 
the  laboring  classes  of  society.  This  alone  will  not  make  men 
temperate,  but  it  is  an  important  aid.  Many  fall  into  drunken- 
ness from  want  of  interesting  objects.  Conceive  of  the  number  of 
voung  men  in  this  town,  who,  unaccustomed  to  find  a  companion 
in  a  book,  and  having  never  given  themselves  to  the  culture  or 
pleasures  of  intellect,  have  hardl}'  any  method  of  filling  up  the 
evening  but  b}'  haunting  public  places,  and  taking  up  with  such 
society  as  they  can  find.  It  is  probabl}'  known  to  most  of  you, 
that  in  England,  the  mother  of  good  inventions,  exertions  are  now 
used,  and  with  great  success,  to  give  to  the  laboring  classes  a 
degree  of  scientific  knowledge  of  which  the}^  were  once  thought 
incapable,  and  which  prepares  them  to  follow  their  various  trades 
more  intelligently  ;  and  the  intention  is,  to  add  instruction  in  his- 
tory, political  economy,  morals,  so  that  a  laborer  may  soon  know 
more  than  most  gentlemen  know  at  present.  Now  this  is  a  most 
refreshing  prospect.  It  is  a  resuiTection  of  mind.  And  the  good 
has  begun  in  this  country,  in  Philadelphia ;  and  we  may  confidentl}' 
hope  that  the  mental  vigor,  foresight,  self-respect,  and  innocent 
occupation  gained  by  this  process  will  snatch  many  a  victim  from 
intemperance." 


476  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

1833.  "The  chief  objection  to  this  reform  seems  to  me  to  bo 
this,  that  its  leaders  and  friends  have  allowed  themselves  to  speak 
despairingly  of  the  recovery  of  those  who  have  enslaved  themselves 
to  intemperance,  and  that,  in  their  zeal  to  arrest  this  pestilence,  to 
prevent  its  seizing  on  new  subjects,  they  have  thought  too  little  of 
those  who  have  alread}^  fallen  under  its  power.  In  this  respect, 
they  need  to  be  reminded  of  Him  who  came  to  seek  and  save  the 
lost.     We  cannot  be  too  slow  to  despair  of  a  fellow-creature. 

"It  may  be,  that  the  ver}^  circumstance  which  makes  intemper- 
ance so  obstinate  gives  encouragement  to  labor  for  its  cure.  This 
vice  is  confirmed  b}'  nothing  so  much  as  b\'  tlie  disease  which  it 
generates  in  the  animal  frame.  It  has  its  seat  in  the  bod}-  as  truly 
as  in  the  mind,  —  in  the  derangement  of  pln'sical  functions  as  much 
as  in  weakness  or  poverty  of  will.  Accordingly  I  cannot  but  hope 
that  asylums,  or  establishments  in  which  a  wise  phj'sical  treatment 
should  be  combined  with  moral  means,  would  do  much  for  the  sal- 
vation of  this  unhappy  class  of  our  fellow-creatures. 

"There  is  one  powerful  motive  for  these  efforts.  The  reforma- 
tion of  the  intemperate  man,  when  it  does  take  place,  is  more  com- 
plete than  that  of  any  other  class  of  offenders.  A  man  who  has 
given  himself  up  to  revenge,  pride,  env}',  anger,  dishonesty,  de- 
bauchery, is  seldom,  if  ever,  totally  reformed.  Tliese  vices  get 
possession  of  the  imagination,  twine  themselves  into  the  common 
trains  of  thought,  and  act  so  subtly'  and  deeply,  that  he  who  has 
once  been  their  slave  perhaps  never,  in  this  life,  escapes  wholly  their 
influence.  But  examples  are  not  rare  of  the  drunkard  becoming 
wholly  temperate.,  and,  what  is  very  cheering,  such  a  man,  when 
reformed,  returns  to  the  generous  feelings,  the  domestic  aflfections, 
the  innocent  and  refined  tastes,  and  very  often  to  the  intellectual 
energy,  which  he  seemed  to  have  lost.  I  have  seen  among  men 
reclaimed  from  this  vice  bright  examples  of  moral  worth  and  intel- 
lectual power.  Intemperance,  if  cured  rarely,  yet  admits  of  per- 
fect cure  ;  and  this  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  malignant  and 
selfish  vices.  You  can  receive  to  your  friendship  and  confidence  a 
man  reclaimed  from  intemperance.  You  never  can  trust  entirely 
a  man  wlio  has  been  given  up  to  dishonesty,  liowe^'er  he  may  seem 
to  forsake  his  evil  path.  In  like  manner,  a  habit  of  lewdness 
leaves  behind  it  a  taint  of  grossness,  pollution,  from  which  tlie 
thoughts  and  imagination  are  never,  perhaps,  in  this  life,  wliolly 
cleansed.  This  advantage  on  the  side  of  intemperance  is  owing, 
I  believe,  to  the  circumstance  of  its  being  a  bodily  even  more  than 
a  moral  or  mental  disease  ;  and  this  view,  while  it  diminishes  its 
guilt,  should  encourage  us  to  use  ever}'  means  of  rescuing  its 
victims  from  its  power. 


REMOVAL  OF  PAUPERISM.  477 

"  The  temperance  reform  which  is  going  on  among  ns  deserves 
all  praise,  and  I  see  not  what  is  to  hinder  its  complete  success. 
If,  indeed,  this  reformation  stood  alone,  or  if  it  rested  only  on  the 
efforts  of  associations,  I  should  have  little  hope  of  its  continuance. 
No  particular  vice  can  be  reformed  alone ;  unless  a  general  im- 
provement go  on  in  society-,  the  attempt  to  root  up  this  or  that  evil 
will  avail  little.  The  seeds  of  the  evil  will  be  left,  and  the  general 
corruption  will  afford  them  the  very  soil  in  which  to  thrive,  and 
they  will  certainly  shoot  up  into  rank  luxuriance  as  soon  as  the 
effort  for  repressing  them  sliall  be  slackened  by  time.  In  regard 
to  intemperance,  I  believe  the  movements  now  made  will  succeed, 
because  they  are  in  harmony  with,  and  are  seconded  by,  the  general 
spirit  and  progress  of  the  age.  Every  advance  in  knowledge,  in 
refined  manners,  in  domestic  enjoyments,  in  habits  of  foresight 
and  economy,  in  regular  industry,  in  the  comforts  of  life,  in  civil- 
ization, good  morals,  and  religion,  is  an  aid  to  tlie  cause  of  temper- 
ance ;  and  believing,  as  we  do,  that  these  are  making  progress, 
ma}'  we  not  hope  that  drunkenness  will  be  driven  from  society?" 

Dr.  Channing  was  not  only  desirous  of  surrounding  the  criminal 
and  the  intemperate  with  a  genial  atmosphere  of  respectful  kind- 
ness, but  he  was  yet  more  anxious  that  society  at  large  should  be 
pervaded  with  such  a  spirit  of  good- will  and  justice  as  would  save 
men  from  temptation  to  debasement.  He  thought  that  no  work 
of  substantial,  sure,  progressive  reform  could  be  effected  in  the 
communitj',  without  establishing  new  relations  between  the  more 
privileged  classes  and  their  less  fortunate  fellow-beings.  He  saw 
that  no  persevering,  combined,  faithful  efforts  were  made  to  surround 
the  vicious  with  good  influences,  but  that  they  were  left  for  the 
most  part  to  herd  together,  and  to  corrupt  each  other  amidst  desti- 
tution and  moral  and  mental  darkness.  What  was  needed  first  of 
all  was  that  the  partition-walls  of  classes  and  ranks  should  be 
broken  down,  so  that  the  highest  might  meet  the  lowest  as  brethren, 
and  a  constant  circulation  of  intelligence  and  virtue  be  kept  up 
between  the  cultivated  and  ignorant,  the  pure  and  tlie  unrefined, 
the  wretched  and  the  prosperous,  the  care-worn  and  the  happy. 
He  was  convinced  that  all  true  charity  must  be  directed,  not  so 
much  to  the  relief  as  to  the  removal  of  pauperism,  that  foul 
common-sewer  of  civilization,  from  whose  abominations  steam  up 
innumerable  moral  infections.  These  views  led  him  to  give  his 
time  and  thoughts,  his  sympathy  and  counsel,  and,  in  every  way 
which  feeble  health  permitted,  his  most  earnest  co-operation,  to  his 
friend  Dr.  Tuckerman,  in  establishing  the  Ministr}-  at  Large.  His 
correspondence  upon  this  subject  will  open  to  us  the  writer's  cen- 


478  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

tral   principles   and   most   cherished   hopes   in   relation  to   Social 
Reform. 

"  If  you  can  succeed  in  awakening  in  the  more  opulent  and  im- 
proved class  an  enlightened  and  active  concern  for  the  moral  and 
religious  improvement  of  their  less  favored  brethren,  will  3'ou  not 
accomplish  a  greater  good  than  by  any  other  labors,  and  will  you 
not  afford,  at  the  same  time,  the  best  illustration  of  the  true  spirit 
of  Unitarian  Christianity? 

"  We  are  distinguished  by  believing  that  Christ  benefits  and  saves 
men  exclusively  b}'  a  moral  influence,  and  that  the  true  follower  of 
Christ  is  he  who  is  ready  to  live  and  die  in  the  work  of  elevating 
the  human  soul,  and  especiall}'  of  raising  the  most  fallen.  Is  there 
any  distinction  which  we  are  so  desirous  to  communicate  to  our 
liberal  fellow-Christians  as  this  moral  interest  in  mankind?  And 
have  you  not  encouragement  to  labor,  that  tiiis  may  become  a 
striking  characteristic  of  the  bod}'  whom,  in  a  sense,  you  represent, 
as  well  as  that  it  should  be  spread  more  and  more  through  the  whole 
community?  It  seems  to  me,  that  we  understand  better  than  most 
Christians  that  it  is  the  object  of  our  religion  to  establish  a  frater- 
nal union  among  all  classes  of  society,  to  break  down  our  present 
distinctions,  and  to  direct  all  the  energies  of  the  cultivated  and 
virtuous  to  the  work  of  elevating  the  depressed  classes  to  an  en- 
lightened piety,  to  intellectual  and  moral  dignity.  To  us,  it  seems 
to  me,  this  great  work  peculiarly  belongs.  This  high  mission  is 
given,  because  we  understand  better  the  worth  of  human  nature  in 
all  classes,  and  are  prepared  to  act  on  all  witli  that  sentiment  of 
respect  which  is  essential  to  success. 

"I  am  particularly  desirous  that  we  should  engage  in  this  cause 
with  a  new  spirit.  I  desire  this,  not  only  on  the  general  grounds 
above  stated,  but  for  two  reasons  in  particular. 

"First,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  signs  of  the  times  point  to  a 
fjreat  approaching  modijicntion  of  society^  which  will  be  founded  on, 
and  will  express,  the  essential  truth,  that  the  chief  end  of  the 
social  state  is  the  elevation  of  all  its  memliers  as  intelligent  and 
moral  beings,  and  under  which  ever}'  man  will  be  expected  to  con- 
tribute to  tills  object  according  to  his  ability.  The  present  selfish, 
dissocial  system  must  give  way  to  Cliristlanity,  and  I  earnestly 
wish  that  we  may  bear  our  full  part  in  elfecting  this  best  of  all 
revolutions. 

"  In  the  second  place,  the  time  is  come  when  religious  bodies 
will  be  estimated  by  the  good  they  do^  when  creeds  are  to  be  less  and 
less  the  test  of  the  Christian,  and  when  they  who  labor  most 
etfectually  for  their  fellow-beings  will  be  acknowledged  to  give  the 


HONOR  FOR  ALL  MEN.  479 

best  proof  of  having  found  the  truth.  This  is  no  reason  for  mak- 
ing forced,  unnatural,  sectarian  efforts,  and  baptizing  them  with 
tlie  name  of  pliilanthropy  ;  but  it  is  a  reason  why  a  body  of  Chris- 
tians, distinguished  by  holding  the  true  doctrine  of  love,  and  by 
understanding  the  true  bond  of  society,  should  do  most  for  their 

fellow-beings I  wish  that  this  may  be  an  object  in  your 

tracts.  I  would  ask,  whether  this  object  may  not  be  distinctly 
recognized  in  the  constitution  of  all  auxiliary  societies,  and 
whether,  indeed,  it  may  not  be  made  the  leading  trait  of  a  Uni- 
tarian, tliat  he  is  a  man  who  sympathizes  with,  and  respects,  the 
less  favored  classes  of  society,  and  that  he  is  pledged  to  use  all  his 
powers  for  tlieir  elevation.  I  am  sure  that,  just  in  proportion  as 
this  spirit  shall  be  spread  among  us,  modes  of  operation,  little 
thought  of  at  present,  will  open  upon  us,  and  a  new  era  of  Chris- 
tian exertion  will  commence. 

"It  is  an  important  question,  what  sphere  of  useful  action  is 
particularly  commended  to  us  as  Unitarians.  We  do  not  feel  our- 
selves called  to  missionary  labors.  We  find  no  sufficient  field  in 
societies  which  are  instituted  to  remove  particular  evils,  such  as 
intemperance,  slavery,  war,  &c.  Is  there  no  work  to  which  our 
peculiar  views  call  us,  and  for  which  they  fit  us?  The  success 
which  has  attended  Dr.  Tuckerman's  labors,  and  the  good  which 
he  has  done  to  our  body  by  awakening  a  fraternal  sentiment 
towards  all  men,  seem  to  me  to  furnish  one  answer  to  these  ques- 
tions.    We  ought  to  be  by  eminence  Christian  Philanthropists."  ^ 

"  Newport,  R.  /.,  August  12,  1833.  My  great  desire  is,  not  so 
much  tliat  the  ministry  for  the  poor  should  be  made  permanent,  as 
that  the  spirit  in  which  Dr.  Tuckerman  conducted  his  ministry 
should  be  fervently  cherished  and  spread  through  our  class  and 
every  class  of  Christians.  He  was  distinguished  by  recognizing 
the  capacities  and  claims  of  the  poor  as  intellectual  and  moral 
beings.  He  did  not  go  among  them  to  teach  them  submission  to 
their  betters,  but  to  teach  that  they  were  equally  objects  of  the 
Divine  love  with  the  greatest  of  their  race,  and  that  their  condition 
contained  the  means  of  the  true  happiness  and  glory  of  human 
beings.  His  reports  were  all  fitted  to  give  the  poor  a  different 
place  in  the  minds  of  the  rich,  and  to  break  down  the  barriers 
which  have  hitherto  separated  these  classes  of  society.  What  I 
desire  is,  that  this  respect  for  the  poor,  this  spirit  of  brotherhood, 
this  consciousness  of   the  near  relation   sustained  by  all   human 

1  To  a  committee  of  the  Unitarian  Association,  appointed  to  consider  and 
report  upon  the  Ministry  at  Large. 


480  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

beings  to  the  Infinite  Father,  should  be  cherished  and  diffused 
among  us  with  persevering  and  increasing  zeal. 

"  The  distinction  which  is  still  made  in  society  by  wealth  is,  per- 
haps, the  strongest  proof  which  can  be  named  of  the  very  limited 
efficacy  of  the  gospel.  Wlio,  that  looks  on  Christian  communities, 
would  suspect  that  their  Divine  Teacher  had  pronounced  a  blessing 
on  the  poor,  and  solemnly  and  most  emphatically  declared  opulence 
to  be  one  of  the  chief  obstructions  of  human  virtue  and  salvation  ? 
Who  would  suspect  that  he  himself  lived  in  poverty,  and  chose  the 
chief  and  most  illustrious  ministers  of  his  kingdom  among  the  poor? 
Is  it  not  undeniable,  that  the  Christian  spirit  of  humanity,  of  broth- 
erhood, is  resisted  and  repressed  more  by  the  prevalent  estimate  of 
wealth,  than  b}-  almost  any  other  cause?  What  I  wish  is,  not  only 
that  a  ministry  may  be  established  for  the  poor,  but  that  it  should 
spring  from  and  should  spread  Christ's  spirit  toward  the  poor,  — 
that  we  should  learn  to  look  on  and  aid  them,  not  as  an  inferior 
class,  but  as  our  brethren, — that  this  ministry  should  aim  chiefly 
to  give  them  true  elevation  of  mind,  to  remove  the  idea  of  degrada- 
tion from  their  outward  lot,  to  teach  them  the  reality  of  their  im- 
mortal nature  and  its  infinite  preciousness  in  the  sight  of  God,  to 
teach  them  to  regard  and  use  their  very  sufferings  as  the  means  of 
rising  to  peculiar  virtue,  moral  energ}',  and  happiness.  No  out- 
ward lot  is  degraded,  but  that  into  which  men  fall  b}'  vice  ;  and  on 
this  principle  affluence  is  as  often  a  degraded  condition  as  poverty', 
for  as  many  grow  rich  as  grow  poor  by  guilt.  The  superiority  of 
human  nature,  of  that  nature  in  which  the  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  alike  partake,  to  all  outward,  adventitious  distinctions  is  the 
foundation  on  which  Christian  exertion  rests ;  and  piety  and  plii- 
lanthrop}^  cannot  advance  a  step,  but  b}'  a  more  profound  and 
enlightened  conviction  of  this  truth.  Happy  that  body  of  Chris- 
tians which  shall  be  characterized  b}^  this  conviction  ! 

"  It  has  often  been  objected  to  our  views  of  Christianity,  that 
they  are  suited  to  the  educated,  rich,  fashionable,  and  not  to  the 
wants  of  the  great  mass  of  human  beings.  This  charge,  could  it  be 
substantiated,  would  be  a  weightier  argument  against  them  than  all 
others.  We  know  it  to  be  false  ;  and  yet  why  has  it  been  urged? 
I  do  fear,  that,  as  a  body  of  Christians,  we  have  given  some  ground 
for  it,  by  having  failed  in  so  great  a  degree  to  recognize  and  mani- 
fest the  distinguishing  and  celestial  spirit  of  Christianity,  the  spirit 
of  universal,  all-comprehending  love,  of  sincere  respect  for  human 
nature,  of  peculiar  sympathy  with  the  destitute  and  exposed,  and 
of  patient,  earnest  labor  for  their  spiritual  elevation.  Wanting 
this,  we  have  had  no  effectual  means  of  interesting  the  mass  of 


SOCIETY  OF    WORKINGMEN.  481 

mankind.  Other  sj'stems  have  found  in  terror,  m3-ster3',  &c.,  the 
means  of  taking  hold  of  the  multitude.  These  we  have  justly  re- 
jected. But  the  true  method  of  reaching  human  beings  in  every 
condition,  that  is,  the  manifestation  of  a  brotherly  concern  for  the 
multitude  of  men,  the  cordial  recognition  of  our  near  connection 
with  them  as  immortal  children  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  this  bond  as  dearer,  nobler,  than  an}'  connection 
with  the  great  and  distinguished  of  this  world,  the  expression  of  a 
strong  faith  in  the  capacities  of  indefinite  improvement  in  every 
soul,  the  utterance  of  this  faith  and  love  in  the  native  language  of 
the  heart, — this  means  of  operating  on  the  minds  of  men,  which 
would  prove  all-powerful,  we  have  verj'  faintly  used.  How  could 
we  use  it,  when  the  spirit  of  Christ  has  been  so  faint  in  us?  The 
prejudices  of  societ}-,  amidst  which  we  were  born  and  grew  up, 
joined  to  our  own  ambition  and  selfishness,  have  cut  us  off  from  our 
fellow-creatures.  Is  it  strange,  then,  that  it  should  be  said,  that 
our  \aews  are  not  suited  to  their  wants,  and  cannot  interest 
them  ? 

"These  remarks  will  show  what  seems  to  me  the  first  step 
towards  spreading  through  our  bodj'  the  spirit  which  breathed 
through  Dr.  Tuekerman's  ministry-,  and  which  should  originate  and 
pervade  this  ministry  everywhere.  It  is  this.  They  whose  office 
it  is  to  spi'ead  this  spirit  must  possess  it  themselves,  must  cherish 
it  in  their  own  breasts.  The  great  obstacle  to  success  is  the  want 
of  fit  ministers  for  the  work,  of  men  who  have  a  true  faith  in  the 
great  purposes  for  which  the  poorest  and  the  lowest  of  men  were 
made,  and  who  love  them  as  brethren." 

"  Boston^  March  6,  1837.  I  take  a  great  interest  in  the  laboring 
classes,  and  I  feel  that  a  right  religious  impulse  would  do  more  to 
elevate  them  than  anything  else  There  are  among  them  choice 
spirits,  and  they  seem  to  be  exposed  to  pecuhar  temptations,  for 
they  furnish  the  principal  harvests  to  the  preachers  of  infidelity. 
Can  they  be  taken  hold  of?  Mr.  Brownson,  who  came  here  to  form 
a  congregation  out  of  that  class,  has  not  succeeded  as  well  as  I 
hoped  ;  but  this  would  not  discourage  me,  because  he  has  adopted 
a  philosophical  style  not  suited  to  them,  and  has  had  in  view  too 
much  another  class.  He  tells  me  that  he  has  found  among  them 
more  hatred  of  the  rich  than  he  expected,  and  verj-  probably  this 
may  form  one  of  their  tendencies  to  infidelit}'.  I  have  a  strong  im- 
pression that  rational  views  ma}-  be  so  brought  out  as  to  interest 
deeply  this  class  of  society ;  and  he  who  shall  give  full  proof 
of  this  will  render  great  service  to  the  cause  of  truth  and  hu- 
manity." 

31 


482  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

^'- June  21,  1837.^     wishes  to  form  a  congregation  of  work- 

ingmen,  to  whom  the  church  shall  be  a  bond  of  strong  union,  who, 
beginning  with  religion,  shall  associate  themselves  for  generous  im- 
provement, both  intellectual  and  moral,  and  who  shall  act  together 
to  spread  a  spirit  of  improvement  through  their  own  class.  I  have 
long  had  this  object  at  heart.  I  earnestly  hope  that  he  will  enjo}' 
sympath}'  and  encouragement  in  this  philanthropic  work.  Is  there 
an}'  other  which  has  greater  claims  ?  Can  we  doubt  what  class  of 
societ}-  should  receive  the  most  immediate  aid?" 

In  these  last  extracts,  it  will  be  noticed.  Dr.  Channing  speaks  of 
the  formation  of  a  congregation  of  workingmen  as  an  object  which 
he  had  long  had  much  at  heart.  He  had  observed  modern  society 
deepl}'  enough  to  become  convinced,  that,  unless  some  effective 
means  could  be  used  to  establish  in  virtue,  intelligence,  and  inde- 
pendent conditions  the  laboring  classes,  i)auperism  would  constantly 
increase.  Especially  did  he  hope  that  the  workingmen,  if  united 
in  one  strong  body  by  religious  principle  and  humane  sentiment, 
would,  through  concerted  wisdom,  discern  practical  modes  of  attain- 
ing to  their  rightful  position  of  cultivation,  social  honor,  and  politi- 
cal influence,  without  recourse  to  revolutionar}'  outbreaks. 

These  views  had  led  him  to  look. with  most  livel}'  expectation 
upon  the  plans  of  the  Rev.  O.  A.  Brownson,  when,  in  1836,  he 
attempted  to  stay  the  tide  of  infidelity,  which  was  then  threatening 
to  swallow  up  the  workingmen's  movement,  and  to  form  in  Boston 
a  "  Society  of  Union  and  Progress."  Well-meaning  but  timid  con- 
servatives all  around  him  regarded  this  new  manifestation  of  reli- 
gious radicalism  with  suspicion,  disgust,  and  ridicule;  but  Dr. 
Channing  gladly  recognized  in  it  a  promise  of  true  social  regenera- 
tion. Speaking  of  Mr.  Brownson  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  he  sa3'S : 
"  I  have  great  interest  in  him.  I  comprehend  how,  to  such  a  man, 
the  present  social  state  should  be  full  of  deformity.  I  far  prefer 
his  morbidl}'  sensitive  vision  to  prevalent  evils,  to  the  stone-blind- 
ness of  the  multitudes  who  condemn  him."  With  open  purse  and 
read}'  counsel  he  sought  for  several  3'ears  to  aid  this  project ;  and 
even  after  Mr.  Brownson's  energies  were  diverted  from  immediate 
practical  ends  to  profound  problems  of  philosophy  and  religion.  Dr. 
Channing  was  so  solicitous  that  the  original  plan  of  combining  the 
laboring  classes  into  a  society  of  mutual  education  and  general  co- 
operation should  be  successfully  carried  out,  that  he  seriously  delib- 
erated whether  he  should  not,  in  concert  with  a  young  friend, 
undertake   the   establishment   of    a   Free   Church.      Nothing   but 

1  To  Dr.  Charles  FoUen. 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES.  483 

physical   infirmitj'  finally   prevented   the   accomplishment  of  this 
design. 

The  lectures  on  Self-culture  and  on  the  Elevation  of  the  Laboring 
Classes,^  delivered  in  1838  and  1840,  contain  the  best  expression 
of  Dr.  Channing's  principles  and  aims.  To  a  friend,  who  feared 
that  these  efforts  were  a  waste  and  perversion  of  his  powers,  he 
wrote :  — 

"  You  wish  me  to  treat  different  subjects,  and  think  that  others 
ma}'  discuss  Society.  This  remark  would  seem  to  show  that  I  have 
not  succeeded  or  done  much  for  m^'  end.  That  end  has  been  to 
bring  clown  the  Highest  to  the  apprehension  of  the  most  lowly,  — 
to  show  how  the  Divine  might  mingle  with  and  be  brought  out  in 
common  life  and  in  everj'  condition.     Many  cannot  do  this." 

Nothing,  perhaps,  which  he  ever  presented  to  the  public  gave 
him  such  pure  and  abiding  satisfaction,  as  these  expressions  of  his 
profound  regard  for  the  hardly  used,  but  ever  more  and  more  to  be 
honored  classes,  from  the  root  of  whose  patient  industry  sjjrings 
forth  the  well-being  of  communities.  These  lectures  were  reprinted 
in  Great  Britain,  and  widely  circulated  among  the  overtasked  op- 
eratives of  that  prolific  kingdom ;  and  one  da}-,  when  a  letter  of 
thanks  had  reached  him  from  the  Mechanic  Institute  of  Slaithwaite, 
he  said,  with  glowing  countenance  and  beaming  eyes,  "This  is 
honor,  this  is  honor."  On  his  table  was  then  lying  a  letter,  written 
by  command  of  the  monarch  of  one  of  the  mightiest  nations  of 
Europe,  to  thank  him  for  a  copy  of  his  writings  ;  but  this  heart-felt 
expression  of  gratitude,  in  the  handwriting  of  a  rough  miner,  moved 
him  moi'e  "deeply  than  the  courteous  praises  of  the  great,  the  admi- 
ration of  scholars,  or  even  the  warm  appreciation  of  friends.  It 
filled  him  with  inexpressible  joy  to  know  that  he  had  smoothed  the 
wrinkles,  dried  the  tears,  new-strung  the  muscles  of  the  toil-worn 
poor.  The  answer  which  he  returned  to  this  letter  reveals  his 
feeling. 

"Boston,  March  1,  1841. 

"Gentlemen:  —  I  received  with  great  satisfaction  your  letter, 
communicating  to  me  the  resolution  from  the  Slaithwaite  Mechanic 
Institute.  This  proof  of  the  kind  reception  of  my  Lectures  by  those 
for  whom  the}'  were  especially  written,  is  very  encouraging  to  me. 
I  have  long  had  a  full  faith  that  the  laboring  classes,  so  long  de- 
pressed, must  rise.  The  signs  of  this  happier  state  of  things  are 
multiplying ;  and  ^'ou,  who  are  probabl}-  younger  than  I  am,  may 
live  to  see  a  better  age. 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.  pp.  347-411  ;  Vol.  V.  pp.  151-230.  One  Volume  Edition, 
pp.  12-36 ;  86-66. 


484  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

"  I  have  been  much  cheered  b}-  hiformation  of  the  progress  of 
the  Temperance  cause  in  3'our  country.  Ardent  spirits  have  been 
the  curse  of  the  kiborer.  He  must  seek  safety  and  elevation  in 
total  abstinence.  One  of  his  first  steps  towards  the  dignity  of  a 
man,  is  to  renounce  what  makes  men  brutes.  If  his  self-respect 
cannot  carry  him  to  this  point  of  self-denial,  I  have  little  hope  of 
him.  The  people  must  learn  to  restrain  and  govern  themselves,  or 
they  will  be  kept  under  the  yoke,  and  used  as  mere  tools.  Govern- 
ment finds  its  reasons  or  pretexts  for  subjecting  the  multitude  to 
excessive  restraints  in  their  ignorance,  unrulmess,  and  incapacity 
of  self-control.  Every  mechanic  institute,  every  institution  for 
raising  the  people,  should  start  with  the  standard  of  temperance. 

"I  have  also  been  cheered  by  hearing,  that  the  recent  eflTorts  of 
a  part  of  the  laboring  classes  to  maintain  their  claims  by  violence 
are  more  and  more  discouraged  among  you.  Passion  and  force 
may  pull  down  the  government,  but  the  laborer  must  be  involved 
in  the  common  ruin.  To  make  yourselves  felt,  it  is  not  necessarj^ 
to  rage  and  destroy.  Your  true  strength  lies  in  growing  intelligence, 
uprightness,  self-respect,  trust  in  God,  and  trust  in  one  another. 
These  cannot  fail  to  secure  to  you  j-our  just  share  of  social  privi- 
leges. 

"  From  what  I  have  heard,  I  cannot  but  hope  that  the  cause  of 
the  laboring  classes  is  not  to  be  dishonored  and  injured  by  the  spirit 
of  irreligion.  It  is  amazing  that  men  calling  themselves  j'our 
friends  should  rise  up  against  Christianity,  —  a  ]-eligion  whose  first 
teachei's  were  taken  from  these  classes,  which  has  no  respect  of 
persons,  which  knows  nothing  of  the  distinctions  of  birth  and 
wealth,  which  commands  the  strong  to  succor  and  lift  up  the  weak, 
and  which,  as  far  as  it  is  efljectual,  breathes  mutual  deference  and 
mutual  interest  in  all  classes  of  society'.  It  is  under  the  cross  that 
the  battle  of  humanity  is  to  be  fought. 

"  An  essential  means  of  elevating  the  working  classes  is  a  system 
of  national  education,  having  for  its  object,  not  to  enslave  the  mind 
of  the  laborer,  but  to  make  him  enlightened  and  efficient,  at  once 
able  and  disposed  to  discharge  wisely  his  public  and  private  duties, 
I  trust  the  reproach  is  soon  to  be  taken  from  your  government,  of 
withholding  this  most  necessary  good.  This  should  be  demanded 
b}'  3'ou  with  an  importunit}'  which  will  take  no  denial. 

"I  earnestly  wish  success  to  the  laborer's  efforts  for  improving 
his  outward  condition.  But  he  must  not  give  himself  exclusively 
to  the  outward.  Good  wages  are  not  happiness.  A  man  may 
prosper  and  still  be  a  poor  creature.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the 
most  unprosperous  condition,  a  man  may  do  the  work  and  secure 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES.  485 

the  great  good  of  life.  Outward  circumstances  are  not  omnipotent. 
Our  minds  may  triumpli  over  our  lot.  Under  gi'eat  social  disad- 
vantages, we  still  may  endure  and  act  as  men  and  Christians.  Our 
very  thoughts  may  be  made  the  means  or  occasions  of  signal  virtues, 
and  in  this  way  may  bring  a  peace  and  hope  which  no  mere  pros- 
peri  t}'  can  give. 

"I  beg  you  to  express  my  best  wishes  to  the  members  of  the 
Slaithwaite  Mechanic  Institute. 

"  Very  truly,  your  friend, 

"  Wm.  E.  Channing. 
"  Messrs.  Jabez  Meal, 
Thomas  Sykes, 
John  Farley, 

Slaithtvaite,  near  Huddersjield,  England.^' 

Soon  after  Dr.  Channing's  death,  the  following  affecting  tribute 
was  received  from  Mr.  Meal,  and  shall  here  be  recorded  as  one  of 
the  brightest  memorials  in  this  biography. 

"It  will  be  some  relief,  under  your  bereavement,  to  know  that 
the  good  man  never  dies  ;  he  lives  and  breathes  in  our  cottages  ; 
.  his  work  on  Self-culture  is  the  text-book  of  the  young  men  of  our 
land  ;  the  soul-stirring  sentiments  of  that  book  are  working  a  moral 
regeneration  in  this  country,  and  I  feel  that  Boston  has  given  us 
another  Franklin,  another  guide  to  the  regions  of  virtue." 

In  another  letter,  written  about  the  same  period  with  this  reply 
to  the  miaers,  Dr.  Channing  has  yet  further  exhibited  his  views  in 
relation  to  the  means  of  securing  to  the  people  their  long-withheld 
rights. 

^^  Boston,  March  31,  1841.^  My  dear  Sir:  —  I  received  ,your 
letter,  and  the  publications  accompanying  it,  with  much  sensibility. 
Such  testimonies  as  you  and  some  others  have  given  to  the  influence 
of  my  writings  are  unspeakably  precious  rewards  for  the  labors  of 
my  life.  I  thank  you  for  the  happiness  and  encouragement  you 
have  given  me,  and  I  feel  myself  bound  by  your  affectionate  com- 
munication to  new  exertions  for  my  fellow-creatures. 

"  I  have  weighed  your  suggestion  as  to  the  good  I  might  do  by 
an  address  to  the  middle  classes  of  your  countiy,  and  I  find  m^' 
fears  stronger  than  my  hopes.  It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  understand 
a  foreign  country.  Feelings  and  prejudices  must  be  spared,  of 
which  he  knows  httle  or  nothing.     I  fear,  too,  that  any  good  effect 

1  To  Hamer  Stansfield,  Esq.,  Leeds,  England. 


486  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

I  might  propose  would  be  defeated  b}'  the  appearance  of  presump- 
tiiousness  in  such  an  address.  National  jealous}^  is  ver}'  unrea- 
sonable, and  might  refuse  to  be  schooled  b}'^  a  foreigner.  Let  rae 
add,  that  ^-our  partiality  seems  to  me  to  exaggerate  my  influence. 
I  state  these  difficulties,  in  the  belief  that  j-ou  will  see  some  weight 
in  them. 

"I  read  with  much  interest  the  pamphlet  from  the  imprisoned 
Chartists.  I  rejoiced  to  find  that  they  had  seized  on  so  many  great 
and  just  views.  Occasional  extravagances  were  to  be  expected 
from  such  men,  especially  under  what  the}^  deem  persecution.  I 
rejoice  that  they  see  so  clearly  that  the  laboring  classes  must  rise 
from  brutal  intemperance  and  ignorance,  if  they  would  cease  to  be 
treated  as  brutes.  They  show,  too,  their  sagacit}-  in  distrusting 
the  education  which  would  be  given  them  by  the  mass  of  the  aris- 
tocracy and  clergy.  It  would  be  a  servile  one.  Nothing  would 
discourage  me  more  than  the  success  of  the  clergy  in  getting  the 
education  of  the  countr}'  into  their  hands.  Religion,  as  it  is  called, 
would  then  become  associated  with  old  abuses  and  prejudices,  and 
the  spirit  of  reform  would  consequentl}'  become  irreligious,  so  that 
not  a  few  of  tlie  most  active  and  generous  spirits  in  the  communit}' 
would  be  found  in  tlie  ranks  of  infidelity.  Christianity  has  sufiTered 
from  nothing  so  much  as  from  its  being  seized  on  by  the  foes  of 
human  rights  and  social  progress.  It  is  plain,  from  the  pamphlet 
you  sent  me,  that  the  Chartists  have  no  conception  of  the  impor- 
tance of  true  religion,  and  especially  of  its  bearing  on  their  own 
cause.  They  understand  by  Christianity,  I  fear,  not  what  came 
from  the  poor,  houseless,  meek,  sympathizing  Prophet  of  Galilee, 
not  what  was  taught  from  the  fishing-boat  and  on  the  mountain, 
but  what  issues  from  cathedrals  and  mitred  men,  from  a  conser- 
vative corporation,  whose  s^'mpathies  are  with  '  the  powers  that  be.' 
This  misapprehension  and  want  of  religion  threaten  much  injury 
to  their  cause.  Religion,  in  the  generous,  not  sectarian,  meaning 
of  the  word,  has  this  grand  distinction  from  all  human  methods 
and  systems,  that,  whilst  it  restrains,  it  elevates  yet  more.  With- 
out it,  the  struggles  of  the  laboring  classes  for  rights  and  dignity 
are  anj-thing  but  hopeful. 

"  It  is  from  the  free  and  enlightened  spirits  of  the  middle  classes 
that  help  is  to  come  to  the  Chartist.  I  therefore  rejoiced  in  your 
Leeds  meeting,  as  fitted  to  bring  these  two  great  divisions  of  society 
nearer.  Nothing  will  soothe  and  tranquillize  the  Chartists  like 
sympathy,  like  some  proof  that  they  are  not  abandoned  by  the 
more  prosperous ;  and  to  tranquillize  them  is  a  great  end.  They 
can  gain  nothing  by  violence.     Their  progress,  I  fear,  will  be  slow. 


TRUE  EDUCATION.  487 

I  do  not  doubt  that  your  aristocrac}^  is  very  far  in  advance  of  every 
other.  But  all  possessors  of  exclusive  privileges  cling  to  them  as  to 
life,  and  hereditary  rulers  legislate  first  to  secure  their  own  power. 
Thus,  the  portion  of  society  for  whom  government  is  especially 
established,  and  who  ought  to  be  its  first  objects,  —  I  mean  the 
poor  and  the  weak,  —  are  the  last  to  share  its  benefits.  This  topic 
has  carried  me  so  far,  that  I  can  add  nothing  on  others  suggested 
l)y  your  packet.  Let  me  renew  my  thanks  to  you,  and  assure  you 
that  I  am  very  truly  yours,  &c." 

Dr.  Channing's  sympathies  went  freely  forth  to  the  toiling  multi- 
tudes of  every  grade ;  and,  among  other  injured  classes,  he  was 
much  interested  in  that  noble  body  of  men,  whom  the  mean  neglect 
of  an  intensely  selfish  commerce  has  so  long  kept  down  and  mas- 
tered by  a  system  of  precarious  support,  excessive  hardship,  and 
brutalizing  enjoyment,  —  the  sailors.  Feeling  how  much  all  nations 
are  indebted  to  the  courageous  sacrifices  of  these  generous  and 
thoughtless  beings,  and  what  base  returns  are  made  to  them  for  all 
their  sufferings,  he  rejoiced  in  every  attempt  to  secure  to  them  com- 
forts, refining  influences,  economical  habits,  intellectual  and  religious 
discipline,  and  an  established  position  in  society.  Accordingly, 
when  Father  Taylor  came  to  Boston,  Dr.  Channing  was  the  first  to 
give  him  efficient  support,  by  heading  the  subscription  list  for  his 
Bethel ;  and  from  that  time  forward  till  his  death  he  encouraged 
every  eff"ort  of  the  patriarch  of  seamen.  He  was  delighted,  when 
attending  at  the  sailors'  meeting,  to  watch  the  bronzed  faces  of  the 
weatherbeaten  tars  now  melt  into  tears,  now  brighten  into  smiles, 
while  their  sturdy  forms  swayed  to  and  fro,  as  the  heart-stirring 
eloquence  of  their  wonderful  preacher  swept  over  them  with  alter- 
nate gales  and  calms.  It  was  in  the  Federal  Street  Church  that 
Father  Taylor  first  pleaded  the  cause  of  his  brethren  before  a  crowded 
assembly  of  the  most  enlightened  and  munificent  citizens  of  Boston  ; 
and,  without  disparagement  to  the  many  devoted  friends  who  by 
heart  and  hand  have  for  years  upheld  his  noble  enterprise,  it  may  be 
truly  said,  that  to  no  one  was  his  gratitude  more  strong  and  constant 
than  to  Dr.  Channing. 

By  the  whole  tone  of  his  character,  and  his  habits  of  thought.  Dr. 
Channing  was  disposed  to  look  less  to  changes  in  external  condition, 
than  to  intellectual  culture  and  moral  development,  for  permanent 
reforms.  This  has  plainly  appeared  from  the  letters  already 
quoted.  His  great  desire  was  to  open  to  all  men  free  oppor- 
tunities for  the  highest  spiritual  refinement.  A  paper  written  for 
the  "Reformer,"  in  1837,  very  clearly  and  fully  presents  his  views 
upon  this  subject. 


488  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

"On  the  Education  of  the  People,  and  especially  of  the 
Laboring  Class.  —  What  is  education  ?  This  is  one  of  the  watch- 
words, almost  a  cant  word,  of  the  daj' ;  but  few  terms  are  so  vague. 
It  is  said  b}'  the  friends  of  the  working  classes,  tliat  their  first  great 
want  is  a  better  education.     Let  us  try  to  understand  what  this  is. 

"  The  great  end  of  education  is  not  to  train  a  man  to  get  a  hving. 
This  is  plain,  because  life  was  given  for  a  higher  end  than  simply  to 
toil  for  its  own  prolongation.  A  comfortable  subsistence  is,  indeed, 
veiy  important  to  the  purpose  of  life,  be  this  what  it  may.  A  man 
half  fed,  half  clothed,  and  fearing  to  perisli  from  famine  or  cold, 
will  be  too  crushed  in  spirit  to  do  the  proper  work  of  a  man.  He 
must  be  set  free  from  the  iron  grasp  of  want,  from  the  constant 
pressure  of  painful  sensations,  from  grinding,  ill-requited  toil.  Un- 
less a  man  be  trained  to  get  a  comfortable  support,  his  prospects  of 
improvement  and  hapi)iness  are  poor.  But  if  his  education  aims  at 
nothing  more,  his  life  will  turn  to  little  account. 

"  To  educate  a  man  is  to  unfold  his  faculties,  to  give  him  the  free 
and  full  use  of  his  powers,  and  especially  of  his  best  powers.  It  is, 
first,  to  train  the  intellect,  to  give  him  a  love  of  truth,  and  to  instruct 
him  in  the  processes  by  which  it  may  be  acquired.  It  is  to  train 
him  to  soundness  of  judgment,  to  teach  him  to  weigh  evidence,  and 
to  guard  him  against  the  common  sources  of  error.  It  is  to  give 
him  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  which  will  keep  his  faculties  in  action 
through  life.  It  is  to  aid  him  in  the  study  of  the  outward  world,  to 
initiate  him  into  the  physical  sciences,  so  that  he  will  understand  the 
principles  of  his  trade  or  business,  and  will  be  able  to  comprehend 
the  phenomena  which  are  continually  passing  before  his  eyes.  It  is 
to  make  him  acquainted  with  his  own  nature,  to  give  him  that  most 
important  means  of  improvement,  self-comprehension. 

"  In  the  next  place,  to  educate  a  man  is  to  train  the  conscience, 
to  give  him  a  quick,  keen  discernment  of  the  right,  to  teach  him 
dut}'  in  its  great  principles  and  minute  applications,  to  establish  in 
him  immovable  i)rineiplos  of  action.  It  is  to  show  him  his  true 
position  in  the  world,  his  true  relation  to  God  and  his  fellow-beings, 
and  the  immutable  obligations  laid  on  him  by  these.  It  is  to  in- 
spire him  with  the  idea  of  perfection,  to  give  him  a  high  moral  aim, 
and  to  show  how  this  may  be  maintained  in  the  commonest  toils,  and 
how  everything  may  be  made  to  contribute  to  its  accomplishment. 

"  Further,  to  educate  a  man  in  this  countr}'  is  to  train  him  to  be 
a  good  citizen,  to  establish  him  in  the  principles  of  political  science, 
to  make  him  acquainted  with  our  history,  government,  and  laws,  to 
teach  him  our  great  interests  as  a  nation,  and  tlie  policy  b}'  which 
they  are  to  be  advanced,  and  to  impress  him  deeply  with  his  respou- 


MANUAL   LABOR  SCHOOLS,  489 

sibilities,  his  great  trusts,  his  obhgations  to  disinterested  patriotism 
as  the  citizen  of  a  free  state. 

"Again,  to  educate  a  man  is  to  cultivate  his  imagination  and 
taste,  to  awaken  his  sensibility  to  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art,  to 
give  liini  the  capacity'  of  enjoying  the  writings  of  men  of  genius,  to 
prepare  liiic  for  the  innocent  and  refined  pleasures  of  literature. 

"  I  will  onl}'  add,  that  to  educate  a  man  is  to  cultivate  his  powers 
of  expression,  so  that  he  can  bring  out  his  thoughts  with  clearness 
and  strength,  and  exert  a  moral  influence  over  liis  fellow-creatures. 
This  is  essential  to  the  true  enjoyment  and  improvement  of  social 
life 

"This  last  topic  suggests  the  true  mode  of  educating  the  labor- 
ing classes.  It  is  by  manual  labor  schools  that  this  great  achieve- 
ment of  civilization  and  philanthropy  is  to  cease  to  be  a  dream,  is 
to  become  a  reality.  In  no  institutions  liave  the  laboring  classes 
such  an  interest.  A  philanthroi)ist  who  desires  the  happiness  and 
honor  of  giving  the  most  effectual  spring  to  social  progress  cannot 
better  employ  himself  than  in  studying,  improving,  and  extending 
these.  They  are  yet  in  their  infancy,  and  need  many  experiments 
to  determine  the  best  modes  of  action.  Let  the  workingman's 
friend  turn  his  mind  to  these. 

"  I  have  said  the  rich  will  repel  all  attempts  to  force  them  to  the 
support  of  plans  for  universal  education.  If,  however,  the  enlight- 
ened among  the  laboring  classes,  and  their  enlightened  friends, 
will  set  in  motion  a  system  of  improvement  which  promises  good 
and  great  results,  the  rich  will  not  be  found  wanting  in  sympathy 
and  benevolent  aid.  They  cannot  and  ouglit  not  to  be  driven  ;  but 
many  among  them  would  contribute  liberally  and  joyfully  to  any 
wise  practicable  effort  for  elevating  the  laboring  classes.  They 
must  see,  however,  the  practicableness  of  tlie  scheme.  Their  scep- 
ticism must  be  overcome  b}'^  seeing  tlie  mass  of  the  people  in  ear- 
nest to  improve  themselves.  Such  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  many 
would  be  more  liberally  seconded  by  the  philanthropy  of  the  age 
than  an}'  benevolent  project  to  which  it  is  now  pledged.  Thus  the 
union  of  all  classes  would  be  accomplished.  All  would  labor 
together  for  the  advancement  of  the  human  race." 

This  paper  shows  how  clear  was  Dr.  Channing's  conviction,  that 
"the  great  work  of  tlie  age,"  as  he  said  in  a  letter  to  Sismondi, 
"  is  the  diffusion  of  intelligence  and  enlightened  religion  through 
the  mass  of  the  people."^  And  the  following  extracts  will  manifest 
the    comprehensiveness  of  his  desires  and  plans  for  pouring  the 

*  See  his  Address  on  the  Present  Age.  Works,  Vol.  VI.  pp.  147-182.  One 
Volume  Edition,  pp.  159-172. 


490  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

fullest  measure  of  illumination  upon  every  class  in  the  community, 
from  the  most  neglected  to  the  most  privileged. 

"Gentlemen: — The  attention  of  the  Association  of  Ministers 
in  Boston  and  its  vicinit}'  has  been  called  to  the  condition  of  chil- 
dren and  young  persons  employed  in  manufactories.  From  the 
representations  made  to  them  of  the  neglected  state  of  this  very 
interesting  class  of  the  communit}^  they  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
obtain  information  on  the  subject  from  different  parts  of  the  Com- 
monwealth, and  for  this  purpose  addressed  a  circular  letter  to 
several  ministers,  within  whose  parishes  manufactories  are  estab- 
lished. The  answers  to  this  circular  have  not  been  as  numerous 
and  definite  as  they  had  hoped  ;  but  still  the}'  have  derived  from 
them  several  hints  which  they  consider  useful,  and  which  they  re- 
spectfuU}'  submit  to  the  honorable  committee  to  which  this  subject 
is  referred. 

' '  We  do  not  deem  it  necessary  to  enlarge  on  the  importance  of 
giving  all  possible  efRcac}'  to  the  wise  provisions  which  this  Com- 
monwealth has  made  for  extending  the  means  of  education  to  all 
orders  Of  the  communit3\  The  laws  on  this  subject  express  the 
deep  conviction  which  was  fixed  in  the  breasts  of  our  ancestors, 
that  the  good  citizen  is  to  be  formed  in  youth,  and  that  free  insti- 
tutions are  safe  onl}'  in  the  hands  of  a  people  who  have  been  trained 
to  intelligence  and  virtue.  Legislators  cannot  too  solicitousl}' 
guard  against  measures  which  tend  to  place  any  portion  of  the 
young  be3'ond  the  reach  of  instruction,  and  to  expose  them  to  cor- 
rupting influences,  which  will  almost  necessarily  unfit  them  for  the 
duties  of  men  and  citizens. 

"It  is  to  be  feared,  that,  without  much  care,  eflJects  of  this 
unhapp}'  character  will  be  produced  bj-  the  incorporation  of  manu- 
facturing companies,  and  by  the  extension  of  manufacturing  insti- 
tutions ;  and  it  is  conceived  that  legislative  provision  cannot  too 
early  be  made  to  resist  this  spreading  evil. 

"It  is  well  known  that  in  these  establishments  a  large  proportion 
of  the  labor  is  performed  by  children  and  young  persons.  To  some 
of  these  young  persons  it  is  a  benefit  that  they  are  received  into 
manufactories,  as  in  this  way  they  are  taken  from  the  streets,  from 
beggary,  and  from  idleness,  and  are  early  accustomed  to  exertions 
which  procure  them  a  comfortable  and  honest  support.  But  a 
manufactory  abounds  in  temptations,  and,  unless  attention  be  given 
to  their  minds  and  morals,  we  have  every  reason  to  apprehend  that 
their  characters  will  be  depraved,  and  that  their  future  lives  will 
prove  not  only  ruinous  to  themselves,  but  most  pernicious  to  the 
communit}'. 


CHILDREN   IN  FACTORIES.  491 

"  A  child  who  enters  a  manufactoiy  is  generally-  removed  from 
the  care  of  parents,  and  from  the  restraints  and  meUoratino- 
influences  of  domestic  Ufe.  He  finds  himself  almost  continually 
surrounded  b^^  numbers  of  his  own  age,  among  whom  some  have 
contracted  bad  habits,  and  are  prepared  to  teach  him  the  worst 
vices.  His  employment  is  made  up  of  a  constant  repetition  of 
movements  which  require  little  thought,  and  are  very  poorly 
adapted  to  unfold  his  faculties.  Does  not  e\ery  intelligent  parent 
immediately  discern  the  tendencies  of  this  mode  of  life,  and  feel 
the  importance  of  counteracting  them  b^-  instruction  and  moral 
disciphne?  Shall  these  children  be  abandoned  to  a  degradation 
worse  than  death,  in  the  bosom  of  a  Christian  community,  and 
under  a  government  which  professes  to  respect  the  obligations  of 
Christianity?  .... 

"It  is,  therefore,  respectfully  proposed  that  an  act  be  passed, 
requiring  that  ui  each  maiuifactory  a  convenient  room  be  provided 
in  which  the  children  may  be  taught,  and  in  which  all  the  laborers, 
if  removed  to  a  distance  from  the  place  of  worship,  may  receive 
such  instruction  as  the  minister  of  the  parish  may  be  able  to  give 
them  ;  that  in  each  manufactory  containing  more  than chil- 
dren under  the  age  of years,  a  male  and  female  teacher  of 

good  character  be  employed  at  least  months  in  every  year ; 

that  during  this  period  the  children  be  permitted  and  required  to 

attend  school hours  each  day  ;  that  the  youngest  children,  at 

least,  be  taught  in  the  daytime,  and  not  in  the  evening,  when  they 
are  too  exhausted  to  receive  instruction  ;  and  that,  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year,  certain  portions  of  the  day,  or  at  least  of  Saturday,  be 
allowed  them  for  relaxation,  that  they  may  not  be  obliged  to  give 
up  the  Lord's  day  to  amusement. 

"It  is  hoped  that  this  subject  will  not  be  dismissed  as  unim- 
portant. These  children,  it  should  be  remembered,  will  one  day 
be  men  and  women,  citizens  and  heads  of  families.  They  will 
influence  the  community  while  they  live,  and  will  transmit  their 
character  to  the  succeeding  age.  All  wise  legislators  have  felt  the 
importance  of  education,  and  have  laid  the  foundation  of  national 
prosperity  in  the  good  habits  and  principles  communicated  to  the 
young. 

"  That  judicious  provisions  on  this  subject  will  be  beneficial  to 
the  proprietors  of  manufactories  cannot  be  doubted.  What  better 
pledge  of  success  can  they  have  than  the  good  character  of  those 
whom  they  employ  ?  They  will  also  be  able  to  ol)tain  children  on 
more  favorable  terms,  in  proportion  as  parents  shall  lose  their  fear 
of  the  corrupting  tendency  of  manufacturing  establishments.    It  is, 


492  SOCIAL   REFORMS. 

therefore,  hoped  that  the  wisdom  of  the  legislature  will  establish 
some  general  provisions  for  the  object  now  proposed,  an  object 
which  sound  policy,  humanit}',  and  religion  concur  in  recommend- 
ing to  their  deliberate  attention."  ^ 

1825.2  "  The  young  men  of  the  city  may  be  divided  into  three 
classes. 

"  The  first  consists  of  young  men  of  education,  and  the  sons  of 
opulent  iamilies,  who  may  belong  to  what  is  commonly  called  the 
first  class  of  society.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  state  of 
morals  among  these  has  decidedly  improved  within  a  few  years. 
The  standard  of  character  is  higher  than  formerl}-^ 

"•  The  second  class  consists  of  apprentices  in  stores  and  shops. 
The  condition  of  these  is,  in  many  respects,  unfavorable.  It  is 
believed  that  the  sense  of  responsibility  with  regard  to  apprentices 
is  not  as  strong  in  masters  as  formerly,  and  that  they  are  less 
watched  over.  Another  consideration  is,  that  the  greater  part  of 
them  come  froin  the  country',  and  the  change  of  residence  is  of 
itself  no  small  trial  to  the  character.  On  arriving  here,  they  are 
placed  in  boarding-houses,  where  they  are  not  held  amenable  to 
the  heads  of  the  family,  but  are  left  very  much  to  themselves,  and 
to  one  another's  influence.  Most  of  them  have  no  friends  or  rela- 
tions in  town,  among  whom  the}'  can  pass  their  evenings  and 
leisure  time,  and  therefore  resort  to  public  places,  and  are  more 
easil}'  drawn  into  criminal  pleasures.  Many  neglect  public  worship 
for  want  of  accommodations  in  our  churches.  They  cannot  bu}- 
pews,  single  seats  are  not  easily  obtained,  and  Sunday  is  too  often 
spent  in  riding,  or  reading  novels,  if  not  in  less  innocent  employ- 
ments. 

"  To  meet  these  great  evils,  we  recommend  the  following  meas- 
ures :  — 

"1.  That  a  committee  be  appointed  to  visit  and  inspect  the 
Apprentices'  Library,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  it 
contains  the  best  moral  and  religious  books  for  readers  of  their  age 
and  condition,  and  of  supplying  what  deficiencies  maj'  exist. 

"2.  It  is  thought  ver3'  important,  that  in  all  our  new  churches 
a  number  of  pews  should  be  reserved,  to  be  rented  in  single  seats, 
and  that  pews  offered  for  sale  in  the  old  churches  should  be  turned 
to  the  same  use.  We  believe  that  great  good  would  be  the  result. 
So  great  is  the  respect  for  religious  institutions  here,  that  a  young 

*  To  a  Committee  of  tlie  Massachusetts  Legislature. 

2  Report  of  tlie  Committee  appointed  by  tiie  Wednesday  Evening  Associa- 
tion to  consider  tlie  State  of  Morals  among  the  Young  Men  of  the  City,  and  the 
Means  of  improving  it. 


YOUNG  MEN.  493 

man  who  has  no  place  of  worship  feels  that  something  is  want- 
ing to  a  good  standing  in  society ;  and  this  motive,  joined  with 
higher  ones,  it  is  thought,  would  lead  them  to  procure  seats  with 
eagerness. 

"3.  It  is  recommended  that  a  Sunday  evening  lecture  be  in- 
stituted in  winter,  expresslj'  for  3'oung  men,  and  tliat  a  syllabus  of 
the  topics,  — all  of  which  shall  be  specially  adapted  to  their  con- 
dition, dangers,  wants,  &c.,  —  shall  be  published.  It  is  well  known 
that  some  of  the  most  important  topics  for  this  class  of  hearers  can- 
not be  discussed  in  a  promiscuous  assembly,  and  there  is  something 
particularly  attractive  in  services  intended  for  one  class  only. 

"Another  measure  will  be  recommended  under  the  next  head. 

"  We  now  proceed  to  the  third  class  of  young  men,  consisting  of 
the  apprentices  of  mechanics,  and  the  sons  of  laborers.  The  moral 
condition  of  these,  we  fear,  is  growing  worse,  rather  than  improv- 
ing ;  and  the  cause  is  obvious.  The  free  use  of  ardent  spirits  among 
their  masters  and  fellow-laborers  exposes  them  to  strong  tempta- 
tion. Not  a  few  of  them,  we  suppose,  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
daily  allowance  of  spirits  made  to  workmen,  and  are  thus  trained 
to  intemperance  by  regular  indulgence.  Accordingly,  we  know  no 
method  of  benefiting  these  young  men  so  important  as  to  discourage 
the  practice  of  giving  a  regular  allowance  of  spirits  to  laborers. 

"Another  suggestion  we  would  make  is,  that  the  committee 
already  recommended  should  be  instructed  to  inquire  into  the 
nature  and  operation  of  the  institutions  lately  formed  in  Great 
Britain,  and  particularly  Scotland,  for  giving  lectures  to  young 
mechanics  on  the  scientific  principles  of  their  various  arts.  It  is 
said  that  these  have  awakened  much  interest,  and  promise  to  do 
much  in  calling  forth  the  dormant  intellect  in  the  more  neglected 
classes  of  society ;  and  we  may  certainly  anticipate  a  more  bene- 
ficial result  in  this  country  than  in  Europe. 

"  The  same  committee  may  also  inquire  whether  no  interesting 
instruction  can  be  given  in  the  evening  to  the  preceding  class  of 
apprentices,  suited  to  prepare  them  for  a  more  intelligent  prosecu- 
tion of  business.  Whatever  will  enlarge  their  minds  and  occupy 
their  evenings  will  improve  their  morals." 

"  Mai/  13,  1834,  Tuesday}  Among  the  good  signs  of  the  times 
is  the  demand  for  better  means  of  education.  In  this  community 
we  understand  more  and  more  that  our  kindness  for  our  children 
cannot  be  expressed  more  wisely  and  efl'ectually  than  by  placing 
them  under  the  best  instruction.     But  we  must  not  think  that  we 

1  To  George  Ticknor,  Esq. 


494  SOCIAL  EEFORMS. 

have  fully  discbargerl  oiir  obligations  in  this  respect.  The  pro\nsion 
for  education  among  us  bears  no  just  proportion  to  the  wealth  of 
our  cit}'.  That  more  is  done  here  for  the  instruction  of  the  labor- 
ing classes  than  is  done  elsewhere  may  be  granted,  though  our 
superiorit}^  on  this  point  is  not  as  indisputable  as  we  commonly 
imagine.  But  who  will  pretend  that  the  children  of  the  more  pros- 
perous classes  enjoy  the  means  of  as  thorough  and  effectual  a  train- 
ing of  their  intellectual  and  moral  powers  as  their  parents  can  afford 
and  the  progress  of  the  age  will  admit?  And  3'et  it  is  our  highest 
social  duty  to  give  the  greatest  advantages  to  our  children.  There 
is  no  use  of  property  so  sacred,  so  binding.  To  spend  wealth  in 
luxur}'  and  show,  whilst  the  minds  and  characters  of  the  rising 
generation  are  neglected,  ought  to  be  ranked  among  the  greatest 
social  crimes. 

"  Our  College  affords  important  means  for  training  young  men 
for  the  professions.  But  a  much  greater  number  of  the  young  in 
the  prosperous  classes  are  destined  to  mercantile  life,  and  for  these 
no  sufficient  provision  is  made.  Ver}'  man}'  parents,  who  are  una- 
ble or  indisposed  to  give  their  children  an  education  for  a  profes- 
sion, are  still  able  to  afford  them  more  extensi\'e  advantages  than 
are  now  found  in  our  schools ;  and  to  procure  these  advantages  is 
among  their  first  obligations.  If  any  class  of  men  should  be  well 
educated,  it  is  the  commercial.  In  this  are  found  a  very  large  pro- 
portion of  our  most  opulent  and  influential  men.  None  do  more  to 
determine  public  measures  and  to  give  a  character  to  the  commu- 
nity ;  and  yet  how  little  is  now  done  to  train  up  men  of  business 
for  this  high  responsibility  ! 

"  Education  has  three  great  objects. 

"  The  first  is  to  store  the  mind  with  useful  knowledge,  by  which 
we  mean,  not  onl}-  such  as  will  have  a  direct  bearing  on  the  busi- 
ness of  life,  but  such  as  will  be  a  foundation  of  further  acquisitions 
of  knowledge,  and  of  a  wise  use  of  leisure,  in  all  future  years. 

"The  second,  which  is  still  more  important,  is  to  give  force  to 
the  intellect ;  to  give  it  the  command  of  all  its  powers ;  to  train  it 
to  labor,  to  concentration  of  thought,  to  patient  and  accurate  inves- 
tigation, to  broad  viewsj  of  subjects,  to  the  true  methods  of  reason- 
ing, and  to  soundness  of  judgment. 

"  The  third  and  most  important  object  is  to  fix  those  great  prin- 
ciples of  duty,  and  awaken  those  sentiments,  which  will  insure  the 
right  and  honorable  use  of  the  knowledge  and  the  intellectual  vigor 
of  which  we  have  spoken.  We  all  feel  that  to  quicken  the  mind  of 
a  child  to  this  powerful  and  noble  action  is  to  confer  the  greatest 
good.     AVe  can  conceive  none  greater. 


MERCANTILE  EDUCATION.  495 

"That  our  present  schools  do  much  good,  in  giving  habits  of 
order  and  industry  to  the  child,  is  cheerfully  granted.  But  they 
are  designed  for  the  first  years  of  life,  and  dismiss  the  child  before 
he  becomes  conscious  of  his  powers,  or  can  exert  them  vigorously 
on  the  most  important  subjects. 

"It  is  believed  that,  after  the  training  of  our  common  schools, 
two  years  should,  if  possible,  be  devoted  to  the  study  of  branches 
which  have  a  direct  tendencj-  to  task,  strengthen,  and  elevate  the 
mind.  These  branches  are,  —  1st.  Natural  history  and  philosophy  ; 
2d.  Civil  history;  3d.  Moral  science,  including  both  intellectual 
and  moral  philosophy;  4th.  Politics,  including  the  principles  of 
government  generally,  and  of  our  own  constitution  in  particular, 
poHtical  economy,  the  true  interests  of  our  country,  &c.  ;  5th.  The 
Evidences  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,  and  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  interpreting  the  Scriptures. 

"This  course  should  be  decidedly p/nhsopkical,  that  is,  it  should 
aim  to  lead  the  mind  to  the  comprehension  of  great  principles  in 
every  department;  at  the  same  time,  it  should  have  a  practical 
character,  by  teaching  how  all  knowledge  may  be  applied  to  the 
formation  of  a  \irtuous  character,  and  to  the  discharge  of  our 
duties  as  citizens  and  members  of  families,  as  related  to  the  human 
race  and  to  God.  Two  years'  faithful  study  of  the  branches  now 
enumerated  would  not  only  store  the  mind  with  important  truth, 
but  would  awaken  new  life  and  energy,  and  probably  give  a  new 
character  to  the  life. 

"  The  question  now  comes,  How  shall  this  bettei  education  be 
given  to  young  men  not  destined  to  the  liberal  professions? 

"  It  has  been  hoped  by  some  that  this  education  may  be  given 
by  Harvard  University,  which  has  an  extensive  apparatus,  capable 
of  teaching  many  more  than  are  now  benefited  by  it.  Some  have 
thought  til  at  the  University  might  give  in  this  city  such  a  course 
of  instruction  as  is  needed.  It  has  been  thought  by  others,  that, 
whilst  the  instruction  is  given  in  Cambridge,  the  young  men  may 
reside  with  their  parents  in  town.  Others,  again,  favor  the  plan 
of  a  new  institution,  designed  expressly  to  prepare  young  men  for 
mercantile  life,  and  for  a  right  use  of  the  influence  which  commer- 
cial prosperit}'  bestows 

"There  is  a  particular  call  for  attention  to  this  subject  at  the 
present  moment.  It  is  understood  that  the  Corporation  of  the  Col- 
lege are  now  deliberating  on  the  question,  whether  the  College, 
whilst  especially  devoted  to  the  preparation  of  young  men  for  the 
professions,  may  not  also  give  a  valuable  education  to  those  who 
are  looking  forward  to  other  pursuits." 


496  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

'•'■June  10,  1834.^  My  dear  Sir:  —  The  fliscussions  of  the  last 
evening  and  the  preceding  showed  very  pLainlj'  that  the  only  prac- 
ticable method  of  improving  our  sj'stem  of  education  at  present  is, 
to  enlighten  and  excite  parents,  to  lead  them  to  feel  what  they  can 
and  ought  to  do  on  this  point.  I  hope,  therefore,  that  the  result 
of  these  discussions  will  be  the  exhibition  of  our  leading  views  to 
such  parents  as  may  be  able  and  disposed  to  act  on  them.  I  have 
accordingly  put  these  views  on  paper,  and  enclose  them  to  you.  It 
seems  to  me  that,  if  a  circular  of  this  kind  could  be  placed  in  the 
hands  of  men  of  business,  who  have  children  needing  a  better 
course  of  instruction,  and  especially  if  it  should  bear  the  signatures 
of  the  gentlemen  who  attended  our  meetings,  an  important  step 
would  be  taken  towards  our  object. 

"  I  say  a  circular  of  this  kind^  for  I  have  no  desire  that  this  paper 
should  go  abroad.  It  expresses,  perhaps,  the  views  of  the  writer 
in  some  respects  more  strongly-  than  others  might  think  expedient." 

"  Circular. 

"  At  a  meeting  recently  held  b}'  a  few  gentlemen,  chiefly  engaged 
in  commerce,  to  inquire  whether  provision  cannot  be  made  for  the 
more  liberal  education  of  boys  designed  for  active  life,  several 
views  were  taken,  which  it  is  thought  may  be  usefull}^  communi- 
cated to  the  public. 

' '  It  was  the  opinion  of  all  present,  that  boys  need  not  enter  upon 
their  apprenticeship  in  the  counting-room  before  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen years  of  age ;  that  four  or  five  years  of  apprenticeship,  pre- 
ceded h^  good  instruction,  are  fully  adequate  to  the  preparation  of 
a  j-oungman  for  business,  and  that,  consequently,  two  or  three 
very  important  years  of  life  are  now  lost  by  the  habit  of  beginning 
apprenticeship  at  the  age  of  fourteen. 

"  It  was  the  opinion  of  all,  that  gentlemen  who  declined  to  send 
their  sons  to  college,  as  being  an  institution  not  suited  to  prepare 
them  for  active  life,  are  bound  to  give  them  a  better  education  than 
they  now  receive  ;  and  still  more,  it  was  believed  that  in  general 
tliej'  are  desirous  to  do  it ;  —  so  that  the  suggestion  of  any  practi- 
cal method  can  hardly  fail  to  be  adopted  by  at  least  a  sufficient 
number  to  insure  a  fair  experiment. 

"  It  was  the  opinion  of  all,  that  gentlemen  having  the  means 
should  not  rest  until  they  have  provided  for  their  children  the  most 
extensive  and  liberal  instruction  which  is  consistent  with  effectual 
preparation  for  their  future  calling;  that  the  object  should  be,  to 

'  To  Hon.  Nathan  Appleton. 


THOROUGH  TEACHING.  497 

train  and  prepare  them,  not  only  for  the  acquisition  of  propert}-, 
but  for  the  intelligent  and  faithful  performance  of  their  duties  as 
freemen,  citizens,  and  heads  of  families,  for  the  support  of  our 
public  institutions,  for  a  wise  and  honorable  use  of  property,  for 
the  improvement  of  their  minds  according  to  their  opportunities 
through  their  whole  lives,  and  for  the  exertion  of  a  salutarj-  influ- 
ence on  public  opinion  and  on  all  the  great  interests  of  society. 
It  was  thought  that  every  man  of  property  should  educate  his  sons, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  be  decidedly  useful  members  of  the  commu- 
nity, to  contribute  to  its  progress  in  knowledge,  sound  morals,  and 
tlie  elegant  arts,  and  to  bear  a  part  in  securing  to  us  the  honorable 
distinction  of  being  an  intelligent,  well-principled,  and  higlil}-  civil- 
ized people. 

"  It  is  plain  that  an  education  suited  to  this  end  must  comprise, 
among  other  branches,  a  more  extensive  teaching  of  the  histor}^ 
constitution,  government,  and  interests  of  our  country,  and  of 
moral  science  as  applicable  to  commerce,  and  to  all  the  relations 
of  life,  than  is  at  present  given  in  an}'  of  our  institutions." 

1835.^  "  I  suggested  for  consideration  a  means  of  making 
college  more  extensively  useful,  namely,  the  establishment  of  a 
regular  course  of  instruction  for  those  who  do  not  incline  or  have 
not  opportunity  to  study  the  languages,  who  do  not  wish  to  be 
trained  for  one  of  the  professions,  but  who  can  command  time  and 
money,  and  have  capacit}',  for  a  higher  instruction  than  is  given  in 
an}'  of  our  schools.  I  proposed  that  this  course  should  extend 
through  two  years  ;  that  it  should  comprehend  moral  and  political 
philosophy,  political  economy,  the  principles  of  our  own  govern- 
ment, and  the  physical  sciences,  and  that  the  teaching  in  these 
branches  should  be  as  thorough  as  that  now  given  in  college. 

' '  The  present  system  at  Cambridge  seems  to  me  very  important, 
and  I  wish  to  extend,  instead  of  narrowing  it;  but  I  feel  strongly 
the  importance  and  need  of  another  course,  which  will  be  at  once 
practical  and  philosophical,  and  which,  by  dropping  the  more 
ornamental  branches,  will  not  be  too  extensive  for  many  now  ex- 
cluded from  college.  I  believe  that  such  a  course  would  have  an 
immense  influence  on  those  who  should  pass  through  it,  and  would 
do  much  to  raise  the  intellectual  character  of  the  community.  A 
young  man  who  should  spend  two  years  in  philosophical  studies, 
in  continuous  investigation  of  the  laws  of  moral  and  material 
nature,  would  become  intellectually  a  new  man.  This  systematical 
application  of  the  mind  for  the  acquisition  of  general  principles  is 

^  To  Josiah  Quincy,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Harvard  University. 
32 


498  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

much  more  worth}'  to  be  called  philosophical  education  than  the 
study  of  language,  and  I  wish  that  as  many  young  men  as  possible 
ma}'  enjoy  the  benefits  of  it. 

' '  The  education  of  the  people  seems  to  me  more  and  more  to  be 
the  object  to  which  the  College  should  be  directed.  This  institu- 
tion has  always  existed,  and  exists  now,  for  the  people.  It  trains 
young  men,  not  so  much  for  themselves,  as  that  they  ma}'  be  quali- 
fied to  render  services  to  the  community  ;  and  perhaps  the}'  render 
no  higher  service  than  by  spreading  their  own  intelligence,  and 
giving  a  higher  tone  to  the  public  mind.  Cannot  the  College  do 
more  for  this  end?  I  hope  it  may.  If  it  can  furnish  a  course  of 
philosophical  instruction  which  can  be  pursued  by  a  greater  number 
than  now  pass  through  college,  if  it  can  extend  the  demand  for 
this  higher  education  by  supplying  its  means,  and  if  it  can  give  a 
rank  to  those  who  enjoy  this  advantage,  it  will  render  inestimable 
service  to  the  community." 

1836.  "  I  have  long  seen  with  much  satisfaction  the  diffusion 
through  our  country  of  institutions  for  the  intellectual  culture  of 
the  people.  I  have  rejoiced  in  the  establishment  of  lyceums  and 
popular  lectures,  and  I  feel  that  every  one  is  bound  to  do  what  he 
can  to  forward  these  good  works.  By  this  I  do  not  mean  that  I 
consider  such  institutions  in  the  present  form  as  fitted  to  meet  all 
our  wants.  The  lectures  are  too  disconnected,  and  too  generally 
intended  for  mere  amusement,  to  stir  up  the  minds  of  the  hearers 
to  any  strong  and  enduring  activity.  But  we  must  not  despise  the 
day  of  small  things.  A  lyceum  or  young  men's  association, 
though  liable  to  the  charge  of  giving  superficial  knowledge,  is  still 
a  promise,  a  harbinger,  of  something  higher.  It  is  a  sign  that  the 
people  are  beginning  to  hunger  for  more  refined  pleasure  and  in- 
creasing knowledge.  It  shows  that  intellectual  life  is  at  work,  and 
spreading  through  the  community.  Such  an  omen  I  hail  with  joy. 
As  a  people,  we  have  been,  and  still  are,  given  too  exclusively  to 
outward  goods,  to  accumulation  of  property,  to  general  indulgence. 
We  hardly  seem  to  have  discovered  that  we  have  minds  of  heavenly 
origin,  and  created  for  endless  progress.  The  body,  not  the 
thinking  soul,  has  been  our  care.  Anything  which  shows  that  we 
are  waking  up  to  the  greatness  of  our  own  spirits,  and  desire  to 
improve  them,  is  a  good  sign,  and  must  be  welcomed  by  every 
Christian  and  friend  of  his  race.  In  this  view,  I  rejoice  to  hear, 
as  I  travel,  that  lyceums  and  similar  institutions  are  springing  up 
in  the  land,  and,  if  a  good  word  will  help  them  onward,  no  one  is 
free  to  withhold  it. 

"At  the  foundation  of  every  good  institution  there  lies  some 


HON.  HORACE  MANN.  499 

great  idea,  which  ought  to  he  understood.  On  what  idea  does 
your  association  rest?  It  is  that  of  human  progress,  that  of 
man's  capacity  of  intellectual  growth.  Here,  indeed,  is  the  grand 
tliought  on  which  all  religious,  moral,  and  intellectual  institutions 
rest.  Your  institution  is  undoubtedly  established  for  the  pleasure 
it  will  bring,  and  it  is  useful  as  offering  an  innocent  recreation. 
But  were  this  all,  it  would  be  of  little  moment.  A  consciousness 
of  the  greatness  of  the  soul  in  every  human  being  is  the  foundation 
of  the  lyceum." 

But  it  was  for  the  common  schools  that  Dr.  Channing  felt  the 
deepest  and  most  anxious  intei-est.  On  their  success  he  saw  that 
the  fate  of  our  free  institutions  in  a  great  measure  depends.  Every 
effort  to  cleanse  these  fountain-heads  of  popular  virtue  and  intelli- 
gence met,  therefore,  with  his  most  cordial  sympathy  and  uncom- 
promising aid.  And  few  events  within  his  immediate  neighborhood 
ever  gave  him  such  immediate  and  lasting  joy,  as  when  the  Hon. 
Horace  Mann  resigned  his  high  position  in  the  political  world,  and, 
turning  IVom  prospects  which  would  have  bewildered  the  judgment 
of  most  men,  consecrated  his  rare  powers  of  heart  and  head  to  the 
cause  of  the  education  of  the  people.  While  partisans  and  world 
lings  smiled  or  scoffed  at  what  seemed  eccentric  disinterestedness, 
Dr.  Channing  addressed  to  Mr.  Mann  the  following  brief  letter  of 
congratulation  and  encouragement. 

'■'■Newport,  August  19,  1837.  My  dear  Sir:  —  I  understand 
that  you  have  given  30urself  to  the  cause  of  education  in  our 
Commonwealth.  I  rejoice  in  it.  Nothing  could  give  me  greater 
pleasure.  I  have  long  desired  that  some  one  uniting  all  your 
qualifications  should  devote  himself  to  this  work.  You  could  not 
find  a  nobler  station.  Government  has  no  nobler  one  to  give. 
You  must  allow  me  to  labor  under  you  according  to  my  opportuni- 
ties. If  at  any  time  I  can  aid  30U,  you  must  let  me  know,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  converse  with  you  always  about  your  operations- 
Wlien  will  the  low,  degrading  party  quarrels  of  the  country  cease, 
and  the  better  minds  come  to  think  what  can  be  done  towards  a 
substantial,  generous  improvement  of  tlie  community?  '  INIy  ear 
is  pained,  ni}'  ver^'  soul  is  sick,'  with  the  monotonous  yet  furious 
clamors  about  currency,  banks,  &c.,  when  the  spiritual  interests  of 
the  communit}'  seem  hardly  to  he  recognized  as  having  any  reality. 

"  If  we  can  but  turn  the  wonderful  energy  of  this  people  into  a 
right  channel,  what  a  new  heaven  and  earth  must  be  realized 
among  us  !  And  1  do  not  despair.  Your  willingness  to  consecrate 
yourself  to  this  work  is  a  happy  omen.     You  do  not  stand  alone, 


500  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

or  form  a  rare  exception  to  the  times.     There  must  be  many  to  be 
touched  b}'  the  same  trutlis  which  are  stirring  3'ou. 

"My  hope  is,  that  the  pursuit  will  give  3'ou  new  vigor  and 
health.  If  you  can  keep  strong  outwardly,  I  have  no  fear  about 
the  efficiency  of  the  spirit.  1  write  in  haste,  for  I  am  not  very 
strong,  and  any  effort  exhausts  me  ;  but  I  wanted  to  express  mj' 
sympathy,  and  to  wish  you  God-speed  on  3-our  wa}-. 

"  Your  sincere  friend." 

Dr.  Channing's  readiness  to  co-operate  in  Mr.  Mann's  labors  as 
Secretary  of  the  Massachusetts  Board  of  Education  was  proved 
a  few  months  afterward,  when  he  attended  a  Convention  for 
establishing  a  County  Association  for  the  Improvement  of  Com- 
mon Schools  at  Taunton,  and  followed  Mr.  Mann's  splendid  and 
eloquent  address  with  quite  a  long  extemporaneous  speech.  A 
very  imperfect  newspaper  report  is  the  only  remaining  record  of 
these  remarks. 

The  views  indicated  in  this  speech  led  Dr.  Channing  to  use  all 
his  influence  to  raise  the  profession  of  a  teacher  to  its  rightful  posi- 
tion of  honor  in  the  communit}',  and  consequently  he  took  every 
suitable  occasion  to  aid  the  Normal  Schools.  How  strong  was  his 
desire  to  prepare  teachers  fitly  for  their  responsible  function  ap- 
pears in  the  following  letter. 

'■'■  Neivport,  August  24,  1841.^  I  understand  that  a  wish  has 
been  expressed  that  your  letter  to  me  on  the  Normal  School  at 
Lexington  should  be  published.  I  wish  it  may  be,  and  shall  rejoice 
if  others  may  read  it  with  the  same  delight  which  it  gave  to  me. 
Your  picture  almost  realized  the  ideal  I  have  formed  of  a  school. 
The  relation  of  parent  and  child  between  Mr.  Pierce  and  his 
pupils  is  to  me  one  of  the  most  beautiful  views  of  the  institu- 
tion, for  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  ordinar}'  connection  be- 
tween teachers  and  taught  is  an^-thing  but  love  ;  and  where  this 
is  wanting,  the  intellectual  development  must  be  very  defective. 
The  unhappiness  is,  that  the  understanding  nowadays  works  so 
little  in  union  with  the  moral  affections,  that  our  schools  and  higher 
seminaries  act  so  partially  on  the  soul.  The  precision  which,  as 
3^ou  say,  distinguishes  Mr.  Pierce's  teaching,  is  of  essential  and 
special  importance  in  a  normal  school.  All  of  us  who  have  been 
instructors  know  how  much  we  failed,  at  first,  from  want  of  pre- 
cise ideas  on  subjects  which  we  thought  we  understood.  We  had 
to  become  learners,  to  bring  our  vague  ideas  to  a  new  clearness, 
before  we  could  make  them  tangible  to  our  pupils. 
1  To  Miss  Mary  T.  Peabody. 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT.  501 

"  But  I  will  make  no  comments  on  3'our  statement.  It  gave  me 
new  confidence  in  normal  schools.  I  have  felt,  as  j^ou  well  know, 
a  deep  interest  in  their  success,  though  perhaps  3'ou  do  not  know 
all  the  reasons  of  it.  I  began  life  as  a  teacher,  and  my  own  ex- 
perience has  made  me  feel  the  importance  of  training  the  teacher 
for  his  work.  I  was  not  more  deficient  than  most  young  men  who 
pass  through  college.  Perhaps  I  may  say,  without  presumption, 
that  I  was  better  fitted  than  most  to  take  charge  of  a  school ;  and 
yet  I  look  back  on  no  part  of  m}^  life  with  so  much  pain  as  on  that 
which  I  gave  to  school-keeping.  The  interval  of  forty  3'ears  has 
not  relieved  me  from  the  sorrow  and  self-reproach  which  the 
recollection  of  it  calls  forth 

"But,  indeed,  does  it  not  stand  to  reason,  that,  where  all  other 
vocations  need  apprenticeship,  the  highest  of  all  vocations,  that 
of  awakening,  guiding,  enlightening  the  human  soul,  must  require 
serious  preparation  ?  That  attempts  should  have  been  made  in  the 
legislature  to  break  down  our  normal  schools,  and  almost  with 
success,  is  one  of  the  most  discouraging  S3'mptoms  of  our  times. 
It  shows  that  the  people  will  not  give  their  thoughts  to  the  dearest 
interests  of  societ}^ ;  for  an}^  serious  thought  would  have  led  them 
to  frown  down  such  efforts  in  a  moment.  I  rejoice  that  the  friends 
of  education  are  beginning  to  visit  the  Normal  School  at  Lexing- 
ton.    I  earnestly  implore  for  it  the  blessing  of  Heaven. 

"  With  sincere  affection,  yours." 

While  thus  earnest  to  diflTuse  among  all  classes  the  means  of  in- 
tellectual culture,  and  to  introduce  a  system  of  instruction  adapted 
b^^  its  philosophical  and  practical  character  to  form  sound  and 
capacious  minds,  Dr.  Channing  saw  with  regret  the  exceeding  diffi- 
cult}' of  securing  moral  development,  the  growth  and  discipline  of 
the  aflfections,  in  our  schools  and  colleges,  as  at  present  conducted. 
He  was  most  solicitous,  therefore,  to  encourage  every  movement 
which  was  directed  to  caUing  into  vigorous  action  the  spiritual 
powers  of  children.  The  clear  conviction,  that  health  of  con- 
science and  will  is  the  only  sure  source  of  inward  strength  and 
outward  efficiency,  made  him  look  with  the  liveliest  hope  upon 
the  methods  of  training  adopted  by  Mr.  A.  Bronson  Alcott, 
when,  in  1834,  that  fine  and  much-misapprehended  genius  at- 
tempted, in  a  select  school,  to  illustrate  and  verif}'  his  original 
views  of  human  culture.  The  following  letter  shows  with  what 
sincere  friendliness  he  watched  an  experiment  so  worthy  of  ade- 
quate trial,  but  so  prematurely  cut  short  b}'  unjust  impatience 
in  the  communitj". 


502  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

'"'•  Newport^  August  24,  1835.-^  I  intended  to  write  3'ou  a  long 
letter,  but  my  house  is  full  of  friends,  who  leave  me  no  leisure.  I 
thank  j'ou  for  your  '  Record,'  which  I  read  with  great  pleasure. 
I  have  still  doubts  ;  but  the  e7id  sought  is  the  true  one,  and  I 
earnestl}'  desire  that  the  experiment  should  be  made. 

"  I  want  proof  that  the  minds  of  children  reall}-  act  on  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  that  their  deep  consciousness  is  stirred.  Next, 
I  want  light  as  to  the  degree  to  which  the  mind  of  the  child  should 
be  turned  inward.  The  free  development  of  the  spiritual  nature 
ma}'^  be  impeded  b}'^  too  much  analysis  of  it.  The  soul  is  somewhat 
jealous  of  being  watched  ;  and  it  is  no  small  part  of  wisdom  to 
know  when  to  leave  it  to  its  impulses  and  when  to  restrain  it.  The 
strong  passion  of  the  .young  for  the  outward  is  an  indication  of 
nature  to  be  respected.  Spiritualit}-  may  be  too  exclusive  for  its 
own  good. 

"  I  have  suggested  these  difficulties  in  conversation,  and  repeat 
them  here,  not  to  discourage  the  experiment,  but  to  insure  its 
success.  No  one  has  more  interest  in  it  than  m3'self.  Mr.  Alcott's 
reverence  for  the  spiritual  is  the  Jirst  great  qualification  of  a  teacher, 
and  I  want  it  to  be  so  combined  with  other  qualifications,  and  so 
manifested,  as  to  give  a  new  tone  to  instruction.  Your  chapter  on 
General  Principles  ^  interested  me  much.  It  is  full  of  fine  thoughts, 
but  the  lights  are  somewhat  too  scattered.  Your  great  idea  is 
stated  without  the  requisite  modifications.  You  set  out  from 
happiness,  a  dangerous  point  of  departure,  for  the  whole  selfish 
philosophy  has  grown  from  the  error  of  placing  enjojment  before 
morality-.     But  I  have  not  time  to  say  more. 

"  Let  my  remarks  be  a  proof  to  you,  not  of  my  love  of  fault- 
finding, but  of  my  deep  interest  in  j-our  work.  I  had  a  very  agree- 
able visit  from  Mr.  Alcott." 

From  all  the  views  thus  presented  of  education,  it  will  be  seen 
that  Dr.  Channing  had  a  perfect  trust  in  the  adaptation  of  the 
human  intellect  to  truth.  Reason  in  God  and  man  he  conceived 
to  be  essentially  the  same  principle,  and  acknowledged  that  the 
universe,  in  all  its  laws  of  order,  was  exactly  correlative  to  the 
Ideas  of  Divine  Wisdom.  Any  check,  then,  upon  freedom  of  in- 
quiry and  expression  he  looked  upon  with  peculiar  disgust  and 
dread.  This  hatred  of  intellectual  constraint,  and  confidence  in 
the  capacity  of  the  public  to  discern  light  amidst  even  the  grossest 
errors,  showed  itself  in  a  manner  that  subjected  him  to  no  little 

1  To  Miss.  E.  P.  Peabody. 

2  Printed  in  the  first  edition  of  "  Tlie  Record  of  a  School." 


ABNEK  KNEELAND.  503 

misunderstanding  and  abuse  on  one  occasion,  which  may  deserve, 
therefore,  a  special  notice. 

In  January,  1834,  Mr.  Abner  Kneeland  — who,  from  being  an 
Orthodox  minister,  had  become  successively  a  Universalist  and  an 
Unbeliever,  and  had  estabhsbed  himself  in  Boston  as  the  head  of 
a  society  of  "  Free  Inquirers,"  and  editor  of  their  organ,  "  The  In- 
vestigator "  —  was  indicted  at  the  Municipal  Court.  The  indictment 
was  for  blasphemy,  in  haviug  published  in  his  paper  of  December 
20th,  1833,  three  articles  :  —  1.  A  scurrilous  extract  from  Voltaire, 
ridiculing  the  miraculous  generation  of  Jesus ;  2.  An  article  de- 
claring the  practice  of  addressing  prayers  to  God  to  be  absurd ; 
3.  A  letter  from  the  editor  to  the  editor  of  the  "Trumpet,"  in 
which  he  saj's  :  — 

"  Universalists  believe  in  a  god  which  I  do  not ;  but  believe  that 
their  god,  with  all  his  moral  attributes,  (aside  from  nature  itself,) 
is  nothing  more  than  a  chimera  of  their  own  imagination." 

On  this  indictment  Mr.  Kneeland  was  tried,  found  guilty,  and 
sentenced  to  three  months'   imprisonment.      He  appealed  to  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  at  the  November  term  of  1835  the  appeal  was 
brought  before  Judge  Wilde.     When  the  case  came  on,  Mr.  Knee- 
land declined  to  admit,  as  on  his  previous  trial,  that  he  was  editor 
of  the  Investigator,  or  any  other  facts  necessary  for  the  govern- 
ment to  prove.     The  attorney-general,  James  T.  Austin,  not  being 
prepared  with  his  proof,  proposed  to  Mr.   Kneeland,  that,   if  he 
would  admit  the  authorship  and  publication  of  the  third  article,  as 
just  quoted,  the  government  would  not  ask  for  conviction  on  the 
other  two  articles,  but  would  use  them  only  argumentatively,  as 
illustrating   the  defendant's  motive   and   intent  in  denying  God, 
This  proposal  was  accepted  ;  but  as  Mr.  Kneeland  had  no  counsel, 
and  was  "little  skilled  in  legal  proceedings,   the  first  and  second 
articles  were  not  struck  out  of  the  indictment.     This  was  unfortu- 
nate, as  it  served  to  complicate  the  case,  when  it  came  before  the 
public  through  the  newspapers,  and  prevented  a  sound  and  sober 
judgment  upon  its  merits.     But  the  authentic  report  of  the  proceed- 
ings at  the  trial  plainly  shows  the  understanding  of  all  parties.     The 
attorney-general  said  that  "  he  relied  on  the  passage  quoted  in  the 
judge's  report  [' UniversaUsts  believe   in  a  god,'  &c.]  to  sustain 
the  prosecution,  the  other  words  recited  in  the  indictment  being 
referred  to  only  as  explanatory  of  this  particular  passage,  and  as 
evidence  of  the  motives  with  which  it  was  written  and  published."  ^ 
Again  he  said,  "The  denial  of  God,  whether  in  decent  language 

1  Pickering's  Reports,  Vol.  XX.  p.  209. 


504  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

or  otherwise,  is  prohibited."  ^  And  Judge  "Wilde  makes  this  express 
and  conclusive  statement  in  his  report:  "I  instructed  the  jurj- 
that  the  wilful  denial  of  the  existence  of  any  God,  except  the  mate- 
rial universe  itself,  would  be  a  violation  of  the  statute."  Mr.  Knee- 
land  was  finally  sentenced,  in  1838,  to  two  months'  imprisonment ; 
and  what  he  was  convicted  of,  as  undeniably  appears  by  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  judge  to  the  jury,  was,  that  he  had  wilfully  denied  the 
existence  of  God. 

Immediately  after  the  conviction,  Ellis  Gray  Loring,  Esq.,  an 
earnest  friend  of  freedom  and  opponent  of  oppression,  determined, 
after  consultation  with  Dr.  Channing,  Dr.  FoUen,  and  other  like 
liberal-minded  persons,  to  draw  up  a  petition  to  the  Governor  of 
the  State  for  the  remission  of  Mr.  Kneeland's  sentence.  The  peti- 
tion, as  amended  by  Dr.  Channing's  suggestions,  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  To  his  Excellency,  the    Governor  of  the    Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts : 

"The  undersigned  respectfully  represent,  that  they  are  informed 
that  Abner  Kneeland,  of  the  city  of  Boston,  has  been  found  guilty 
of  the  crime  of  blasphemy,  for  having  published,  in  a  certain  news- 
paper called  the  Boston  Investigator,  his  disbelief  in  the  existence 
of  God,  in  the  following  words  :  — 

"  '  Universalists  believe  in  a  god  which  I  do  not;  but  believe 
that  their  god,  with  all  his  moral  attributes,  (aside  from  nature 
itself,)  is  nothing  more  than  a  chimera  of  their  own  imagination.' 

"  Your  petitioners  have  learned,  by  an  examination  of  the  record 
and  documents  in  the  case,  made  b^'  one  of  their  number,  that  the 
conviction  of  said  Kneeland  proceeded  on  the  ground  above  stated. 
For  though  the  indictment  originally  included  two  other  publications, 
one  of  a  highly  irreverent,  and  the  other  of  a  grossly  indecent  char- 
acter, yet  it  appears  by  the  report,  that,  at  the  trial,  the  prosecuting 
officer  mainly  relied  on  the  sentence  above  quoted,  and  that  the 
judge  who  tried  the  case  confined  his  charge  wholly  to  stating  the 
legal  construction  of  its  terms,  and  the  law  applicable  to  it. 

"  In  these  circum stances ^  the  undersigned  respectfully  pray  that 
your  Excellency  will  grant  to  the  said  Kneeland  an  unconditional 
pardon  for  the  offence  of  which  he  has  been  adjudged  guilty.  And 
they  ask  this,  not  from  any  sympathy  with  the  convicted  individual, 
who  is  personally  unknown  to  most  or  all  of  them  ;  nor  from  any 
approbation  of  the  doctrines  professed  by  him,  which  are  believed 
by  your  petitioners  to  be  as  pernicious  and  degrading  as  thej'  are 
false ;  but  — 

1  Pickering's  Reports,  Vol.  XX.  p.  211. 


THE  KNEELAND  PETITION.  605 

"  Because  the  punishment  proposed  to  be  inflicted  is  believed  to 
be  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  our  institutions  and  our  age,  and 
with  tlie  soundest  expositions  of  those  civil  and  religious  rights 
which  are  at  once  founded  in  our  nature,  and  guaranteed  by  the 
constitutions  of  the  United  States  and  this  Commonwealth  ; 

' '  Because  the  freedom  of  speech  and  the  press  is  the  chief  instru- 
ment of  the  progress  of  truth  and  of  social  improvements,  and  is 
never  to  be  restrained  bj'  legislation,  except  when  it  invades  tlie 
rights  of  others,  or  instigates  to  specific  crimes  ; 

"  Because,  if  opinion  is  to  be  subjected  to  penalties,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  determine  where  punishment  shall  stop  ;  there  being  few  or 
no  opinions  in  which  an  adverse  party  may  not  see  threatenings  of 
ruin  to  the  state  ; 

"  Because  truths  essential  to  the  existence  of  society  must  be  so 
palpable  as  to  need  no  protection  from  the  magistrate  ; 

"Because  the  assumption  by  government  of  a  right  to  prescribe 
or  repress  opinions  has  been  the  ground  of  the  grossest  deprava- 
tions of  religion,  and  of  the  most  grinding  despotisms  ; 

"Because  religion  needs  no  support  from  penal  law,  and  is 
grossly  dishonored  by  interpositions  for  its  defence,  which  imply 
that  it  cannot  be  trusted  to  its  own  strength  and  to  the  weapons  of 
reason  and  persuasion  in  the  hands  of  its  friends  ; 

"  Because,  by  punishiug  infidel  opinions,  we  shake  one  of  the 
strongest  foundations  of  faith,  namely,  the  evidence  which  arises  to 
religion  from  the  fact,  that  it  stands  firm  and  gathers  strength  amidst 
the  severest  and  most  unfettered  investigations  of  its  claims  ; 

"  Because  error  of  opinion  is  never  so  dangerous  as  when  goaded 
into  fanaticism  by  persecution,  or  driven  by  threatenings  to  the  use 
of  secret  arts ; 

"Because  it  is  well  known,  that  the  most  licentious  opinions 
have,  b}'  a  natural  reaction,  sprung  up  in  countries  where  the  laws 
have  imposed  severest  restraint  on  thought  and  discussion  ; 

"Because  the  influence  of  hurtful  doctrines  is  often  propagated 
by  the  sympathy  which  legal  severities  awaken  towards  their  sup- 
porters ; 

"  Because  we  are  unwilling  that  a  man,  whose  unhappy  course 
has  drawn  on  him  general  disapprobation,  should,  by  a  sentence  of 
the  law,  be  exalted  into  a  martyr,  or  become  identified  with  the 
sacred  cause  of  freedom  ;  and,  lastl}', 

"  Because  we  regard  with  filial  jealousy  the  honor  of  this  Com- 
monwealth, and  are  unwilling  that  it  should  be  exposed  to  reproach, 
as  clinging  obstinately  to  illiberal  principles,  which  the  most  en- 
lightened minds  have  exploded." 


506  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

The  name  of  William  EUery  Channing  stood  first  upon  this  peti- 
tion when  presented,  followed  b}'  one  hundred  and  sixty-seven 
others.  It  was  made  known  to  the  public  through  the  newspapers, 
and  most  bitterl}'  attacked.  A  remonstrance  against  the  petition 
was  prepared  and  extensively  signed.  And,  to  conclude  this  brief 
history  of  the  affair,  the  petition  was  rejected  by  the  Governor  and 
Council.  But,  nevertheless,  it  exerted  a  wide  and  permanent  in- 
fluence. It  was  an  assertion  by  Christians  of  the  equal  rights  of 
atheists  to  freedom  of  thought  and  speech.  It  did  a  good  work  in 
educating  the  public  mind.  And  there  will  never,  in  all  probability, 
be  another  prosecution  for  atheism  in  Massachusetts.  Dr.  Chan- 
ning's  views  are  very  simply  exhibited  in  the  following  letters. 

'■'■  March,  1838.^  My  dear  Sir:  —  I  should  have  noticed  3^our 
letter  relating  to  Kneeland's  case  earlier,  had  I  obtained  the  infor- 
mation which  I  have  thought  necessary.  I  have  not  yet  gained  it, 
but  write  a  line  of  acknowledgment,  that  you  may  not  think  me 
indifferent  to  the  matter.  My  impression  is  that  Kneeland  was  not 
convicted  for  his  opinions,  but  for  assailing,  in  obscene  and  contu- 
melious language,  the  opinions  which  are  most  dear  and  sacred  to 
all  around  him.  I  thought  his  offence  lay  wholly  in  indecent  and 
insulting  scoffs.  My  intention  is  to  see  and  converse  with  Judge 
Shaw  on  the  subject.  That  a  man  should  be  punished  for  his  opin- 
ions would  be  shocking,  —  an  offence  at  once  to  the  principles  and 
feelings  of  the  community. 

"I  have  always  thought,  that,  in  petitioning  for  a  pardon,  we 
are  bound  to  inquire  whether  the  Executive  has  a  right  to  pardon. 
I  suppose  this  power  to  be  given  to  the  Governor  to  meet  cases  of 
crime  which  are  accompanied  \>y  peculiar  circumstances  of  mitiga- 
tion, and  not  for  the  suspension  or  virtual  repeal  of  an  unjust  law. 
The  law  must  be  executed,  unless  something  peculiar  in  the  case 
calls  for  the  pardoning  power.  On  this  principle,  I  should  doubt 
the  propriety'  of  petitioning.  You  understand  this  subject  better 
than  I  do,  and  I  should  lilvc  your  views. 

"  Ver}'  trul}',  j-our  friend." 

'-'•  Newport,  July  1,  1838. ^  I  see  Kneeland's  case  is  making  a 
noise.  I  expected  that  much  offence  would  be  given,  and  of  con- 
sequence am  not  troubled.  In  these  cases  I  feel  that  no  man  can 
harm  me,  but  by  impairing  my  love  to  him,  by  inspiring  bad  feel- 
ings. It  is  a  comfort  to  me  to  find  that  I  can  be  reproached  with- 
out any  desire  to  reproach,  without  casting  off  the  injurious  man. 
I  have,  as  I  think,  an  increasing  compassion  for  those  portions  of 

1  To  Ellis  Gray  Loriiig,  Esq.  2  'f  o  Joseph  Tuckennan,  D.  D. 


JOHN  PIERPONT.  507 

societ}'  which  I  am  called  particularly  to  oppose.  I  see  more  and 
more  how  little  tlic}-  comprehend  the  spiritual  life  which  Christ  came 
to  give,  how  rooted  they  are  to  the  earth,  how  swallowed  up  in  the 
outward,  how  blind  to  the  true  dignity  of  the  human  soul ;  and  I 
would  cheerfully  spend  and  be  spent  for  their  recover}'  to  a  better 
mind.  I  wish  to  sustain  a  hostile  relation  to  no  human  being.  As 
to  human  favor,  I  feel  more  and  more  that  it  must  be  given  up.  If 
I  know  Christianity-,  it  is  so  at  war  with  the  present  condition  of 
society,  that  it  cannot  be  spoken  and  acted  out  without  giving 
great  oflEence.  The  want  of  the  Christian  spirit,  of  Christ's  spirit, 
towards  our  fallen  fellow-creatures  is  most  mournful.  I  would 
drink  of  it  more  freel}." 

The  same  determination  to  uphold  perfect  freedom  of  opinion 
and  expression  showed  itself  in  Dr.  Channing's  mode  of  action, 
when  the  distillers  and  traders  in  intoxicating  drinks  attempted  to 
silence  the  Rev.  John  Pierpont,  or  to  expel  him  from  HoUis  Street 
pulpit.  "  Sir,"  said  he  to  that  brave,  resolute,  and  skilful  cham- 
pion for  temperance  and  freedom,  at  the  time  of  his  most  tiery  trial, 
"  should  this  struggle  in  your  society  result  in  some  ten  or  a  dozen 
of  your  most  active  opponents  withdrawing  from  your  church,  and 
in  others  who  sympathize  with  3'ou  and  sustain  3'our  course  taking 
their  places,  Mollis  Street  pulpit  will  stand  the  highest  in  the  city." 
The  following  considerate  and  respectful,  yet  frank,  letter  was  ad- 
dressed to  Mr.  Pierpont  at  the  time  when  the  vote  passed  by  a 
majority  of  the  "  proprietors  of  the  pews,"  requesting  Mr.  Pierpont 
to  take  up  his  connections  with  the  HoUis  Street  Society,  had  been 
reversed,  and  when  he  was  about  resuming  his  duties.  It  is  as 
beautiful  a  tribute  of  Dr.  Channing's  regard  for  a  much-injured 
brother,  as  it  is  a  valuable  memorial  of  his  own  magnanimity. 

"  Friday  Eoening^  November  15,  1839.  My  dear  Sir:  —  I  have 
taken  much  interest  in  the  conflict  you  have  recentl}-  gone  through, 
and  rejoice  that  you  are  to  return  to  your  pulpit  under  circum- 
stances so  encouraging  and  honorable.  On  the  next  Sunday  I  sup- 
pose that  3^ou  will  address,  not  only  3'our  own  congregation,  but  a 
multitude,  who  will  be  drawn  together  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  occa- 
sion ;  and  will  you  allow  me  to  say,  that  I  trust  that  the  services  will 
breathe  such  a  spirit  of  philanthropy  and  piet}^  and  such  a  calm 
reliance  on  great  principles,  as  will  satisfj-  all  that  personal  triumph 
has  not  been  your  aim,  but  that  you  have  been  and  are  trixXy  de- 
voted to  the  highest  good  of  the  congregation  and  the  community. 
I  wanted  to  call  upon  you,  but  am  detained  by  a  cold,  which  has 
almost  taken  away  my  voice.     I  write,  because  I  feel  that  you  are 


508  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

to  exert  an  important  influence,  and  I  have  an  earnest  desire  that 
it  should  be  for  good.  I  hope  that  these  suggestions  ma}'  not  seem 
unreasonable.  If  the}'  should,  you  will  at  least  allow  me  to  express 
my  gratitude  and  respect  for  your  courage  and  fidelity  in  a  noble 
cause.     Very  sincerely,  your  friend." 

One  reason  for  Dr.  Channing's  earnest  desire  to  uphold  Mr.  Pier- 
pont's  hands  in  the  Hollis  Street  controversy  was,  that  he  saw  in 
the  persecution  of  that  honest  preacher  by  a  band  of  moneyed  men, 
allied  by  interest,  an  exhibition  of  tendencies  which  were  every- 
where working  throughout  modern  society.  It  was  very  clear  to 
him,  that  the  danger  was  pressing  of  a  complete  subservience  of 
politics,  the  press,  public  opinion,  and  the  pulpit  to  the  insidious 
tyranny  of  wealth.  The  predominance  of  the  commercial  and  fiscal 
spirit  over  moral  enthusiasm,  spiritual  aspiration,  humane  senti- 
ment, and  intellectual  freedom,  was,  in  his  view,  a  most  alarming 
symptom  of  the  mad  fever  after  money  with  which  the  whole  age 
was  sick.  His  tone  of  thought  upon  this  subject  may  be  best 
learned  from  the  following  letters. 

"  Si.  Croix,  March  17,  1831.  I  was  a  little  disappointed  at  find- 
ing that  you  set  down  the  idolatry  of  wealth  as  the  besetting  sin  of 
Philadelphia.  I  thought  there  was  more  of  the  old-fashioned  aris- 
tocracy in  that  city,  and  that  birth  weighed  more  than  money.  I 
am  glad  you  feel  so  distinctly  and  strongly  the  degraded  condition 
of  what  are  called  the  highest  classes.  Amidst  souie  refinements 
of  manner,  they  are  so  wanting  in  elevation  of  sentiment,  in  per- 
ception of  spiritual  excellence,  in  the  consciousness  of  their  solemn 
obligations  to  the  less  favored  classes  of  society,  that  it  is  time  for 
the  friends  and  ministers  of  enlightened  religion,  laying  aside 
equally  all  flattery  and  all  bitterness,  to  seek  their  reformation  by 
every  instrument  of  persuasion,  reasoning,  and  heart-searching  re- 
proof. I  hope  you  will  make  no  compromise  with  wickedness  in 
high  places.  There  it  is  intrenched,  and  thence  a  pestilential  influ- 
ence spreads  through  the  whole  mass.  I  write  too  fast  to  weigh  my 
words ;  but  I  am  not  in  a  cynical  fit ;  I  give  you  my  deliberate 
convictions." 

"  Jahj  12,  1831.^  The  darkest  spot  in  the  aspect  of  your  coun- 
try is  the  depressed,  half-famished  state  of  your  lowest  classes. 
This  may  be  relieved  by  the  new  impulse  given  to  manufactures  and 
trade  ;  but  I  fear  that  it  is  not  an  accident  of  your  system,  but  a 
necessary  effect  of  your  present  artificial  state  of  society,  and  that  it 
will  soon  recur  again.  If  this  be  so,  great  changes  should  be  made 
1  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


WOKSHIP  OF  WEALTH.  509 

in  society  to  avert  it.  To  communicate  the  intelligence  and  bless- 
ings of  the  higher  classes  to  the  lower  should  be  the  end  and  sure 
result  of  all  social  institutions,  and  they  are  essentially  defective 
where  such  is  not  tlieir  operation.  I  am  a  leveller ;  but  I  would 
accomplish  my  object  by  elevating  the  low,  by  raising  from  a  de- 
grading indigence  and  brutal  ignorance  the  laboring  multitude.  If 
I  know  what  Christianity  and  philanthropy  mean,  they  teach  no 
plainer  lesson  than  this." 

"  Boston,  September  6,  1835.  The  cry  is,  '  Property  is  insecure, 
law  a  rope  of  sand,  and  the  mob  sovereign.'  The  actual,  present 
evil,  — the  evil  of  that  worship  of  property,  which  stifles  all  the 
nobler  sentiments,  and  makes  man  property,  —  this  nobody  sees  ; 
but  appearances  of  approaching  convulsions  of  property,  —  these 
shake  the  nerves  of  men,  who  are  willing  that  our  moral  evils  should 
be  perpetuated  to  the  end  of  time,  provided  their  treasures  be  un- 
touched. I  have  no  fear  of  revolutions.  We  have  conservative 
principles  enough  at  work  here.  What  exists  troubles  me  more 
than  what  is  to  come. 

"  We  must  not,  however,  be  unjust  to  the  present.  In  our  body 
of  Christians  I  certainly  see  higher  modes  of  thinking  and  feeling 
than  formerly,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  spirit  of  religion  in 
the  community.  Unhappily,  sectarianism  prevents  the  religion  of 
the  country  from  exerting  its  just  influence.  There  is  such  a  dread 
of  its  becoming  a  usurper,  that  it  is  not  allowed  to  speak  in  public 
affairs.  Still,  if  it  lifts  the  minds  of  any  number  above  sordidness 
and  selfishness,  it  will  prove  itself  to  be  a  redeeming  power.  What 
offends  me  most  is  the  wisdom  which  scoffs  at  all  attempts  to  im- 
prove society,  derides  freedom,  and  wraps  itself  up  in  epicurean 
ease.     I  have  inflicted  quite  a  dissertation  on  you." 

"  Boston,  April  3,  1837.^  I  have  heard  of  your  lectures,  and  beg 
you  to  carry  into  effect  your  purpose  of  publishing.  I  think  the 
people  are  open  to  good  impressions,  though,  undoubtedly,  the  last 
triumph  of  Christianity  will  be  over  the  spirit  of  accumulation. 

"  I  am  sometimes  almost  tempted  into  the  literal  construction  of  the 
Christian  precepts  on  this  subject.  It  would  be  better  for  the  world 
to  be  somewhat  pinched  for  food  and  clothing,  through  an  exaggerated 
spirituality,  than  to  contract  their  whole  souls  into  money-getting. 

"  I  wish  I  could  write  you  very  encouraging  accounts  of  our  in- 
tellectual and  moral  condition.  The  whole  mind  of  the  country 
seems  absorbed  in  its  pecuniary  interests,  and,  though  active  enough 
in  this  sphere,  is  not  acting  very  beneficially.      I  feel  more  and 

1  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.  D. 


510  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

more  how  little  Christianit}-  is  applied  to  life.  Its  views  of  life,  of 
propert}-,  of  the  end  of  human  existence,  of  the  relations  between 
man  and  man,  — how  little  are  they  understood  !  We  ought  not  to 
be  satisfied  with  our  present  modes  of  operation.  No  sect  can  boast 
of  doing  much." 

1839.  "The  rich  man  has  no  more  right  to  repose  than  the 
poor.  He  is  as  much  bound  to  labor  as  the  poor;  not  to  labor  in 
the  same  way,  but  to  labor  as  realh',  as  efhciently,  as  intensely,  I 
am  tempted  to  saj-  more  intensely,  because  he  has  u  sphere  so  much 
wider  and  nobler  opened  to  him.  No  man  has  a  right  to  seek 
property  in  order  that  he  may  enjoy,  may  lead  a  life  of  indulgence, 
may  throw  all  toil  on  another  class  of  society.  This  world  was  not 
made  for  ease.  Its  great  law  is  action,  and  action  for  the  good  of 
others  still  more  than  for  our  own.  This  is  its  law,  and  we  violate 
it  only  to  our  own  misery  and  guilt." 

Dr.  Channing's  keen  perception  of  the  corrupting  influences 
which  the  universal  thirst  for  gain  is  exerting  upon  the  whole  of 
Christendom,  and  each  Christian  community,  made  him  look  with 
sympathizing  respect,  though  with  anxious  scrutiny  also,  upon 
every  movement  that  promised  to  introduce  more  just  relations  of 
industr}'  and  propert\'.  His  hopes  and  fears  are  plainl}'  enough 
presented  in  the  following  letters. 

"  St.  Croix,  April  6,  1831.^  I  have  not  seen  a  poor  man.  Slav- 
eiT  and  pauperism  do  not  live  together.  I  have  thought  this  Anew 
of  slavery  favored  Owen's  social  system,  for  the  two  have  some 
common  features.  The  slaves  are  fed  from  a  common  stock,  work 
on  common  ground,  have  their  labors  assigned  by  a  superintendent. 
The  differences  are,  that  Owen's  superintendent  is  a  select  commit- 
tee ;  here  it  is  a  master ;  and  according  to  Owen  the  whole  com- 
munity share  alike,  whilst  here  the  master  monopolizes  almost 
everything. 

"  Tlie  wrongs  of  slavery  are,  indeed,  infinite;  and  yet  such  are 
the  efTects  of  joint  labor  and  of  a  common  stock,  that  the  large 
population  of  this  little  island  —  say  twenty-five  thousand,  over 
a  surface  twenty-eight  miles  long  and  six  broad  —  are  fed  and 
clothed  sufficiently  well  for  labor  and  health.  The  system,  bad  as 
it  is,  excludes  i)aupers.  The  orphans,  the  old,  and  the  sick  — 
making  with  the  children  one  third,  perhaps  —  are  as  well  supported 
as  those  who  labor. 

"I  do  not  approve  Owen's  means  ;  but  his  end,  which  is  to  insure 
the  comforts  of  life  to  ever}-  member  of  society-,  and  to  do  this  by 

^  To  Joseph  Tuckernian,  D.  D. 


FRATERNAL  COMMUNITY.  611 

moderate  labor,  is  earnestly  to  be  desired.  He  would  accomplish 
it  by  merging  tlie  individual  in  the  community.  I  would  do  it  by 
increasing  the  power  of  the  individual,  including  in  this  term  moral 
even  more  tlian  intellectual  power,  though  the  last  is  essential.  I 
confide  less  and  less  in  artificial  arrangements,  and  have  little  hope 
but  from  the  diffusion  of  inteUigence,  energy,  disinterestedness, 
sympathy,  and  self-control,  through  the  mass. 

"Accordingly,  I  look  on  j'ou  as  a  most  useful  laborer  in  the 
vineyard.  Go  on  ;  be  strong  in  body  and  mind,  and  prosper.  You 
will  now  ask  what  I  am  about?  I  have  done  very  little,  though  I 
have  not  been  idle.  My  thoughts  turn  much  on  the  state  of  the 
world.  That  a  new  era  is  opening  on  us,  or  that  the  fuller  de- 
velopment of  the  present  is  before  us,  we  cannot  doubt.  I  wish 
I  could  help  men  to  understand  the  present  age,  that  they  might 
co-operate  with  its  good  tendencies  and  withstand  its  evil  ones. 
But  this  is  a  great  work." 

"  Boston,  March  31,  1832. ^  I  find  j'ou  attach  some  importance 
to  St.  Simonism.  I  have  regarded  the  system  as  chiefly  pohtical ; 
and  in  this  view  it  is  a  serious  matter.  It  shows,  as  does  Owen's 
system,  and  the  co-operative  system,  that  the  old  principles  of 
property  are  to  undergo  a  fiery  trial,  that  the  monstrous  inequalities 
of  condition  must  be  redressed,  and  that  greater  revolutions  than 
the  majority  have  dreamed  of — whether  for  good  or  evil  —  are  to 
be  anticipated.  The  religion  of  St.  Simon,  as  far  as  I  know  it,  is 
of  little  worth.  The  ver\^  notion  of  a  hierarch}-  shows  his  childish- 
ness on  this  subject.  It  is  impossible  that  he  can  connect  religion 
with  social  dut}'  as  closel}'  as  Christianity  does  ;  for  it  is  impossible 
for  an}'  system  to  connect  man  witli  God  as  tliis  does,  and  no 
substantial  social  improvement  can  take  place  till  this  conuection  is 
understood." 

"  Boston,  February  27,  1841.^  My  dear  Sir:  — I  received  j-our 
'  Constitution  and  Exposition '  3'esterday,  and  my  early  repl}-  will 
prove  my  interest  in  your  proposed  '  Fraternal  Communit}.' 

"Your  ends,  objects,  seem  to  me  important.  I  see,  I  feel,  the 
great  evils  of  our  present  social  state.  The  flesh  predominates 
over  the  spirit,  the  animal  over  the  intellectual  and  moral  life.  The 
consciousness  of  the  worth  of  the  human  soul,  of  what  man  was 
made  to  be,  is  almost  whoU}'  lost;  and  in  this  ignorance  all  our 
social  relations  must  be  mournfully  defective,  and  the  highest  claims 
of  man  ver}'  much  overlooked.     I  earnestly  desire  to  witness  some 

1  To  William  Burns,  Esq. 

-  To  the  Rev.  Adin  Ballou,  Meiidon,  Mass. 


512  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

change,  b}'  which  the  mass  of  men  ma}-  be  released  from  their  pres- 
ent anxious  drudgery,  may  cease  to  be  absorbed  in  cares  and  toils 
for  the  bod}',  and  ma}-  so  combine  labor  with  a  system  of  improve- 
ment that  they  will  find  in  it  a  help,  not  a  degrading  burden.  I 
have  for  a  very  long  time  dreamed  of  an  association,  in  which  the 
members,  instead  of  preying  on  one  another,  and  seeking  to  put 
one  another  down,  after  the  fashion  of  this  world,  should  live  to- 
gether as  brothers,  seeking  one  another's  elevation  and  spiritual 
growth.  But  the  materials  for  such  a  community  I  have  not  seen. 
Your  ends,  therefore,  are  ver}'  dear  to  me. 

"How  far  you  have  adopted  the  best  means  of  realizing  them, 
and  whether  they  can  be  realized  in  the  present  low  condition  of 
individual  Christians,  are  different  questions,  and  most  men  would 
give  a  negative  answer.  I  do  not,  however,  discourage  any  sincere 
efforts  for  social  or  individual  improvement,  but  would  sa}',  God 
speed  you  !  There  is  a  tone  of  faith  and  sincerity'  in  3-our  document 
which  gives  me  hope,  and  yet  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  without  fear. 
I  have  lived  so  much  out  of  the  world  of  business,  I  have  had  so  few 
connections  with  society  except  those  of  a  religious  teacher,  that  I 
cannot  judge  of  the  obstructions  you  are  to  meet.  The  grand 
obstacle  to  success,  however,  I  do  understand,  and  you  ougiit  to 
look  at  it  fully.  It  consists  in  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  so  many 
wills,  of  bringing  so  many  individuals  to  such  a  unity  of  judgment 
and  feeling  as  is  necessary  to  the  management  of  an  extensive 
common  concern,  — in  the  difficulty  of  preventing  the  interference, 
intermeddling,  harsh-judging,  evil-speaking,  self-will,  jealousies, 
exactions,  and  love  of  sway,  which  scatter  discord  and  woe  through 
all  our  social  relations.  The  Catholics  have  provided  against  these 
evils  in  their  religious  communities,  by  establishing  an  absolute 
power,  and  teaching  the  members  that  the  first  duty  is  obedience. 
Whether  sufficient  unity  can  be  preserved  in  a  free  institution,  budt 
on  the  foundations  of  brotherhood  and  equality,  remains  to  be 
proved.  I  wish  you  to  try  it,  and,  in  order  to  success,  I  wish  you 
all  to  look  the  difficulty  in  the  face,  and  to  feel  that  it  is  indeed  a 
great  one,  —  to  be  overcome  only  by  habitual  self-denial,  by  the 
special  culture  of  humility,  meekness,  and  charit}*. 

"  There  are  undoubtedly  dangers  attending  every  social  condi- 
tion. These  we  are  to  understand,  that  we  may  watch  against 
them.  The  evils  to  be  feared  in  a  community  like  3'ours  are,  the 
loss  of  individual  energy  in  consequence  of  dependence  on  the  com- 
munity, the  increased  facility  given  to  the  sluggish  of  throwing  the 
burden  of  toil  on  their  better-disposed  brethren,  the  relaxation  of 
domestic  ties  in  consequence  of  the  virtual  adoption  of  the  children 


x/ 


FRATERNAL  COMMUNITY.  513 

by  the  communitj',  the  diminution  of  free  thought  and  free  action, 
in  consequence  of  the  necessity  of  conforming  to  the  will  of  the 
majority  or  the  intendant,  the  tendency  to  narrowness  and  ex- 
clusiveness,  and  the  tendency'  to  a  dull  monoton}'  of  mind  and  life 
in  consequence  of  confinement  to  a  few  influences.  These  evils  are 
not  imaginar3'.  There  is  danger  of  losing  in  such  establishments 
individuality,  animation,  force,  and  enlargement  of  mind.  Your 
security  must  be  sought  in  carrying  out  the  principles  of  freedom 
and  philanthropy  to  which  ^-ou  attach  so  much  importance. 

"I  am  aware  of  the  many  economical  advantages  arising  from 
the  gathering  of  the  community-  into  one  habitation  ;  but  there 
are  disadvantages.  There  is  reason  to  fear  that  families  wall  not 
be  sufficiently  separate,  and  that  the  domestic  feelings  may  thus  be 
impaired  ;  and,  perhaps,  still  more,  that  individuals  will  lose  that 
spirit  of  solitude,  retirement,  secret  thought  and  secret  piety, 
without  which  social  relations  are  full  of  peril,  and  the  character 
loses  strength  and  dignity.  These  dangers  seem  to  me  to  require 
distinct  guards. 

"I  should  have  been  pleased  to  see  in  the  articles  some  recog- 
nition of  the  importance  of  courteous  manners.  The  importance  of 
these,  in  keeping  alive  mutual  respect  and  kindness,  is  great.  In 
this  countr}'  we  suffer  much  from  coarseness  of  manner.  Refine- 
ment, mutual  deference,  delicacy  in  intercourse,  are  among  the 
fruits  of  Christianit}',  and  very  needful  in  such  a  gathering  as  yow 
propose.  If  I  were  to  visit  a  community,  and  see  the  floor  defiled 
by  spittle,  I  could  not  easily  believe  that  the  members  respected 
one  another,  or  that,  with  such  violations  of  neatness  and  decorum, 
there  could  be  much  aspiration  for  inward  purit}'.  Just  in  pro- 
portion as  Christians  come  to  recognize  in  one  another  the  spiritual, 
immortal  children  of  God,  an  unaffected  deference  will  mark  the  tones 
of  the  voice  and  the  manners,  and  the  reaction  of  this  deference 
on  the  sentiment  from  which  it  springs  is  verj'  great.  Where  such 
deportment  prevails,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  reproof.  Kind, 
courteous  reproof,  which  is  seen  and  felt  to  come  from  love,  does  not 
wound.     Indeed,  in  such  a  society  there  will  be  little  to  reprove. 

' '  I  trust  tliat  this  letter  will  be  a  testimonj'  of  my  sincere  in- 
terest in  your  movements.  I  pray  God  to  bless  ^-ou.  I  should  die 
in  greater  peace,  could  I  see  in  any  quarter  the  promise  of  a  happier 
organization  of  society.  I  am  burdened  in  spirit  by  what  I  see. 
May  the  dawn  of  something  better  visit  m}'  eyes  before  thej^  are 
closed  in  death  ! 

"  When  you  visit  Boston  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you. 

"  Your  friend  and  brother." 
33 


614  SOCIAL   REFORMS. 

'"'•  Jaly^  1841.  Perhaps  no  part  of  your  letter  gave  me  more 
pleasure  than  your  account  of  Mr.  Aleott.  He  little  suspects  how 
my  heart  goes  out  to  him.  One  of  vay  clearest  ideas  and  hopes  is 
the  union  of  labor  and  culture.  The  present  state  of  things,  b}* 
which  tlie  highest  and  almost  the  onl}-  blessings  of  life  are  so  often 
denied  to  those  who  bear  its  heav}'  burdens,  is  sad,  and  must  be 
changed.  I  wish  to  see  labor  honored,  and  united  with  the  free 
development  of  the  intellect  and  heart.  Mr.  Aleott,  hiring  himself 
out  for  day-labor,  and  at  the  same  time  living  in  a  region  of  high 
thought,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  interesting  object  in  our  Common- 
wealth. I  do  not  care  much  for  Orpheus  in  '  The  Dial.'  His  flights 
there  amuse  rather  than  edify  me  ;  but  Orpheus  at  the  plough  is 
after  my  own  heart.  There  he  teaches  a  grand  lesson  ;  more  than 
most  of  us  teach  by  the  pen. 

"  As  to  Mr.  Brownson,  you  know  how  deeply  I  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  feeling  towards  what  he  calls  the  '  masses,'  —  an  odious 
word,  as  if  spiritual  beings  could  be  lumped  together  like  heaps  of 
matter,  —  but  I  have  little  patience  with  his  article.^  In  regard  to 
the  w^orkingmen,  —  including  farmers,  mechanics,  domestics,  and 
day-laborers, — he  exaggerates  their  hardships  in  this  countr}'.  In 
truth,  it  ma}'  be  doubted  whether  they  have  not  the  easiest  lot. 
Take  our  young  lawyers  and  physicians,  and  see  their  struggles, 
disappointments,  and  the  difficulty  of  establishing  themselves  in 
their  professions.  See  nine  out  of  ten  merchants  failing,  perhaps 
again  and  again.  Look  at  our  young  women,  as  well  as  those  in 
advanced  life,  who  are  reduced  to  dependence  b}'  the  decline  of 
their  families.  Look  at  the  literar}'  class  everywhere.  In  what 
other  class  have  so  man}'  been  starved?  How  few  in  the  laboring 
classes  have  suffered  more  than  you  have  done  !     At  this  moment, 

who  suffers  more  than ,  toiling  for  her  family  in  her  state  of 

health?  Your  father,  too,  in  a  profession,  finds  it  as  hard  to  get 
work  as  an}'  laborer  in  the  streets.  How  often  have  I  known  pro- 
fessional and  mercantile  men  toiling  anxiously  through  the  night, 
and  sacrificing  health,  whilst  the  laborer  has  been  Avrapt  in  oblivion 
of  all  his  cares  !  The  truth  is,  that  as  yet  life  is  a  conflict.  I  ex- 
pect it  to  be  so  hereafter.  My  own  constitution  was  broken  by 
early  toils.  We  all  have  a  hard  battle  to  fight.  To  me  the  matter 
of  complaint  is,  not  that  the  laboring  class  want  physical  comforts, 
—  though  I  wish  these  to  be  earned  by  fewer  hours  of  labor,  —  but 
that  they  live  only  for  their  ph}sical  nature  ;  that  no  better  justice 
is  done  to  their  souls  ;  that  in  early  life  they  receive  so  few  (juick- 
ening  influences  ;  that  labor  is  a  badge  of  inferiority ;  that  wealth 
^  The  first  on  the  Laboring  Classes. 


HIS   CREED   AS   A   REFORMER.  615 

forms  a  caste  ;  that  the  multitudes  are  cut  off  from  communications 
which  would  improve  intellect,  taste,  manners  ;  that  the  spirit  of 
brotherhood  does  not  bind  different  conditions  together." 

Tlius  does  it  appear  how  deliberate  were  Dr.  Channing's  expres- 
sions, how  weighty  with  conviction  his  words,  when,  in  the  Preface 
to  the  third  Glasgow  edition  of  his  works,  he  thus  summed  up  his 
creed  as  a  social  reformer. 

1839.  '•  These  volumes  will  show  that  the  author  feels  strongly 
the  need  of  deep  social  changes,  of  a  spiritual  revolution  in  Chris- 
tendom, of  a  new  bond  between  man  and  man,  of  a  new  sense  of 
the  relation  between  man  and  his  Creator.  At  the  same  time,  they 
will  sliow  his  firm  belief,  that  our  present  low  civilization,  the  cen- 
tral idea  of  which  is  wealth,  cannot  last  forever ;  that  the  mass  of 
men  are  not  doomed  hopelessly  and  irresistibly  to  the  degradation 
of  mind  and  heart  in  which  they  are  now  sunk ;  that  a  new  com- 
prehension of  the  end  and  dignity  of  a  human  being  is  to  remodel 
social  institutions  and  manners  ;  that  in  Clu-istianity,  and  in  the 
powers  and  principles  of  human  nature,  we  have  the  promise  of 
something  holier  and  happier  than  now  exists.  It  is  a  privilege  to 
live  in  tliis  faith,  and  a  privilege  to  communicate  it  to  others.  The 
autlior  is  not  without  hope  that  he  ma}'  have  strength  for  some 
more  important  labors ;  but  if  disappointed  in  this,  he  trusts  tliat 
these  writings,  which  may  survive  him  a  little  time,  will  testif^'^  to 
his  sympathy  with  his  fellow-creatures,  and  to  his  faith  in  God's 
great  purposes  toward  the  human  race." 

Seeing  thus  clearly  that  a  radical  reform  was  near  at  hand  which 
would  transform  the  past  relations  of  capital  and  labor  and  the 
prevalent  usages  of  caste  and  privilege.  Dr.  Channing  looked  for- 
ward with  serene  and  unfaltering  trust.  Let  this  chapter  close, 
then,  with  the  bright  propliecies  of  this  watcher  on  the  mountains. 

'"'-  Boston^  Jnhj  29,  183G.^  My  dear  Sir:  —  You  write  of  the 
agitation  and  excitement  in  your  country'.  I  look  on  this  state  of 
things  in  the  Old  and  New  World  calml}',  not  onh'  from  a  general 
trust  in  Providence,  but  from  considering  the  causes  of  excitement. 
It  is  the  progress  of  intelligence,  arts,  wealth,  and  especially  the 
waking  up  of  men  to  the  rights  of  human  nature,  to  wliich  we  are 
to  ascribe  the  present  heaving  agitation  of  society.  Tliat  there  are 
perils  in  such  a  period  we  see.  Men  open  their  eyes  to  discover 
great  abuses,  and  learn  their  rights  onl}'  to  learn  how  they  have 
been  trodden  under  foot.  The}'  have  the  presentiment  of  a  better 
state  of  things,  and  imagination  founds  on  this  extravagant  expec- 

^  To  Wm.  Rathbone,  Esq.,  Liverpool. 


516  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

tations,  which  it  burns  to  reahze  in  a  moment.  Here  are  dangers, 
but  it  cannot  be  that  the  development  of  the  highest  powers  of 
human  nature  can  ultimatel}^  prove  anything  but  good.  I  rejoice,  — 
not  indeed  without  trembUng,  — but  still  rejoice." 

'"'■  July^  1838.^  My  work  of  this  kind,  I  hope,  is  over.  Not  that 
I  think  of  repose  ;  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  have  to  do  ;  but 
other  fields  of  labor  are  open  to  me.  We  live  in  glorious  times  in 
one  respect.  Was  there  ever  so  much  to  do  ?  Our  age  is  a  revolu- 
tionary one  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  —  not  of  phj'sical,  but 
moral  revolution.  Higher  ideas  of  the  social  state,  and  of  human 
perfection,  are  at  work.  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  harvest,  but  to 
sow  in  faith  is  no  mean  privilege  or  happiness.     Ever  your  friend." 

"  Newport,  August  10,  1838.^    says,  you  and  he  have  talked 

about  a  newspaper.  If  one  is  started,  I  hope  it  will  take  the  right 
ground.  It  must  not  be  a  part}'  paper.  Its  great  object  must  be  to 
maintain  freedom,  and  to  promote  progi'ess.  Its  object  must  be  to 
spread  the  spirit  of  our  free  institutions,  to  vindicate  them  from  re- 
proach, to  show  their  claims  to  confidence,  to  breathe  into  the  30ung 
a  generous  devotion  to  them,  to  resist  encroachments  on  them  by 
whatever  party,  to  plead  for  the  people,  to  uphold  the  rights  of  every 
injured  and  oppressed  man,  be  he  who  he  may,  to  encourage  plans 
for  the  elevation  of  the  man}^  to  bind  together  in  fraternal  union  all 
conditions  and  classes,  and  to  awaken  sympath}'  with  all  efforts  for 
liberty,  with  the  friends  of  humanity  everywhere.  We  want  a  new 
tone,  that  of  universal  justice  and  philanthropy,  to  characterize  the 
paper.  I  know  the  question  is,  whether  such  a  paper  can  find 
support.  If  ably  conducted,  it  would.  If  conducted  no  better 
than  other  papers,  it  would  fail.  For  myself,  I  trust  that  a  new  body 
is  growing  up  amongst  us,  of  men  of  principle,  who,  if  gathered 
together,  would  be  strong  enough  to  command  respect  from  the 
selfish  parties  which  divide  the  country,  and  who  would  thus  act 
powerfully  on  public  affairs.  Can  nothing  be  done  to  make  them 
known  to  one  another,  and  to  give  voice  to  their  conviction  ?  " 

'■'■Newport,  September  23,  1839. «  The  present  is  a  new  era,  and 
there  must  be  jarring,  till  the  new  and  the  old  have  had  time  to  ad- 
just themselves  to  one  another.  The  new  spring  given  to  human 
activit}^,  the  new  connection  of  nations,  the  new  sense  of  power  in 
the  mass  of  the  people,  these  and  other  elements  of  our  present  con- 
dition must  be  accompanied  with  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  till  we 
have  got  used  to  them,  and  learned  how  to  manage  them.  The 
wisest  of  us  are  poor  prophets  in  such  a  transitionary  state  of 
J  To  Dr.  Charles  FoUen.  '^  Ibid.  3  Xo  George  Ticknor,  Esq. 


PASSION  FOR  ACCUMULATION.  617 

things  ;  but  it  is  easj-  to  see  some  grand  elements  at  work.  I  can- 
not doubt  that  the  impression  of  present  evils  is  ver^^  much  in- 
creased by  that  new  feature  of  societj^  publicity.  Now  we  know 
everything  done  and  suffered,  and  know  the  worst.  What  a  dark 
veil  covered  the  woes  and  crimes  of  the  past !  " 

"  September  10,  1841.^  The  late  untoward  events  to  which  you 
refer  do  not  discourage  me  as  much  as  they  do  you.  I  expect  the 
people  to  make  a  great  many  mistakes.  It  seems  the  order  of 
Providence  that  we  should  grow  wise  by  failures.  Sometimes  we 
learn  the  true  way  by  having  first  tried  every  wrong  one.  I  see 
vast  obstacles  to  be  overcome.  To  reconcile  freedom  and  order, 
popular  legislation  and  an  efficient  executive  power,  manual  labor 
and  intellectual  culture,  general  suffrage  and  a  stable  administration, 
equality  and  mutual  deference,  the  law  of  population  and  a  com- 
fortable subsistence  for  all, — this  is  the  work  of  ages.  It  is  to 
undo  almost  the  whole  past,  to  create  society  anew.  Can  we  ex- 
pect it  to  be  done  in  a  day  ? 

"  I  see  hostile  forces  on  every  side.  In  this  country  I  see  false 
and  pernicious  notions  about  democracy,  and  much  unfaithfulness 
to  free  institutions.  I  shut  my  eyes  on  none  of  its  dangers,  though 
these  seem  to  me  much  exaggerated  by  the  friends  as  well  as  foes 
of  freedom,  in  Europe.  A  dark  cloud  hangs  over  the  reputation  of 
our  country  at  this  moment,  and  I  care  not  how  loud  the  reproaches 
are  which  come  to  us  from  your  side  the  ocean.  But  it  ought  to  be 
considered  that  the  commercial  crash  here,  which  has  distressed 
and  exasperated  our  foreign  creditors,  and  made  them  set  us  down 
as  a  nation  of  cheats,  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  our  free  institu- 
tions. It  has  grown  out  of  the  spirit,  the  epidemic  vice  of  our  age, 
the  mad  passion  for  great,  sudden  accumulation,  which  has  raged 
everywhere,  but  has  found  peculiar  temptations  and  facilities  in  a 
new  country,  of  boundless,  unexplored  resources.  I,  who  live  here, 
see  that  the  people,  after  this  storm,  are  much  as  the}^  were  before. 
Many  individuals  have  committed  great  frauds  ;  but  the  great  mass 
are  unharmed  in  character.  I  trust  in  those  around  me,  as  be- 
fore. A  fear  as  to  the  stability'  of  property  never  crossed  my  mind. 
Amidst  our  great  commercial  distresses,  there  has  been  much  ac- 
tivity in  the  cause  of  morals,  religion,  education  ;  and  whilst  Europe 
is  loading  us  with  all  manner  of  hard  names,  a  real  progress  is  go- 
ing on  in  intelligence,  temperance,  and  I  hope  philanthropy. 

"That  what  you  call  social  science  is  in  its  infanc}',  I  feel ;  and 
our  whole  civilization  is  so  tainted  by  selfishness,  mercenariness, 
and  sensuality,  that  I  sometimes  fear  that  it  must  be  swept  away  to 
^  To  J.  C.  L.  Simonde  de  Sismondi. 


618  SOCIAL  REFORMS. 

prepare  for  something  better.  But  amidst  these  evils,  have  not 
some  higher  impulses  been  given  to  tlie  world  ?  Is  there  not  a  grow- 
ing intelligence?  Are  not  great  ideas  striving,  however  vaguely,  in 
the  common  mind?  The  idea  of  human  rights  can  never  be  stifled 
again.  True,  the  vagueness  of  grand  tlioughts  is  perilous  ;  l)ut 
must  they  not  pass  through  this  stage  before  the}-  become  precise 
and  practical  ?  Tiie  spirit  of  Christianity  seems  to  me  to  be  more 
and  more  extricating  itself  from  the  pernicious  dogmas  in  which  it 
has  so  long  been  imprisoned.  Christianity  is  becoming  a  new  power 
in  society.  I  expect  from  these  causes  no  wonderful  changes.  You 
and  I  shall  not  see  the  Millennium.  The  French  Revolution  may 
have  been  but  the  first  volcano  ;  but  has  not  this  terrible  volcano 
done  good  ?  Is  not  every  government  in  Europe  better  administered 
in  consequence  of  it? 

"  But  I  stop.  I  wanted  only  to  say,  that  I  see  bright  as  well  as 
dark  aspects  in  the  times,  and  that  I  approach  the  grave  without 
the  gloom  which  so  often  gathers  over  the  mind  in  advancing  j'ears. 
On  one  subject  I  wish  much  to  communicate  with  you,  and  that  is, 
the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes,  with  whom  I  sympathize 
much.  Important  changes  nmst  take  place  in  their  state.  They 
must  share  more  largel}^  in  the  fruits  of  their  toil,  and  in  means  of 
improvement.  How  this  is  to  be  accomplished,  is  a  problem  which 
often  exercises  my  mind.  I  wish  I  could  see  the  way  growing 
clearer." 

'•'■January^  1842.^  Did  I  not  look  on  our  present  state  as  merely 
a  transition  one,  I  should  be  tempted  to  think,  that,  had  we  never 
known  a  bank,  canal,  steamboat,  or  railroad,  we  should  be  far 
better  off  at  this  moment.  We  have  been  made  drunk  with  the 
spirit  of  rapid  accumulation,  and  the  imagination  has  been  mad- 
dened with  prospects  of  boundless  wealth.  Iilngland  is  suffering 
from  the  same  causes.  What  a  comment  on  the  present  commer- 
cial spirit  is  the  condition  of  England  !  Thousands  and  ten  thou- 
sands starving,  in  the  sight  of  luxury  and  ostentation  !  Does  the 
earth  show  a  sadder  sight  than  this  ?  England  seems  to  be  teach- 
ing one  great  lesson,  namely,  that  art  and  science,  skill  and 
energy,  and  all  the  forces  of  nature,  concentrated  by  selfishness  for 
the  accumulation  of  wealth,  produce  degradation  and  miseiy  ;  that 
nothing  but  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  which  is  in  direct  hostihty  to 
the  present  spirit  of  trade  or  accumulation,  can  heal  the  woes  of 
society.  I  have  faith  that  this  great  truth  is  to  be  learned,  and 
that  the  present  deformed  social  state  is  not  to  last  forever. 

"  Very  truly,  your  friend." 

1  To  Thomas  Thorucly,  Esq. 


INFLUENCE  OF  TRADE.  519 

*'  Boston,  February  7,  1842.^  An  American,  loving  freedom  and 
his  race,  cannot  but  be  shocked,  in  visiting  countries  where  the 
spirit  of  aristocracy  lias  triumphed  for  ages.  But  still,  a  com- 
parison with  the  past  may  show  that  much  has  been  gained,  and 
that  great  causes  are  at  work  for  human  melioration.  At  the  pres- 
ent moment,  the  most  powerful  agent  in  societ}'  is  trade,  —  a  very 
coarse  and  worldly  one,  to  be  sure,  —  but  still,  one  which  is  break- 
ing down  national  distinctions,  wearing  out  prejudices,  extending 
more  and  more  the  republic  of  literature  and  thought,  giving  dif- 
ferent countries  a  common  interest,  and  preparing  the  way  for  a 
more  rapid  diffusion  of  quickening  ideas,  as  fast  as  they  spring  up 
in  gifted  minds.  Is  it  not  also  forming  ever^'where  a  middle  class, 
a  power  to  balance  the  aristocracy,  and  which  must  seek  protection 
in  liberal  principles  ? 

"I  know  the  corrupting  influence  of  the  passion  for  accumula- 
tion, and  I  should  groan,  were  I  to  think  that  the  present  social 
state  was  to  last  for  ever.  But  may  not  the  quickening  of  industry, 
the  multiplication  of  material  comforts,  and  the  progress  and  new 
application  of  physical  science,  be  necessary'  preparations  to  the 
extension  of  intelligence,  and  of  a  spirit  of  improvement  through 
the  now  neglected  masses?  The  changes,  often  rapid,  which  are 
now  produced  b}'  discoveries  in  the  arts,  and  by  new  commercial 
movements,  favor  the  love  of  change,  and  especially  give  to  men 
a  tendency  to  appl}^  principles  of  all  kinds  to  practice.  The  worlds 
of  speculation  and  action  are  found  to  be  nearer  to  each  other  than 
had  been  supposed.  The  idea  of  a  better  state  seems  less  a  dream. 
I  have  spoken  of  trade  ;  and  I  might  name,  in  connection  with  this, 
the  press,  and  purer  conceptions  of  Christianity,  which  seem  to  me 
growing  forces  in  society. 

"The  want  of  faith  in  improvement,  which  3'ou  deplore,  is  the 
darkest  symptom.  Much  of  this,  I  am  sorry  to  sa}',  is  to  be  found 
here,  but  chiefly  among  what  are  called  '  the  better  classes.' 
These  are  alwa^'s  selfishly  timid,  and  never  orginate  improvements 
worth}'  of  the  name.  Tiiat  the  French  Revolution  should  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  great  reaction  on  the  Continent  in  favor  of  the  old  and 
established  cannot  surprise  us  ;  but  I  have  a  feeling  that  men's 
minds  cannot  relapse,  after  that  shock,  into  the  old  lethargy.  Are 
not  great  ideas  more  recognized?  Liberty  and  equality  may  be 
dreaded  or  derided  ;  but  has  not  the  idea  of  Rights  taken  a  new 
hold  on  men's  minds?  Is  the  common  man  as  unconscious  of  the 
injuries  he  suffers  as  formerl}^?  Is  not  the  notion,  however  vague, 
of  the  true  and  only  proper  function  of  government  unfolding,  and 

1  To  Harmanus  Bleecker,  Esq. 


520  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

is  not  a  new  standard  silently  establishing  itself,  by  which  rulers 
are  to  be  tried  ? 

"  The  want  of  faith  in  man,  which  you  speak  of,  is  melanchol}', 
as  it  springs,  in  a  great  measure,  from  moral  dissoluteness,  and 
from  want  of  faith  in  God  and  Christ.  These  do  throw  a  cloud 
over  the  woi'ld.  But  man  is  never  to  be  despaired  of.  I  have  an 
unshaken  hope,  founded,  first,  on  the  providence  of  God  and  the 
promises  of  his  word,  and,  next,  on  Human  Nature.  There  is  an 
infinity  of  resource  in  the  human  soul.  The  French  Revolution  is 
in  one  sense  encouraging.  It  shows  us  a  seemingl}-  old,  worn-out 
nation,  rising  all  at  once  into  the  fier}'  enthusiasm  of  3'outh.  We 
can  never  say  that  our  nature  is  exhausted.  It  breaks  out  sud- 
denly into  new  and  most  unexpected  forms.  We  have  a  remarkable 
testimon}'  to  this  truth  in  our  country.  At  this  moment,  the  whole 
countiy  is  shaken  by  the  temperance  movement.  A  reform  of  the 
most  desperate  drunkards  —  such  as  we  should  have  called  a  mira- 
cle a  few  years  ago  —  is  spreading  ever3^where ;  and  this  work 
began  in  a  dram-shop  at  Baltimore !  Shall  we  despair  of  such  a 
race?  .... 

"In  such  a  world,  who  shall  set  limits  to  change  and  revolution?  " 


Chapter  IV.— THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

Inspired,  as  Dr.  Channing  was,  with  the  life  of  universal  hu- 
manit}',  which  was  quickening  the  age,  with  reverence  for  man,  the 
idea  of  equal  rights,  and  longing  for  fraternal  relations  between  all 
classes  of  society,  he  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  crimes  and  out- 
rages inevitably'  incident  to  the  system  of  American  slavery.  Per- 
gonal acquaintance,  even  from  earl}'  years,  with  the  colored  race, 
had  shown  him  the  sensibilit}',  affectionateness,  capacity  of  rapid 
improvement,  energy,  both  intellectual  and  practical,  and,  above 
all,  the  strong  religious  tendencies,  of  the  millions  of  his  country- 
men so  long  kept  down  b}^  cruel  injustice  and  mean  prejudice.  He 
saw  that  an  inhuman  institution,  originated  b}'  the  oppressions  of 
the  warrior  class  in  the  rudest  ages,  and  needlessly  perpetuated  b}' 
the  selfish  sloth  of  civilized  men,  was  a  wasting  disease  in  the  very 
vitals  of  this  nation,  corrupting  at  once  its  policy,  industry,  man- 
ners, conscience,  and  religion.  He  well  knew,  too,  how  steadily 
this  cancer,  tampered  with  by  palliatives  when  it  should  have  been 


ENGLISH  ANTISLAVERY.  621 

cut  out,  had  grown,  and  how  deeply  it  had  interwoven  its  roots 
throuo-h  the  whole  texture  of  the  character  and  conduct  of  our 
people.  He  watched,  therefore,  with  much  anxiety  the  progress 
of  the  antislavery  reform  in  Great  Britain,  with  the  hope  that  the 
development  of  a  more  humane  poUcy  in  that  leading  commercial 
nation  would  react  powerfully  upon  the  United  States.  In  1828, 
he  thus  expressed  his  desires  and  apprehensions  to  his  friend  Miss 
Roscoe :  — 

"  I  rejoice  in  the  zeal  with  which  the  cause  of  the  Africans  is 
espoused  among  you.  On  this  subject  I  have  had  one  fear,  that 
too  great  stress  had  been  laid  on  the  physical  sufferings  of  the 
slaves.  I  apprehend  that  the  slaves  of  our  country  suffer  less  than  the 
peasantry  in  some  countries  of  Europe.  The  true  ground,  I  think, 
is,  that  slavery  is  a  wrong,  be  the  yoke  lighter  or  heavier,  and  that, 
even  where  it  provides  sufficiently  for  the  physical  being,  it  destroys 
the  intellectual  and  moral  being,  and  utterly  extinguishes  the  hope 
and  capacity  of  progress.  I  trust  your  efforts  are  to  prosper,  for 
nothing  can  rid  us  of  this  curse  in  this  country  but  a  strong  moral 
and  religious  feeling,  and  this  will  be  aided  by  enlightened  public 
sentiment  in  other  countries." 

It  was  while  Dr.  Channing  was  in  this  state  of  mind  in  relation 
to  the  one  monster  evil  of  our  land,  deploring  the  insensibihty  of 
the  North,  and  meditating  upon  the  means  of  its  removal,  that  the 
necessities  of  health  compelled  him  to  pass  a  winter  in  the  island 
of  Santa  Cruz.  He  sailed  from  Boston  in  the  autumn  of  1830,  at 
the  very  time  when  the  uncompromising  Garrison  —  who  already, 
in  the  "  Genius  of  Emancipation,"  had  uttered  the  watchword  of 
Abolition  —  was  preparing,  as  a  journeyman  printer,  at  the  cost 
of  his  dail}'  wages  and  in  extra  hours  of  labor,  to  write  the  leaders, 
set  up  the  types,  and,  with  his  own  hand,  to  strike  off  the  first 
immber  of  the  Liberator. 

His  residence  in  Santa  Cruz  supplied  just  the  stimulus  which  Dr. 
Channing  needed,  to  revive  his  youthful  recollections  of  the  wrongs 
and  horrors  of  slavery,  to  open  his  heart  to  the  influx  of  the  reform 
spirit  which  Providence  was  infusing,  and  to  prepare  him  to  co-op- 
erate efficiently  with  the  antislavery  movement.  As  he  frequently 
used  to  say,  in  after  years,  he  then  "passed  through  a  regenera- 
tion "  upon  this  subject.  In  the  last  address  which  he  ever  made, 
he  thus  bore  his  testimony  to  the  value  of  this  experience  :  ^  — 

"The  circumstance  which  particularly  gave  my  mind  a  direction 
to  this  subject  was  a  winter's  residence  in  a  West  Indian  island, 
1  Works,  Vol.  VI.  p.  381.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  907. 


522  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

more  than  eleven  j-ears  ago.  I  lived  there  on  a  plantation.  The 
piazza  in  which  I  sat  and  walked  almost  from  morning  to  night 
overlooked  the  negro  village  belonging  to  the  estate.  A  few  steps 
placed  me  in  the  midst  of  their  huts.  Here  was  a  volume  on  slav- 
ery opened  always  before  ni}'  eyes,  and  how  could  I  help  learning 
some  of  its  lessons?  The  gang  on  this  estate  (for  such  is  the 
name  given  to  a  company  of  slaves)  was  the  best  on  the  island, 
and  among  the  best  in  the  West  Indies.  The  proprietor  had 
labored  to  collect  the  best  materials  for  it.  His  gang  had  been  his 
pride  and  boast.  The  fine  proportions,  the  graceful  and  some- 
times dignified  bearing,  of  these  people  could  hardly  be  overlooked. 
Unhai)pily,  misfortune  had  reduced  the  owner  to  bankruptcy. 
The  estate  had  been  mortgaged  to  a  stranger,  who  could  not  per- 
sonally superintend  it ;  and  I  found  it  under  the  care  of  a  passion- 
ate and  licentious  manager,  in  whom  the  poor  slaves  found  a  sad 
contrast  to  the  kindness  of  former  days.  They  sometimes  came  to 
the  house  where  I  resided  with  their  mournful  or  indignant  com- 
plaints ;  but  were  told  that  no  redress  could  be  found  from  the 
hands  of  their  late  master.  In  this  case,  of  a  plantation  passing 
into  strange  hands,  I  saw  that  the  mildest  form  of  slavery  might  at 
an}'  time  be  changed  into  the  worst." 

In  a  note  appended  to  the  first  edition  of  his  work  on  Slaver}-, 
but  subsequently  suppressed,  because  he  was  unwilling  to  divert 
the  attention  of  his  readers  from  principles  to  details.  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  thus  recorded  some  of  his  recollections.  They  are  of  interest, 
as  sliowing  the  influences  which  surrounded  him,  his  habits  of 
obser\'ation,  and  cast  of  thought. 

"I  wish  to  add  a  few  statements,  to  show  how  little  reliance 
can  be  placed  on  what  seem,  to  a  superficial  observer,  mitigations 
or  advantages  of  slavery,  and  how  much  safer  it  is  to  argue  from 
the  experience  of  all  times,  and  from  the  principles  of  human 
nature,  than  from  insulated  facts. 

"  I  once  passed  a  colored  woman  at  work  on  a  plantation,  who 
-^  was  singing,  appai-ently  with  animation,  and  whose  general  man- 
ners would  have  led  me  to  set  her  down  as  the  happiest  of  the 
gang.  I  said  to  her,  '  Your  work  seems  pleasant  to  you.'  She 
replied,  '  No,  massa.'  Supposing  that  she  referred  to  something 
particularly  disagreeable  in  her  immediate  occupation,  I  said  to 
her,  '  Tell  me,  then,  what  part  of  your  work  is  most  pleasant.' 
She  answered,  with  much  emphasis,  '  No  pari  pleasant.  We  forced 
to  do  it.'     These  few  words  let  me  into  the  heart  of  the  slave. 

"On  this  plantation,  the  most  favored  woman,  whose  life  was 


KECOLLECTIONS  OF  SANTA  CRUZ.         523 

the  easiest,  earnestly  besought  a  friend  of  mine  to  buy  her  and  put 
her  in  tlic  vvaj'  to  earn  her  freedom.  A  daughter  of  this  woman, 
very  young,  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  manager  of  tlie  estate. 
IIovv  far  this  cause  influenced  the  exasperated  mother  I  did  not 
learn. 

"  I  heard  of  an  estate,  managed  by  an  individual  who  was  con- 
sidered as  singularly  successful,  and  who  was  able  to  govern  the 
slaves  without  the  use  of  the  whip.  I  was  anxious  to  see  him,  and 
trusted  that  some  discovery  had  been  made  favorable  to  humanity. 
I  asked  him  how  he  was  able  to  dispense  with  corporal  punish- 
ment. He  replied  to  me,  with  a  very  determined  look,  '  The 
slaves  know  that  the  work  must  be  done,  and  that  it  is  better  to  do 
it  without  punishment  than  with  it.'  In  other  words,  the  certainty 
and  dread  of  chastisement  were  so  impressed  on  them,  that  they 
never  incurred  it. 

"  I  then  found  that  the  slaves  on  this  well-managed  estate  de- 
creased in  number.  I  asked  the  cause.  He  replied,  with  perfect 
frankness  and  ease,  '  The  gang  is  not  large  enough  for  the  estate.' 
In  other  words,  they  were  not  equal  to  the  work  of  the  plantation, 
and  yet  were  made  to  do  it,  though  with  the  certainty  of  abridging 
life 

"  I  once  heard  some  slaves,  who  had  been  taken  b}'  law  from 
their  master,  singing  a  song  of  their  own  composition,  and  at  the 
end  of  ever}'  stanza  tliey  joined  with  a  complaining  tone  in  a  cho- 
rus, of  which  the  burden  was,  '  We  got  no  massa.'  Here  seemed  a 
striking  proof  of  attachment  to  the  master ;  but  on  inquiry  into  the 
rest  of  the  song,  I  found  it  was  an  angry  enumeration  of  the  sever- 
ities which  they  were  suffering  from  the  new  superintendent.  They 
wanted  their  master  as  an  escape  from  cruelt}'. 

''Facts  of  this  kind,  which  make  no  noise,  which  escape  or  mis- 
lead a  casual  observer,  help  to  show  the  character  of  slavery  more 
than  occasional  excesses  of  cruelty,  though  these  must  be  frequent. 
They  show  how  deceptive  are  the  appearances  of  good  connected 
with  it,  and  how  much  may  be  suffered  under  the  manifestation  of 
much  kindness.  It  is,  in  fact,  next  to  impossible  to  estimate  pre- 
cisely the  evils  of  slavery.  The  slave  writes  no  books,  and  the 
slaveholder  is  too  inured  to  the  S3'stem,  and  too  much  interested  in 
it,  to  be  able  to  comprehend  it.  Perhaps  the  laws  of  the  Slave 
States  ai-e  the  most  unexceptionable  witnesses  which  we  can  obtain 
from  that  quarter ;  and  the  l:)arbarity  of  these  is  decisive  testimony 
against  an  institution  which  requires  such  means  for  its  support." 

Dr.  Channing  returned  to  the  United  States  in  May,  1831,  and 
in  an  address  to  liis  society  thus  opened  to  them  his  heart  in  rela- 


524  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

tion  to  the  inhuman  system  of  whose  debasing  results  he  had  been 
a  witness. 

"/«(«e,  1831.  The  most  striking  feature  in  the  state  of  society 
which  I  have  been  called  to  observe  is  the  existence  of  slavery. 
This  drew  my  thoughts  more  than  all  that  was  peculiar  in  the  natu- 
ral world,  and,  though  I  saw  this  evil  in  its  mildest  form,  my  con- 
viction of  its  magnitude  grew  stronger  and  more  painful.  I  saw 
slavery,  as  I  have  said,  in  its  mildest  form,  and  I  saw  that  it  was 
not  the  unmixed  misery  which  it  is  often  declared  to  be.  I  recol- 
lect that  I  learned  very  early  in  life  to  repeat  the  lines  of  the  poet, 
'  I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  carry  me/  &c., 

but  I  never  saw  the  white  man  carried,  or  fanned,  or  regarded  with 
trembling,  by  the  African.  The  slaveholder  tells  you,  and  with  a 
good  deal  of  truth,  that  the  slave  is  better  fed  than  the  peasants  in 
several  parts  of  Europe,  nor  is  he,  perhaps,  as  often  overworked. 
Indeed,  his  physical  condition,  though  far  worse  than  it  should  be, 
is  not  worse  than  that  of  many,  even  in  this  country.  The  old 
severity  of  discipline  is  very  much  relaxed.  The  lash,  though  used 
unjustifiably,  is  used  comparatively  seldom,  and  solitary  confine- 
ment is  found  a  more  effectual  punishment. 

"  Still,  I  think  no  power  of  conception  can  do  justice  to  the  evils 
of  slaverj^  They  are  chiefly  moral,  the}'  act  on  the  mind,  and 
through  the  mind  bring  intense  suffering  on  the  bod}'.  As  far  as 
the  human  soul  can  be  destroyed,  slavery  is  that  destroyer.  It  is 
a  direct  war  with  the  high  powers  and  principles  of  our  nature,  and 
sinks  man  as  far  as  possible  into  the  brute.  The  slave  is  regarded 
as  property,  treated  as  propert}',  considered  as  having  no  rights, 
subjected  to  another's  arbitrary  will,  and  thus  loses  all  conscious- 
ness of  what  he  is,  and  what  he  should  be.  The  feeling  of  degra- 
dation enters  into  the  very  constitution  of  his  mind.  He  has  no 
motive  for  exerting  or  improving  his  powers  ;  for,  do  what  he  will, 
his  lot  remains  the  same.  He  works  not  for  reward,  but  from  com- 
pulsion ;  for,  work  or  not,  he  receives  the  same  support.  His  wife 
and  children  depend  on  him  in  no  degree,  but  receive  the  necessa- 
ries and  comforts  of  life  from  the  common  master ;  so  that  the  ten- 
derest  and  most  interesting  dependencies  of  life  are  broken  up,  and 
industry  has  none  of  the  springs,  and  is  solaced  by  none  of  the 
affections,  which  make  labor  here  so  animated  and  cheerful.  His 
future  can  be  but  a  repetition  of  the  past.  He  has  no  hopes,  and 
when  you  add  to  this  the  utter  ignorance  in  which  he  grows  up, 
you  will  understand  how  necessarily  he  yields  himself  to  the  pres- 
ent moment,  sinks  into  a  creature  of  sense,  continues  as  improvi- 


(/ 


THE  EVILS  OF  SLAVERY.  525 


dent  as  a  child,  and  abandons  himself  to  gross  vices.  Tlirongh 
these  excesses,  joined  to  occasional  overworking,  the  slave  popula- 
tion decreases,  and  disease,  debility,  and  premature  old  age  bring 
on  a  dreadful  amount  of  physical  suffering.  That,  under  such  an 
education,  the  sense  of  justice  should  be  extinguished,  — that  they 
whose  rights  are  every  moment  violated  should  not  be  alive  to  the 
riglits  of  others,  — that  slaves  should  make  lying  and  cheating  their 
vocation,  and  should  congratulate  themselves  on  every  opportunity' 
of  robbing  the  tyrant  b}'  whom  they  are  robbed,  — all  this  is  a  thing 
of  course  ;  so  that  with  the  sensual  are  joined  the  anti-social  vices, 
and  they  know  no  restraint  save  fear. 

"  I  have  thrown  out  these  remarks,  because  I  feel  that  we  have 
little  conception  of  the  infinite  evil  of  slaver3%  I  desire  earnestly 
that  a  new  sentiment  should  be  called  forth  on  this  subject,  for  I 
am  persuaded  that  the  prevalent,  clear,  decided  expression  of  such 
a  sentiment  would  produce  great  results.  We  live  at  a  time  when  y 
great  truths  can  be  expressed  nowhere  without  spreading  them- 
selves everywhere.  It  is  astonishing  and  gratifying  to  see  the 
influence  which  just  and  benevolent  sentiments  in  Europe  on  the 
subject  of  slavery  have  exerted  on  the  West  Indies.  The  meliora- 
tion of  the  condition  of  the  slaves  within  thirty  years  is  great.  I 
have  heard  the  cruelties  which  were  perpetrated  thirt}'  years  ago 
spoken  of  with  horror.  A  new  spirit  of  humanity  has  spread 
among  masters,  and  this  has  come  from  the  deep  interest  existing 
abroad,  and  especially  in  England,  in  the  condition  of  the  slave. 
It  is  one  of  the  noble  distinctions  of  this  age,  that  thoughts,  prin- 
ciples, feelings,  fly  like  the  winds  from  country  to  country,  that 
philanthropy  is  found  to  be  as  contagious  as  vice.  There  can  be 
Uttle  doubt  that  the  public  feeling  of  England  is  to  emancipate  the 
West  Indies.  A  right  public  feeling  here,  I  believe,  coming  in  aid 
of  this  foreign  impulse,  would  work  as  surely  on  our  own  country. 
Slavery  cannot  live  against  the  united  moral  convictions  and  repro- 
bation of  the  civilized  world." 

The  year  1831  was  as  eventful  as  any  which  the  United  States 
has  as  yet  witnessed  ;  for  then  was  the  idea  of  freedom,  providen- 
tially working  in  the  spirit  of  this  nation,  at  length  embodied  in  the 
words  and  deeds  of  faithful  men.  From  the  fatal  hour,  when,  by 
the  compromises  of  the  Constitution,  the  essential  principles  of  the 
republic  were  belied,  and  its  professed  declarations  of  justice  prac- 
tically disowned  as  visionary  abstractions,  — from  the  3et  more  fatal 
hour  of  the  Missouri  Compromise,  when  Northern  freemen,  bribed, 
cajoled,  bewildered,  frightened,  yielded  up  the  duties,  rights,  honor, 
of  their  constituents  to  the  dictation  of  slaveholding  poUticians, 


626  THE  ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

trained  to  tyranny  by  oligarchical  usages,  —  a  rapid  deterioration 
may  be  traced  in  the  sentiments,  opinions,  conduct,  of  all  parties 
throughout  our  country.  Our  youthful  enthusiasm  for  liberty  was 
stittening  into  a  premature  decrepitude  of  worldly  prudence. '  The 
conscience  of  the  Union,  in  church  and  state,  in  social  circles,  col- 
leges, and  the  press,  in  industry  and  trade,  was  palsy-struck. 
Hereafter,  more  clearly  than  at  present,  will  it  be  recognized,  that 
the  Antislavery  movement  has  been,  by  God's  blessing,  the  means 
of  this  people's  regeneration. 

At  the  time  of  Dr.  Clianning's  return,  the  "Liberator"  had 
struggled  through  its  first  six  months  of  i)recarious  support  and 
bitter  persecution.  It  had  made  itself  felt  as  a  quickening  power 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  body  politic,  and  eveiy  limb  and  fibre  were 
beginning  to  tingle  with  the  consciousness  of  returning  vitality. 
Mr.  Garrison,  and  the  small  band  of  firm  and  undoubting  coadju- 
tors, who  saw  that  the  question  of  the  abolition  of  slavery  was  one 
of  life  or  death,  had  sounded  forth  their  startling  summons  of 
"  Immediate  Emancipation."  The  delusive  hopes  excited  in  thou- 
sands of  honest  hearts  l)y  the  scheme  of  sending  back  the  colored 
race  to  Africa,  were  rcluctantl}-  yielding  to  the  proof,  that  the 
Colonization  Society,  hoAvcver  beneficial  it  might  become  to  a 
distant  continent  and  a  later  age,  was  wholly  powerless  to  redeem 
the  United  States  from  the  crime  and  curse  of  slaveholding  institu- 
tions. A  new  era  had  opened  ;  the  great  political  reform  of  the 
nation  had  begun.  It  was  with  profoundest  gratitude,  and  yet 
most  anxious  apprehension,  that  Dr.  Channing  regarded  this  crisis, 
which  he  had  so  earnestly  longed  for,  —  with  gratitude,  for  he  could 
not  but  recognize  the  sincerity  of  the  apostles  of  this  new  gospel, 
—  with  apprehension,  for  their  tones  of  uncompromising  sternness 
jarred  discordantly  upon  his  finely  attuned  ear.  Might  not  his 
own  words  well  have  recurred  to  him  in  extenuation  of  what  he 
thought  excesses?  "At  such  periods,  men  gifted  with  great 
powers  of  thought,  and  loftiness  of  sentiment,  are  especially 
summoned  to  the  conflict  with  evil.  They  hear,  as  it  were,  in  their 
own  magnanimity  and.  generous  aspirations,  the  voice  of  a  divinity; 
and,  thus  commissioned,  and  burning  with  passionate  devotion  to 
truth  and  freedom,  they  must  and  will  speak  with  an  indignant 
energy,  and  they  ought  not  to  be  measured  by  the  standard  of 
ordinary  minds  in  ordinary  times.  Men  of  natural  softness  and 
timidity,  of  a  sincere  but  effeminate  virtue,  will  be  apt  to  look  on 
these  bolder,  hardier  spirits  as  violent,  perturbed,  and  uncharitable, 
and  the  charge  will  not  be  wholly  groundless.  But  that  deep  feel- 
ing of  evils,  which  is  necessary  to  effectual  conflict  with  them,  and 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS.  527 

which  marks  God's  most  powerful  messengers  to  mankind,  cannot 
breathe  itself  in  soft  and  tender  accents.  The  deeply  moved  soul 
will  speak  strongl}",  and  ought  to  speak  so  as  to  move  and  shake 
nations."^ 

The  following  beautiful  letters,  from  two  of  the  bravest  at  once 
and  gentlest  of  the  first-born  Abolitionists,  will  most  satisfactorily 
exhibit  his  relations  at  this  period  to  the  Antislavery  movement. 
The  first  is  from  INIrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child,  who,  with  characteristic 
magnanimit}-,  risked  her  all  in  the  cause  of  the  slave. 

"  I  shall  alwa3S  recollect  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  Dr.  Channing 
in  private.  It  was  immediatel}'  after  I  published  my  '  Appeal  in 
Favor  of  that  Class  of  Americans  called  Africans'  (in  1833).  A 
publication  taking  broad  Antislavery  ground  was  then  a  rarity  ; 
indeed,  that  was  the  first  book  in  the  United  States  of  such  a  char- 
acter ;  and  it  naturall_y  produced  a  sensation  disproportioned  to  its 
merits.  I  sent  a  copy  to  Dr.  Channing,  and  a  few  da^s  after  he 
came  to  see  me,  at  Cottage  Place,  at  least  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
his  residence  at  Mount  Vernon.  It  was  a  very  bright,  sunny  day, 
but  he  carried  his  cloak  on  his  arm,  and  seemed  fatigued  with  the 
long  walk.  He  stayed  nearly  three  hours ;  during  which  time  we 
held  a  most  interesting  conversation  on  the  general  interests  of 
humanity,  and  on  slavery  in  particular.  He  told  mc  something 
of  his  experience  in  tlie  West  Indies,  and  said  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  the  sight  of  slavery  had  never  left  his  mind.  He  ex- 
pressed great  joy  that  the  '-  Appeal '  had  been  published,  and  urged 
me  never  to  desert  the  cause,  through  evil  or  through  good  report. 
In  some  respects,  he  thought  I  went  too  far.  He  then  entertained 
the  idea,  which  he  afterwards  discarded,  that  slavery  existed  in  a 
milder  form  in  tlie  United  States  than  elsewhere.  I  was  fresh  from 
the  bloody  records  of  our  own  legislation,  and  was  somewhat 
vehement  in  my  opposition  to  this  statement :  and  he  sought  to 
moderate  me  with  those  calm,  wise  words  which  none  spoke  so 
well  as  he. 

"We  afterwards  had  many  interviews.  He  often  sent  for  me, 
when  I  was  in  Boston,  and  always  urged  me  to  come  and  tell  him 
of  every  new  aspect  in  the  Antislavery-  cause.  At  every  interview, 
I  could  see  that  lie  grew  bolder  and  stronger  on  the  subject,  while 
I  felt  that  I  grew  wiser  and  more  just.  At  first  I  thouglit  him 
timid,  and  even  slightly  timeserving ;  but  I  soon  discovered  that 
I  formed  this  estimate  from  ignorance  of  his  character.  I  learned 
that  it  was  justice  to  all^  not  popularity  for  himself\  which  made  him 

1  Works,  Vol.  I.  pp.  24,  25.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  504. 


528  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

SO  cautious.  He  constantly  grew  upon  my  respect,  until  I  came  to 
regard  him  as  the  wisest,  as  well  as  the  gentlest,  apostle  of  hu- 
manity. I  owe  him  thanks  for  preserving  me  from  the  one-sicled- 
ness  into  which  zealous  reformers  are  so  apt  to  run.  He  never 
sought  to  undervalue  the  importance  of  Antislavery,  but  he  said 
many  things  to  prevent  my  looking  upon  it  as  the  only  question 
interesting  to  humanit}'.  My  mind  needed  this  check ;  and  I 
never  think  of  his  '  man^^-sided '  conversations  without  deep 
gratitude. 

"  Dr.  Channing's  interest  in  the  subject  constantly  increased, 
and  I  never  met  him  without  being  struck  with  the  progress  he  had 
made  in  overcoming  some  difficulty,  which,  for  the  time,  troubled 
his  sensitive  conscience.  I  can  now  distinctly  recollect  several 
such  steps.  At  one  time  he  was  very  doubtful  whether  it  were  right 
to  petition  Congress.  He  afterwards  headed  a  petition  himself. 
In  all  such  cases  he  was  held  back  b}'  the  conscientious  fear  of 
violating  some  other  duty,  in  endeavoring  to  do  his  duty  to  the 
slave.  Some  zealous  reformers  did  not  understand  this ;  and 
thus  construed  into  a  love  of  popularity  what  was,  in  fact,  but  a 
fine  sense  of  justice,  a  more  universal  love  of  his  species." 

The  next  is  from  the  Rev.  Samuel  J.  May,  who,  prompt  and 
patient,  firm  and  modest,  tolerant  though  just,  set  forth  in  daily 
life,  through  all  these  years  of  fiery  trial,  an  example  of  fidelity', 
wherein  uncompromising  integrity  and  benignant  gentleness  were 
blended  in  rare  beauty. 

"Soon  after  the  enterprise  of  Mr.  Garrison  and  the  Immediate 
Abolitionists  commenced,  I  found  it  had  attracted  the  notice  of 
Dr.  Channing.  Whenever  he  met  me,  he  would  make  particular 
inquiries  respecting  our  doctrine,  purposes,  measures,  and  pro- 
gress ;  and  repeatedly  invited  me  to  his  house,  for  the  express 
purpose,  as  he  said,  of  conversing  upon  the  subject.  He  alwa^'s 
spoke  as  if  he  were  deeply  interested,  as  if  he  were  warmed  b}'  a 
livelj'  sympathy  with  our  movement ;  although  he  was  afraid  of 
what  he  thought  to  be  the  tendency  of  some  of  our  opinions  and 
measures. 

"  In  the  autumn  of  1834,  I  spent  several  hours  with  Dr.  Chan- 
ning, in  earnest  conversation  upon  Abolitionism  and  the  Abolition- 
ists. My  habitual  reverence  for  him  was  such,  that  I  had  been  always 
apt  to  defer  too  readily  to  his  opinions,  or  not  to  make  a  very  stout 
defence  of  my  own,  when  I  could  not  yield  them  to  his.  But  by 
the  time  to  which  I  refer,  I  had  become  so  thoroughly  cou'sinced 
of  the  truth  of  the  leading  doctrines  of  the  Abolitionists,  and  so 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS.  529 

earnest!}'  engaged  in  the  dissemination  of  them,  that  our  conversa- 
tion assumed,  more  than  it  had  ever  done,  the  character  of  a 
debate. 

"  It  seemed  to  me,  that  he  clear]}*  perceived  the  essential  truth 
of  all  the  prominent  doctrines  of  the  Immediate  Abolitionists,  and 
acknowledged  the  vital  importance  of  the  cause  we  had  espoused. 
I  lis  principal,  if  not  his  onl}'  objections,  were  alleged  against  the 
severity  of  our  denunciations,  the  harshness  of  our  language,  the 
vehemence,  heat,  and  excitement  caused  b}'  our  meetings.  He 
dwelt  upon  these  objections,  which,  if  they  were  as  well  founded  as 
he  supposed,  la}'  against  what  was  only  incidental,  not  an  essential 
part  of  our  movement ;  he  dwelt  ui)on  them,  until  I  felt  impatient, 
indignant  at  him ;  and,  forgetting  for  the  moment  my  wonted 
reverence,  I  broke  out  with  great  warmth  of  expression  and 
manner. 

"  '  Dr.  Channing,'  I  said,  '  I  am  tired  of  these  complaints.  The 
cause  of  suffering  humanity,  the  cause  of  our  oppressed,  crushed 
colored  countrymen,  has  called  as  loudly  upon  others  as  upon  us, 
who  are  known  as  the  Abolitionists.  It  was  just  as  incumbent 
upon  others,  as  upon  us,  to  espouse  it.  We  are  not  to  blame  that 
wiser  and  better  men  did  not  espouse  it  long  ago.  The  cry  of 
millions  in  bondage  had  been  heard  throughout  our  land  for  half  a 
century,  and  disregarded.  The  wise  and  prudent  saw  the  wrong, 
but  thought  it  not  wise  and  prudent  to  lift  a  finger  for  its  correction. 
The  priests  and  Levites  beheld  their  robbed  and  wounded  country- 
men, but  passed  by  on  the  other  side.  The  children  of  Abraham 
held  their  peace,  until  at  last  "  the  very  stones  have  cried  out,"  in 
abhorrence  of  this  tremendous  wickedness  ;  and  you  must  expect 
them  to  cry  out  like  "  the  stones."  You  must  not  expect  of  many 
of  these,  whodiave  been  left  to  take  up  this  great  cause,  that  they 
will  plead  it  in  all  that  seemliness  of  phrase  which  the  scholars  and 
practised  rhetoricians  of  our  country  might  use ;  you  must  not 
expect  them  to  manage  with  all  the  calmness  and  discretion  that 
the  clergy  and  statesmen  might  exhibit.  But  the  scholars,  the 
clergy,  the  statesmen,  had  done  nothing,  and  did  not  seem  about  to 
do  anything ;  and  for  my  part,  I  thank  God  that  at  last  any  per- 
sons, be  they  who  they  may,  have  moved  earnestly  in  this  cause, 
for  no  movement  can  be  in  vain.  We  Abolitionists  are  just  what 
we  are, — babes,  sucklings,  obscure  men,  silly  women,  publicans, 
sinners  ;  and  we  shall  manage  the  matter  we  have  taken  in  hand 
just  as  might  be  expected  of  such  persons  as  we  are.  It  is  unbe- 
coming in  abler  men,  who  stood  by,  and  would  do  nothing,  to  com- 
plain of  us  because  we  manage  this  matter  no  better. 

84 


530  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

"  '  Dr.  Channing,'  I  continued,  with  gi-eat  earnestness,  '  it  is  not 
our  fault,  that  those  who  might  have  managed  this  great  reform 
more  prudent!}'  have  left  it  to  us  to  manage  as  we  may  be  able.  It 
is  not  our  fsiult,  that  those  who  might  liave  pleaded  for  the  enslaved 
so  much  more  wisely'  and  eloquenth",  both  with  the  pen  and  the 
living  voice,  than  we  can,  have  been  silent.  We  are  not  to  blame, 
sir,  that  3'ou,  who  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  man  might  have 
so  raised  the  voice  of  remonstrance,  that  it  should  have  been  heard 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  —  we  are  not  to 
blame,  sir,  that  you  have  not  so  spoken.  And  now,  because  infe- 
rior men  have  begun  to  speak  and  act  against  what  ^'ou  yourself 
acknowledge  to  be  an  awful  injustice,  it  is  not  becoming  in  3'ou  to 
complain  of  us,  because  we  do  it  in  an  inferior  style.  Why,  sir, 
have  30U  not  moved,  why  have  you  not  spoken  before?' 

"At  this  point,  I  bethought  me  to  whom  I  was  administering 
this  earnest  rebuke,  —  the  man  that  stood  among  the  highest  of  our 
great  and  good  men,  —  the  man  who  had  ever  treated  me  with  the 
kindness  of  a  father,  and  whom,  from  my  childhood,  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  revere  more,  perhaps,  than  an}-  one  living.  I  was 
almost  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  my  temerity.  His  countenance 
showed  that  he  was  much  moved.  I  could  not  suppose  he  would 
receive  very  graciously  all  I  had  said.  I  awaited,  in  painful  expec- 
tation, the  repl}'  he  would  make.  It  seemed  as  if  long  minutes 
elapsed  before  the  silence  was  broken  ;  when,  in  a  ver}'  subdued  man- 
ner, and  in  his  kindest  tones  of  voice,  he  said,  'Brother  May,  I  ac- 
knowledge the  justice  of  your  reproof;  I  have  been  silent  too  long.' 

"I  never  can  forget  his  words,  look,  manner.  I  then  saw  the 
beauty,  the  magnanimity,  of  an  humble  soul.  He  was  exalted  in 
mj'  esteem  more  than  before. 

"Pearly  in  December,  1835,  he  published  his  book  on  Slavery. 
A  few  days  after  its  appearance,  he  sent  me  a  kind  in^■itation  to 
dine  with  him,  in  compau}'  with  Mr.  S.  E.  Sewall,  that  he  might 
know,  as  he  said,  what  we  thought  of  his  work. 

"The  next  spring,  I  removed  to  the  city,  and  became  general 
agent  of  the  Autislavery  Society.  I  had  not  been  there  a  month, 
before  Dr.  Channing  called  and  invited  me  to  preach  for  him,  —  the 
only  invitation  to  preach  in  Boston  that  I  received  Avliile  agent  of 
the  Antislavery  Societ}',  —  a  term  of  fourteen  months." 

Dr.  Channing's  relations  to  Abolitionism  at  this  period  are  yet 
further  explained  in  letters  from  himself  to  Dr.  Follen. 

'"''Newport^  July  7,  1834.  There  is  no  need  of  what  is  called 
unanimity  in  this  or  an}'  other  cause.     Men  are  perpetually  sacrifi- 


RIOTS   IN   NEW   YORK.  531 

cing  their  intellectual  and  moral  independence  to  this  idol.  So  great 
a  subject  as  slavery  cannot  be  viewed  by  all  from  one  position,  nor 
with  entire  agreement  as  to  the  modes  of  treating  it ;  and  the  cause 
will  be  aided  by  the  existence  of  a  body  who  have  much  sympath}' 
with  people  at  large  as  to  the  difficulties  of  emancipation,  but  who 
uncompromisingly  maintain  that  the  abolition  of  slavery  ought  im- 
mediately to  be  decided  on,  and  means  used  for  immediately  com- 
mencing this  work.  I  feel  no  freedom,  as  some  sects  say,  to  join 
an}'  of  your  bodies,  but  the  cause  is  ver^'  dear  to  my  heart." 

^'- Newport^  July  26,  1834.  I  have  been  much  shocked  by  the 
late  riots  in  New  York.  That  mobs  should  break  out  there,  how- 
ever painful,  is  not  surprising  ;  for  we  know  that  materials  for  such 
explosions  exist  in  all  large  cities.  But  in  this  case  there  was  a 
toleration  of  the  mob  by  the  respectable  part  of  the  community, 
showing  a  willingness  that  free  discussion  should  be  put  down  by 
force,  and  that  slavery  should  be  perpetuated  indefinitelj-.  This  is 
a  sad  omen,  a  melancholy  indication  of  the  decay  of  the  spirit  of 
freedom  and  humanity.  Every  kind  of  '  fanaticism,'  it  seems,  may 
be  endured  but  that  of  philanthropy  and  liberty,  and  this  is  even  to 
be  put  beyond  the  pale  of  law.  The  late  trials  of  the  rioters  are  a 
farce.  Not  a  newspaper  in  the  countr}',  which  I  have  seen,  has  ex- 
pressed indignation  at  this  violation  of  the  sacred  right  of  inquiry 
and  free  expression  of  opinion. 

"I  do  not  mean,  however,  to  say  that  I  consider  the  Aboli- 
tionists as  blameless.  They  have  outraged  the  feelings  and  preju- 
dices of  the  people  unnecessarily.  Instead  of  confining  themselves 
to  obtain  freedom  and  means  of  improvement  for  the  slave,  and 
leaving  these  to  work  out  their  own  natural  and  sure  effects,  they 
have  done  much  to  intoxicate  the  colored  people,  and  to  exasperate 
the  laboring  wliites  b}-  their  mode  of  treating  and  speaking  of  the 
former  class,  and  have  alarmed  the  community  b}'  their  mode  of 
setting  up  the  claims  of  this  class  to  immediate  emancipation,  and 
to  equal  consideration  and  political  rights  with  other  citizens.  I 
know  they  explain  the  word  immediate  so  as  to  make  it  innoxious, 
but  it  is  a  fatal  mistake  for  a  part}'  to  choose  a  watchword  which 
almost  certainly  conveys  a  wrong  sense,  and  needs  explanation.  I 
make  these  remarks,  not  in  a  spirit  of  censoriousness,  but  because 
the  mob  and  their  abettors  should  have  justice  done  tliem. 

"Still,  this  New  York  insiuTection  against  liberty  fills  me  with 
indignation  and  grief.  The  duty  of  the  Abolitionists  seems  to  me 
clear.  Whilst  they  ought  to  review  their  principles  with  great  de- 
liberation, they  ought  not,  at  this  moment,  to  recant  anything, 
because  recantation  will  certainly  be  set  down  to  the  account  of 


532  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

fear.  I  wish  them  to  adopt  a  wiser  course  and  a  more  benevolent 
tone  towards  their  opponents  ;  but  not  to  abate  their  firmness  one 
jot,  not  to  use  a  wavering  word,  not  to  bring  suspicion  on  tlicir 
character  and  motives  b^'  the  least  appearance  of  timidity'.  I  wish 
tliem  to  give  up  their  extravagance,  and  to  pursue  practicable  ob- 
jects, and  such  as  consist  with  the  principles  of  human  nature  ;  but 
to  do  this  resolutel}-  and  from  conviction,  and  not  with  the  appear- 
ance of  unwilling  and  forced  concession  to  their  foes.  These  per- 
secutions, if  met  in  the  spirit  of  forbearance,  calm  dignit}-,  and 
energ}-,  will  aid  them.  Blessed  are  the  persecuted,  is  a  truth  for 
all  times." 

We  have  reached  the  solemn  season,  when  the  hosts  of  light  and 
darkness  seemed  to  hover,  in  deadly  conflict,  over  evor}^  State,  city, 
and  village  in  our  land,  and  the  fate  of  the  nation  hung  on  the  issue. 
On  the  one  side,  the  friends  of  freedom,  rallying  around  the  stand- 
ard of  "Immediate  Emancipation,"  associated  themselves  into 
national,  state,  count}',  and  town  Antislaver}'  societies  ;  religious 
and  secular  presses  gave  voice  to  the  swelling  enthusiasm  of  the 
people  of  the  North ;  memorials  extensively  signed  were  poured  in 
upon  Congress  ;  lecturers,  without  purse  or  scrip,  spread  over  the 
country,  preaching  a  new  moral  crusade  ;  George  Thompson,  radi- 
ant in  his  humane  zeal,  swept  through  our  communities,  slaying,  as 
he  went,  the  serpent-brood  of  worldly  sophistries  with  the  golden 
bow  and  keen  shafts  of  his  eloquence  ;  and,  above  all,  the  news  of 
emancipation  in  the  British  West  Indies  filled  the  hearts  of  all  true 
lovers  of  their  race  with  emulous  hope.  But,  on  the  other  side, 
mobs,  silently  tolerated,  or  openly  cheered  on  by  leading  editors, 
politicians,  and  influential  men,  attacked  and  plundered  the  houses 
of  leading  Abolitionists  ;  lecturers  were  insulted,  pelted,  outraged, 
outcast ;  pamphlets  and  papers,  on  pretence  of  their  containing 
''  incendiary  matter,"  were,  in  utter  violation  of  law,  excluded  from 
the  mails,  and  publicly  burned  ;  prices  were  set  upon  the  heads  of 
the  most  famous  advocates  of  freedom ;  governors  and  legislatures 
of  Southern  States  demanded  the  arrest  and  surrender  of  individu- 
als made  obnoxious  by  their  zeal  for  the  slaves  ;  the  P^xecutive  of 
the  United  States  invited  the  attention  of  Congress  to  the  painful 
excitement,  and  recommended  the  prohibition,  under  severe  i)enal- 
ties,  of  the  circulation  of  Antislavery  papers  through  the  South ; 
and  even  governors  and  high  officers  of  Northern  States  dared  to 
advise  the  passage  of  enactments  designed  to  put  an  end  to  the 
Antislavery  agitation.  It  was  in  the  beginning  of  this  strife  tliat 
Dr.  Channing  spoke  thus  to  his  people,  on  his  return  from 
Newport. 


MOBS   AGAINST  ANTISLAVERY.  533 

October,  1834.     "  The  civilized  world  will  heap  just  reproaches 
on  a  free  nation,  in  which  mobs  pour  forth  their  fury  on  the  oppos- 
ers  of  slavery.     These  mobs  are,  indeed,  most  dishonorable  to  us 
as  a  people,  because  they  have  been  too  much  the  expression  of 
public  sentiment.     Against  this   sentiment  I  feel  bound  to  bear 
earnest  and  indignant  testimony.     The  language  which  filled  the 
country  at  the  time  of  these  disturbances  was  such  as  should  never 
have  passed  the  lips  of  freemen.     Nothing  was  more  common  than 
to  hear  it  said,  '  These  mobs  are  bad,  but  they  will  put  down  Anti- 
slavery:     Why  was  it  that  these  mobs  ruled  our  lai'gest  city  for 
several  successive  nights?     Because  there  was  a  willingness  that 
the   Antislavery  movement  should   be  put  down  by  force.     The 
mobs,  considered  in  themselves,   were  of  secondary   importance. 
In  the  present  low  condition  of  society,  every  great  city  has  mate- 
rials for  them.     But  the  spirit  of  the  community,  which  gave  them 
scope,  and  which  wished  them  success,  deserves  the  severest  repro- 
bation of  the  philanthropist  and  the  Christian:     The  truth  is,  that, 
as  a  people,  we  are  indifferent  to  the  greatest  of  wrongs  and  calam- 
ities, that  is,  slavery,  and  therefore,  whilst  we  can  tolerate  all  other 
excesses,  we  cannot  away  with  the  excesses  of  the  friends  of  eman- 
cipation.    There  is  no  sympathy  with  those  who  are  wounded  and 
stung  with  the  injuries  of  the  slave,  and  therefore  we  are  willing 
that  the  dearest  right  of  freemen,  that  of  free  discussion,  should  be 
wrested  from  them.     It  is  this  state  of  feeling  in  the  community 
which  is  far  more  melancholy  than  a  vulgar  mob.     It  is  impossible 
to  read  the  newspapers  of  the  country  without  seeing  the  profound 
unconcern  which  pervades  the  country  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 
In  truth,  New  England  has  been  disgraced  by  publications  going  to 
reconcile  us  to  the  evil.     It  is  said,  again  and  again,  that  we  have 
no  right  to  meddle  with  slavery  at  the  South.     What!     Is  it  med- 
dling, to  discuss  a  great  question,  one  which  involves  the  happiness 
of  millions,  and  to  spread  abroad  neglected  truth?  .... 

"  I  know  that  the  mobs  to  which  I  have  referred  were  stirred  up 
and  defended  by  the  cry  of  fanaticism  raised  against  the  advocates 
of  abolition.  That  this  clamor  was  altogether  unfounded,  I  do  not 
say.  I  do  not  stand  here  as  the  advocate  of  Antislavery  associ- 
ations. That  they  have  carried  good  principles  to  extremes,  have 
winked  out  of  sight  the  difficulties  of  their  object,  have  hoped  to 
accomplish  the  work  of  years  in  a  moment,  have  exposed  their 
cause  to  suspicion  by  bitterness  of  language,  by  precipitancy,  by 
needlessly  outraging  public  feelings  or  prejudices,  I  certainly  shall 
not  deny.  But  fanaticism  —  if  such  be  the  proper  term  for  an 
excess  of  feeling  above  judgment  — is  seldom  separated  from  a 


534  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

good  cause.  The  most  generous  sentiments  take  this  form,  and  if 
fanaticism  is  to  be  put  down  by  force,  I  fear  nothing  great,  nothing 
wortln-  of  a  thrilling  love,  will  be  left  us.  Religion  especially  must 
be  proscribed.  Mobs  must  be  let  loose  against  all  the  more  fervent 
manifestations  of  this  highest  principle  of  the  soul. 

"•  When  a  good  cause  suffers  from  the  excesses  of  its  friends,  the 
true  course  is,  not  to  abandon  it  in  despair,  nor  to  surrender  it  to 
the  frenzy  of  the  populace,  but  to  espouse  and  prosecute  it  with 
calm  wisdom,  enlightened  zeal,  and  unfettered,  fearless  resolution. 
The  great  interests  of  humanity  do  not  lose  their  claims  on  us 
because  sometimes  injudiciousl}-  maintained.  We  ought  to  blame 
extravagance,  but  we  ought  also  to  remember,  that  very  often  it  is 
the  indifference  of  the  many  to  a  good  and  great  work,  which 
hurries  the  few  who  cleave  to  it  into  excess.  Let  slavery  be  truly 
understood  among  us,  and  let  just  moral  feelings  in  regard  to  it  be 
generally  cherished  and  expressed,  and  fanaticism  would  pass  awa}', 
and  a  moral  power  against  slavery  would  steadily  grow  and  spread, 
before  which  this  greatest  calamit}',  scourge,  curse,  and  reproach 
of  our  country'  would  ^ield." 

A  copy  of  this  sermon  was  requested  for  publication  b}-  some  of 
Dr.  Channing's  hearers  ;  and  in  reply  to  the  committee  who  applied 
for  it,  he  wrote  as  follows.  This  letter  serves  to  set  in  a  ver}'  clear 
light  the  conscientiousness  and  thoroughness  which  so  many  mis- 
understood for  fear. 

"  October  20,  1834.  Gentlemen: — Your  approbation  of  the 
discourse  delivered  by  me  on  Sunday  last  has  been  truly  gratifying. 
On  receiving  ^our  application,  I  had  to  propose  to  myself  onl}-  one 
question,  and  that  was,  whether  the  publication  of  the  discourse 
would  be  useful,  and  I  regret  to  say  that  I  am  obliged  to  differ 
from  you  in  opinion  on  this  point. 

"  You  recollect  that  my  single  object  was  to  offer  some  remarks 
on  the  feelings  and  state  of  mind  brought  to  light  by  the  recent 
outrages  among  ourselves,  and  consequently  none  of  the  topics 
were  discussed  to  any  extent.  This  was  particularly  true  in  re- 
lation to  slavery.  I  exposed  some  false  and  pernicious  notions 
often  expressed  here  on  the  subject ;  but  the  strength  of  the  argu- 
ment against  slavery  was  not  given.  In  truth,  this  great  evil  was 
hardly  touched.  Now,  if  m}^  discourse  were  to  be  confined  to  this 
part  of  the  country,  it  might  be  useful ;  but  it  would  be  spread  far 
and  wide,  and  would  excite  attention  at  the  South,  and  I  cannot 
but  fear  that  so  narrow  and  imperfect  a  view  of  the  sul)ject,  which 
takes  no  notice  of  many  great  and  difficult  points,  would  be  an}-- 


UNWILLINGNESS   TO  PUBLISH.  635 

thing  but  satisfactory,  and  might  even  prejudice  the  cause  of  truth 
and  humanity.  The  necessity  under  which  I  was  laid,  by  m}'  gen- 
eral plan,  of  discoursing  on  other  subjects  besides  slavery,  not  only 
confined  my  observations  on  this  topic  far  more  than  I  wished,  but 
gave  the  sermon  a  local  character,  which  is  an  additional  reason 
for  withholding  it  from  the  press.  Were  I  to  publisli,  I  should  feel 
myself  bound,  not  only  to  vindicate  more  fully  the  invaded  rights 
of  Antislavery  societies,  but  to  enlarge  on  what  I  deem  their  errors. 
I  have  always  protested  against  their  motto,  '  Immediate  Emanci- 
pation,' as  indefinite  and  equivocal,  as  needing  much  explanation, 
and  as  exi)osuig  their  cause  to  the  imputation  of  alarming  rashness. 
I  have  always  believed  that  the  people  of  the  South,  if  they  would 
conscientioush'  and  in  good  faith  resolve  to  remove  the  evil,  could 
best  devise  the  means,  safe  alike  to  master  and  to  slave,  and  I 
would  not  urge  the  precipitate  adoption  of  any  other. 

"On  one  account,  I  am  sorry  to  decline  compliance  with  your 
request.  It  is  possible  —  though  I  cannot  think  it  very  probable  — 
that  I  may  be  considered,  by  those  who  do  not  know  me,  as  shrink- 
ing from  the  reproaches  which  would  be  brought  on  me  by  the  cir- 
culation of  my  opinions  on  slavery,  and  I  should  be  wrong  to  seem 
to  countenance  b}'  m}-  example  a  selfish  prudence.  Unless  I  de- 
ceive myself,  the  reproach  attached  to  what  I  deem  important  truths 
would  be,  with  me,  a  motive  for  giving  them  the  aid  of  my  feeble 
testimony.  I  consider  the  very  strength  of  pernicious  prejudices 
as  a  reason  for  assailing  them.  In  proportion  to  tlie  vehemence 
with  which  principles  involving  human  happiness  and  improvement 
are  opposed,  should  be  our  zeal  in  their  defence.  We  are  bound, 
as  Cliristians,  to  lay  down  even  life  for  the  truth,  and  that  man  is 
little  worthy  of  this  honorable  name  who  shrinks  from  the  lighter 
injuries  which  fall  upon  unpopular  opinions  at  the  present  day.  I 
was  induced  to  preach  on  this  subject,  in  part  by  the  desire  of  free- 
ing myself  from  the  painful  consciousness  of  unfaithfulness  to  the 
interests  of  libert}'  and  humanity,  and  b}-  the  hope  of  giving  new 
confidence  to  those  who  hold  the  same  views  with  myself;  and 
these  motives  would  lead  me  to  publish  the  discourse,  could  I  avoid 
the  conviction  of  its  unfitness  for  general  circulation.  It  is  mj'' 
hope  that  I  may  have  strength  and  time  to  do  something,  however 
little,  for  the  promotion  of  just  moral  feeling  in  relation  to  slavery, 
for  I  am  persuaded  that  the  want  of  this  is  the  real  and  only 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  its  abolition.  I  see  but  one  sure  rem- 
edy for  slavery,  and  that  is  a  deep  sense  of  moral  and  religious 
obligation  in  regard  to  it ;  and  to  spread  this  at  home  and 
abroad,  in  the  North   and   the  South,  and  through  the  civilized 


536  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

world,  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  important  objects  of  Christian 
philanthrop3'. 

"  I  am  the  last  person  to  give  unnecessar}^  pain  and  offence  to 
my  fellow-citizens  at  the  South.  From  no  part  of  the  country  have 
I  received  more  cordial  expressions  of  sympathy  and  approbation 
than  from  that  quarter.  But  I  should  hold  myself  utterl}-  unworthy 
of  then'  good  opinion,  if  such  considerations  should  deter  me  from 
the  publication  of  what  I  deem  important  truths.  I  would  not, 
however,  in  speaking  freely,  forget  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  or  the 
gratitude  which  I  owe  to  the  South,  and  I  shall  never  cease  to 
lament  and  condemn  the  use  of  exasperating  language  in  this  sol- 
emn controvers3'. 

"  This  city  has  not  as  yet  incurred  the  guilt  and  disgrace  of  out- 
rages intended  to  put  down  by  force  the  public  discussion  of  slavery. 
May  we  be  spared  this  infamy  !  And  to  avert  the  evil  nothing  is 
needed  but  that  our  well-disposed  citizens,  who  form  an  immense 
majority',  should  express  their  abhorrence  and  indignation  at  every 
attempt,  wherever  and  however  made,  to  wrest  by  violence  from  any 
portion  of  the  community  the  rights  of  freemen." 

The  following  letters  will  show  us  yet  further  the  working  of  Dr. 
Channing's  mind  during  this  time  of  trial,  and  the  motives  wdiich 
finally  compelled  him  to  address  a  larger  public  than  his  parish, 
and  thus  to  fulfil  his  long  delayed  plan. 

'■'•August  19,  1835.  Mr  dear  Sir:  —  I  have  this  moment  seen 
in  the  Dail}-  Advertiser  that  a  meeting  is  to  be  held  on  P'ridav 
afternoon,  in  Boston,  on  the  subject  of  slaver}'.  I  cannot  but  look 
forward  to  this  meeting  wath  great  solicitude.  I  have  seen  with 
sorrow  the  influence  of  the  unwise  proceedings  of  Antislavery  soci- 
eties, in  impairing  among  us  the  true  moral  feeling  in  regard  to 
this  tremendous  evil ;  and  I  cannot  but  fear  that  our  citizens,  in 
their  zeal  to  oppose  an  extravagant  party,  ma}'  prove  unfaithful  to 
those  great  principles  of  freedom  and  equal  rights  on  which  our 
glory  as  a  community  rests.  If  the  meeting  will  satisfy  itself  with 
pronouncing  severe  reprobation  on  any  attempt  to  stir  up  the  slaves 
to  revolt,  with  deprecating  the  circulation  of  inflammatory  i^am- 
phlets  among  tliem,  and  with  disclaiming  all  desire  in  the  North  to 
interfere  by  any  political  action  with  slavery  in  the  Slave  States, 
no  harm  will  be  done.  I  am  not  aware,  however,  that  the  Anti- 
slavery  societies  have  advanced  any  principles,  or  adopted  any 
measures,  which  call  for  such  rebuke  and  such  disclaimer.  If  they 
have,  I  shall  not  find  fault  with  a  public  expression  of  reprehension, 
though  the  wisdom  of  such  a  censure  may  be  doubted. 


BOOK  ON  SLAVERY.  537 

"  But  in  attempting  to  put  down  a  part}',  let  not  great  principles 
be  touched  or  conii)roniised.  Let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that  liberty'  is 
above  all  price,  and  that  to  rob  a  fellow-creature  of  it  is  to  inflict 
the  greatest  wrong.  Any  resolve  passed  at  the  proposed  meeting, 
implying,  however  indirectly,  that  a  human  being  can  rightfully  be 
held  and  treated  as  property,  —  any  resolve  intended  to  discourage 
the  free  expression  of  opinion  on  shivery,  or  to  sanction  the  lawless 
violence  which  has  been  directed  against  the  Antislavery  societies, 
—  any  resolve  implying  that  the  Christian  and  philanthropist  may 
not  strive  to  abolish  slavery  by  moral  influences,  by  appeals  to  the 
reason,  conscience,  and  heart  of  the  slaveholder,  — ■  an}'  resolve  ex- 
pressing stronger  s^ympath}'  with  the  slaveholder  than  with  the  slave, 
or  tending  at  all  to  encourage  the  continuance  of  slavery,  —  will 
afflict  me  l)eyond  measure.  I  have  gloried  in  belonging  to  a  city 
which  has  been  eminently  the  cradle  of  civil  and  religious  libert}', 
and  where  the  respect  due  to  every  human  being  is  understood, 
perhaps,  better  than  in  any  other  communit}'.  That  Boston  should 
in  an}'  way  lend  itself  to  the  cause  of  oppression  would  be  a  dark 
omen  indeed." 

"  October  29,  1835.  You  will  wonder  at  finding  me  here  so  late  ; 
but  I  was  tempted  to  stay  by  the  pleasantness  of  the  season,  and 
b}'  the  desire  of  more  quiet  and  leisure  than  I  could  enjoy  in  Boston. 
I  am  now  engaged  heartily  in  writing  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  the 
very  thing  }ou  so  often  urged.  I  have  rather  shrunk  from  the  task,  for 
I  am  easily  exhausted  by  labor  ;  but  I  feel  the  importance  of  bring- 
ing the  people  to  serious  and  deliberate  reflection  on  this  subject. 
The  excitement  against  Antislavery  societies  has  disturbed  people's 
judgment  in  regard  to  slavery  itself,  and  emboldened  the  South  to 
use  language  very  off'ensive  and  painful  to  the  friends  of  freedom. 
I  trust  I  diall  write  temperately,  as  well  as  freely  and  fervently. 
Say  nothing  of  my  purpose  till  you  hear  of  the  publication.  It  is 
possible  I  may  be  dissatisfied  with  my  work." 

"  Boston^  November  9,  1835.  I  have  exhausted  myself  in  writing 
my  little  book  on  Slavery.  It  is  now  in  the  press,  and  ma}-  be  out 
in  a  fortnight.  I  was  determined  to  write  it  by  the  declension  of 
the  spirit  of  freedom  among  us.  The  subject  has  been  very  painful 
to  me,  and  I  long  to  escape  from  it  to  more  cheering  views.  How- 
ever, we  must  learn  to  look  evils  in  the  face,  and  to  bear  the  bur- 
dens of  the  suffering." 

This  book  on  Slavery  appeared  at  a  most  opportune  season,  — 
just  as  the  community  of  Boston  was  beginning  to  be  thoroughly 
sick  with  mortification,  if  not  truly  penitent,  for  the  irreparable 


538  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

disgrace  inflicted  on  its  fame  by  the  mob  of  "  higlil}'  respectable 
gentlemen,"  who,  on  the  afternoon  of  October  21,  broke  up  the 
meeting  of  the  F'emale  Antislaver}-  Society,  seized  on  Mr.  Garrison, 
and  vainly  hnntcd  for  Mr.  Thompson,  even  in  a  private  dwelling, 
with  the  ho[)e  "  that  he  might  be  brought  to  the  tar-kettle  before 
dark."  ^  Dr.  Channing's  estimate  of  this  work,  and  his  gratification 
at  the  reception  it  met  with,  are  thus  manifested :  — 

"  Boston,  December  16,  1835.^  I  agree  entirely  with  3'our  criti- 
cism on  the  defect  of  logical  arrangement  in  m}-  book.  I  com- 
mitted the  offence  with  malice  prepense,  and  was  hoping  that  it 
would  pass  undetected,  for  30U  were  the  first  to  point  it  out.  I  in- 
verted the  proper  order  of  the  first  two  chapters,  that  I  might  fasten 
the  reader  immediately  to  the  work,  by  presenting  the  topic  in  which 
the  greatest  interest  could  be  felt.  I  knew  that  the  great  positions 
on  which  the  argument  was  to  rest  were  undeniably,  universally 
admitted,  so  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear  from  postponing  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  second  chapter. 

"  My  greatest  logical  offence  lay  in  postponing  to  the  last  head  of 
the  first  chapter  the  topic  which  was  fundamental,  and  involved  in 
all  the  preceding.  But  this  seemed  to  me  necessary.  You  know 
the  scepticism  of  the  multitude  as  to  human  nature,  its  faculties, 
divine  principles,  and  destin}-,  and  you  know,  perhaps,  that  on  these 
subjects  I  am  thought  to  be  a  little  exalte.  Plad  I  put  these  topics 
in  front,  I  should  have  created  a  state  Of  mind,  in  not  a  few  readers, 
unfavorable  to  the  truth.  As  it  was,  I  had  groat  difficulty  with 
that  last  head.  I  cut  it  down  not  a  little,  softened  expressions, 
tried  to  make  it  tame,  that  I  might  get  the  sympathies  of  the  people. 
So  far,  I  sacrificed  logical  order  from  choice.  I  confess,  that,  in 
other  respects,  I  saw  errors  of  this  nature  in  the  first  chapter  which 
might  have  been  corrected  ;  but  my  physical  exhaustion  in  Avriting 
the  work  was  great.  I  was  stopped  more  than  once  by  weakness, 
and  had  not  courage  to  attempt  to  satisfy  myself.  The  first  chapter 
cost  me  comparatively  little  effort.  The  second  was  the  only  one 
upon  which  I  spent  the  labor  which  the  work  deserved,  and  that, 
I  think,  is  unexceptionable  as  respects  logical  arrangement. 

"  That  you  find  so  much  to  censure  in  the  book  gives  me  no  pain. 
I  have  to  thank  my  friends  for  letting  me  oflT  so  easily.  That  you 
found  so  nuu'h  to  approve  gives  me  sincere  pleasure.  I  certainly 
did  the  best  which  I  could  under  the  circumstances  ;  but  whilst  I  am 
most  grateful  to  God  for  the  unexpected  reception  it  has  met  with, 

•  Boston  Commcrci.ll  Gazette,  October  22,  1835. 
3  To  Dr.  Cliarlcs  Follen. 


BOOK   ON   SLAVERY.  539 

and  the  good  it  has  done,  I  am  as  little  satisfied  with  the  execution 
of  mj  task  as  any  one  can  be." 

"  Boston^  January  4,  183G.  I  hope  3'on  have  received  my  packet 
containing  my  little  work  on  Slaver}'.  It  has  found  a  better  recep- 
tion here  than  1  feared.  How  it  is  regarded  at  the  South  I  do  not 
know.  1  expected  much  reproach  when  I  published  it,  both  at  the 
North  and  South.  I  cannot  but  believe  I  have  done  good.  Many, 
I  know,  have  given  serious  attention  to  the  subject  in  consequence 
of  this  publication,  and  acknowledge  its  importance  as  never  before. 
I  should  be  glad  to  feel  as  if  I  had  done  my  duty  in  this  lield,  and 
might  turn  to  another.  I  am  not  as  well  fitted,  perhaps,  as  1  should 
be,  to  contemplate  evils.  I  sigh  for  brighter  prospects.  I  have 
been  cheering  myself  with  writing  some  sermons  on  the  greatness 
which  breaks  out  in  human  nature,  amidst  all  its  sins  and  degrada- 
tion. I  could  hardly  live,  if  I  could  not  see  something  good  and 
great  around  me.  This  is  as  necessaiy  to  me  as  the  sun's  light,  — 
more  necessar}-,  more  cheering." 

'■'■  January  10,  1836.^  Dear  Sir:  —  I  received  30ur  letter  this 
morning,  and  I  cannot  let  the  day  pass  without  assuring  30U  of  the 
great  pleasure  it  gave  me.  I  wrote  the  book  with  a  hope  of  doing 
good,  with  a  deep  feeling  of  the  need  of  such  an  appeal,  and,  I  trust, 
from  a  strong  conviction  of  duty.  I  waited  long,  and  postponed 
the  effort  till  I  could  wait  no  longer.  I  felt  that  some  one  ought  to 
bear  witness  to  the  truth,  but  could  hear  of  no  one  who  felt  himself 
called  to  the  work.  The  reception  of  the  book  has  been  far  more 
favorable  than  I  expected.  I  knew  that  it  would  meet  fierce  oppo- 
sition at  a  distance.  I  feared  it  would  find  not  a  few  opposers  at 
home.  I  thank  God  that  so  many  have  been  disposed  to  hear  me 
patiently.  ■  Many,  who  were  grieved  when  they  heard  of  my  purpose 
to  write  on  tliis  subject,  have  expressed  their  satisfaction  in  the 
work.  In  this  neighborhood,  my  end  seems  to  have  been  answered 
to  a  good  degree.  Tliat  is,  I  have  helped  to  fix  great  principles  in 
minds  which  liad  become  unsettled  by  the  late  excitement,  and  to 
awaken  benevolence  to  the  means  of  removing  one  of  the  greatest 
of  evils. 

"  Your  approbation  is  very  precious.  I  know  ^'our  sincere  love  of 
your  fellow-creatures.  I  believe  that,  had  my  work  breathed  a 
different  spirit,  you  would  instinctively  have  been  pained  by  it.  My 
earnest  desire  and  purpose  was,  to  observe  towards  all  those  pre- 
cepts of  justice  and  benevolence  which  I  was  inculcating ;  and  you 
give  me  the  hope  that  I  have  not  wholly  failed.    To  be  the  occasion 

1  To  Noah  Worcester,  D.  D. 


540  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

of  joy  to  one  whom  I  revere  so  much  is  no  small  recompense  for  my 
labor." 

On  the  2Gth  of  May,  1836,  Dr.  Channing  attended  for  the  first 
time  a  meeting  of  the  New  England  Antislavery  Convention.  His 
impressions,  as  communicated  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  give  a  very 
good  view  of  his  hopes  and  fears  in  relation  to  the  Abolitionists. 
He  had  been  speaking  of  the  meetings  of  the  Unitarians  during 
Anniversary  week,  and  thus  continues :  — 

"  May  27,  1836.  During  the  present  week,  we  have  had,  not  only 
religious  meetings,  but  conventions  of  other  societies.  In  one  yon 
will  probably  feel  some  interest.  The  New  England  Antislaveiy  So- 
ciety has  celebrated  its  anniversar}'.  Yesterday  I  was  present  at  one 
of  its  meetings,  and  you  ma}'  be  gratified  by  some  observations  on 
its  proceedings.  Opposed  as  I  am  to  slaver}',  I  have  never  sympa- 
thized with  the  intolerant  spirit  of  this  class  of  its  opposers  ;  and 
from  the  most  orthodox  of  the  party  I  find,  perhaps,  little  more 
favor  than  from  the  slaveholder,  so  that  I  ma}'  pass  for  an  impartial 
witness.  I  was  struck  with  what  always  surprises  me  on  similar 
occasions,  —  with  the  extent  to  which  the  power  of  speaking  in 
public  is  possessed  in  our  country.  I  was  surrounded  by  plain 
people,  belonging  to  what  is  called  the  middle  class,  and  yet  it 
seemed  as  if  no  one  was  silent  for  want  of  the  talent  of  giving  utter- 
ance to  his  thoughts.  I  received  the  impression  which  I  delight  to 
receive  of  the  intellectual  energy  of  the  mass  of  the  people 

"  My  principal  object  in  attending  it  was  to  judge  for  myself  of  the 
spirit  of  this  society.  I  wished  to  ascertain  whether  there  was  no 
diminution  of  the  bitterness  and  intolerance  of  feeling  which  had 
characterized  too  many  of  its  proceedings  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  my 
impression  was,  tliat  the  party  is  improving  by  time,  is  gaining 
wisdom  by  experience.  There  was,  indeed,  a  tendency  to  unspar- 
ing invective.  In  this  respect,  however,  I  heard  nothing  so  excep- 
tionable as  the  vituperations,  and  coarse,  unfeeling  personalities, 
which  too  often  dishonor  Congress  ;  and  can  it  be  wondered  at, 
when  the  highest  deliberative  bodies  in  the  country  are  wanting  in 
the  spirit  of  Christians,  and  the  courtesy  of  gentlemen,  that  a  taint  of 
coarseness  should  spread  through  the  community? 

"I  may  be  told,  that  Abolitionists  are  not  politicians,  but  men 
who  accept  Christianit}'  as  their  only  rule,  and  who  construe  its 
pacific  precepts  with  uncommon  rigor.  I  reply,  that  their  incon- 
sistency is  the  more  flagrant  on  account  of  their  profession  ;  but 
still,  that  they  are  to  be  judged  by  the  character  of  their  times,  and 
that  hitherto  the  Christian  world  has  made  ver}'  little  progress  in 


ANTISLAVERY  CONVENTION.  541 

the  divine  art  of  assailing  and  overcoming  evil.  A  good  cause  is 
continualh'  made  a  cover  for  bad  passions.  Self-will,  the  desire  of 
victory,  the  principle  of  self-exaltation,  and  the  common  propensity 
to  carry  our  point  by  force,  all  find  means  of  indulgence  under  the 
cloak  of  zeal  for  truth,  for  God,  for  humanity.  Even  the  well  dis- 
posed think  it  easier  to  drive  than  to  persuade,  and  rel}'  more  on 
authorit}'  or  vehemence  than  on  reason.  One  would  think,  from  the 
common  style  of  controvers}',  that  it  was  an  established  principle, 
that  the  surest  way  to  bring  over  men  to  our  opinion  is  to  awaken 
their  self-will,  pride,  and  prejudices  ;  that  to  otfend  is  the  ro^-al  road 
to  conciliation  ;  that  to  rouse  the  spirit  of  angry,  obstinate  self- 
defence  is  the  means  of  conquering  opposition.  The  tactics  of 
theological  and  philanthropic  champions  still  in  use  show  us  that  we 
have  yet  to  learn  the  sublimest  of  all  arts,  that  of  influencing  gen- 
erously' and  nobly  moral  and  rational  beings.  The  controvertist, 
who  does  not  harden  his  opponent,  and  make  him  a  worse  man,  is 
rarely  found  in  the  lists  of  religious  or  political  warfare.  I  tr}'  the 
Abolitionists  by  the  common  standard,  —  and,  much  as  their  intol- 
erance offends  me,  I  know  not  that  it  greatly  exceeds  what  is  com- 
mon in  most  other  parties  or  sects,  —  and  do  not  find  them  wanting. 

"The  most  gratifying  circumstance  at  the  meeting  was  a  short 
address  from  a  colored  man.  His  complexion  led  me  to  think  he 
was  of  pure  African  blood,  and  his  diction,  his  countenance,  his 
gestures,  his  thoughts,  his  whole  bearing,  must  have  convinced 
every  hearer  that  the  African  is  a  man  in  the  highest  sense  of  that 
word.  I  felt  that  he  was  a  partaker  with  me  of  that  humanit}'  for 
which  I  unceasingly  thank  my  Creator.  I  felt  on  this  occasion  j  as 
I  perhaps  never  felt  before,  what  an  amount  of  intellectual  and 
moral  energ}-  is  crushed,  is  lost  to  the  human  race,  by  slaver3^ 
Among  the  two  or  three  millions  doomed  by  this  system  to  brutal 
ignorance,  and  denied  the  means  of  developing  their  powers,  how 
man^'  men  and  women  are  there,  who,  under  the  culture  and  self- 
respect  which  belong  to  American  freedom,  would  become  blessings 
and  ornaments  to  society  by  their  intelligence  and  virtue  ! 

"  I  was  much  struck,  at  this  meeting,  with  the  life  which  seemed 
to  possess  its  members.  Nothing  was  said  or  done  mechanically. 
There  was  no  forced  zeal,  no  effort  of  the  leaders  to  whip  up  the 
lagging  spirit  of  the  mass.  It  is  easy,  on  entering  a  meeting,  to 
tell  at  once  whether  it  is  a  living  or  dead  one,  —  whether  people 
have  come  together  from  habit,  from  a  cold  sense  of  propriety  or 
dut}',  or  from  a  deep,  irresistible  impulse.  You  know  by  instinct 
whether  3'ou  are  surrounded  b}'  life  or  death.  This  bod}'  was  alive. 
I  am  sure,  that,  if  the  stiiTers-up  of  mobs  could  have  looked  into 


542  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

the  souls  of  these  Abohtionists,  they  would  haA'e  seen  the  infinite 
folly  of  attemi)ting  to  put  them  down  by  such  persecutions  as  they 
can  bring  to  bear  on  them.  Nothing  but  the  Inquisition,  the  stake, 
the  scaffold,  nothing  but  extermination,  can  do  the  work 

"Another  fact  which  struck  me  at  this  meeting  was  the  absence 
of  what  is  called  the  influential  part  of  the  community.  Men  of 
standing,  as  they  are  called,  were  not  there.  Abolitionism  seems  to 
make  no  progress  in  this  class,  nor  will  it,  unless  it  should  gain  a 
party  large  enough  in  the  middle  and  laboring  ranks  to  be  worth 
the  notice  of  politicians,  and  then  it  will  be  amply  repaid  by 
courtesy  and  attention  for  the  neglect  it  now  I'eceives.  The  har- 
vest of  Abolitionism  is  to  be  reaped  among  what  are  called  the 
middle  classes,  and  an  engine  of  immense  povver  has  been  put  into 
their  hands  for  this  purpose  by  Governor  M' Duffle,  and  other 
Southern  politicians,  who  have  taught  that  we,  the  rich  and  edu- 
cated of  the  Free  States,  can  keep  our  property  and  our  political 
institutions  only  by  making  the  great  laboring  portion  of  the  com- 
munity our  slaves.  This  new  Southern  doctrine  is  as  3"et  but 
imperfectly  understood  by  the  mass  of  our  farmers,  mechanics,  and 
other  workingmen.  But  the  Abolitionists  are  wielding  this  weapon 
with  zeal  and  effect,  and  are  linking  themselves  more  and  more  with 
the  mass  of  the  people. 

"As  to  the  future  histor}^  of  Abolitionism,  I  feel  much  uncer- 
tainty. Whether,  if  left  to  itself,  if  unaided  by  opposition,  it  will 
live  and  advance,  I  know  not.  The  present  moment  is  unpropi- 
tious  to  it.  The  people  at  large  are  swallowed  up  in  gain,  are 
intoxicated  with  promises  of  boundless  wealth,  are  worshipping 
what  they  call  prosperity.  It  concerns  them  little  who  is  slave 
and  who  is  free,  or  how  the  battles  of  liberty  and  truth  are  fought 
at  home  and  abroad,  provided  the}'^  can  drive  some  enormously 
profitable  bargain,  or  bring  some  vast  speculation  to  a  successful 
issue.  Men  are  too  busy  to  think  of  Abolitionism,  and  will  be  apt 
to  forget  it,  unless  forced  on  their  notice  by  violence.  There  is, 
indeed,  one  ground  for  believing  that  Abolitionism  may  endure, 
even  if  unoi)posed.  AVith  all  its  faults,  it  is  founded  essentially  on 
religious  conviction.  It  is  thus  bound  up  with  the  strongest  prin- 
ciple of  human  nature.  It  will  not,  therefore,  be  easily  discour- 
aged by  neglect.  It  will  leave  nothing  untried  to  move  the 
worldly  multitude,  and  unexpected  events  may  prepare  a  multitude 
for  its  influence." 

In  the  autumn  of  1836,  Dr.  Channing  found  himself  compelled 
once  more  to  address  the  American  public,  with  the  hope  of  casting 
out  the  demon  of  persecution  which  possessed  it.     During  the  pre- 


LETTER  TO  DR.  FOLLEN.  543 

ceding  session,  Congress  had  outraged  the  right  of  petition,  b^^ 
refusing  to  receive  memorials  relating  in  any  way  to  slavery,  thus 
setting'^a  fatal  example  to  the  whole  country  ;  and  in  July,  a  mob, 
instigated  and  even  led  on  by  some  of  the  chief  citizens  of  Cincin- 
nati,\ad  destroyed  the  press  of  "  The  Philanthropist,"  and  driven 
its  editor,  James  G.  Birney,  Esq.,  from  the  city.  It  was  plain  to 
him  that  a  struggle  for  the  very  life  of  liberty  of  speech  was  begun  : 
and  his  heart  re-echoed  the  thrilling  words  of  Whittier,  — 
"Now,  when  the  padlocks  for  our  lips  are  forging, 
Silence  is  crime." 

He  had  written  to  a  friend,  the  year  before,  in  relation  to  his 
book  on  Slavery:  ''I  never  acted  under  a  stronger  conviction  of 
duty  than  in  publishing  this  book.  My  spirit  preyed  on  itself,  till 
I  had  spoken  the  truth."  And  now  he  could  not  feel  at  peace,  till 
he  had  offered  to  Mr.  Birney  a  pubUc  testimonial  of  respect  for  his 
integrity  and  sympathy  for  "his  sacrifices,  and  uttered  an  indignant 
remonstrance  against  the  tame  subservience  with  which  a  majority 
of  Northern  freemen  were  attempting  to  put  a  gag  upon  discussion. 
At  the  same  time,  he  was  most  earnest  to  be  just  at  once  to  the 
Abolitionists  and  to  the  slaveholders.  In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Follen,  he 
thus  manifests  the  impartial  rectitude  by  which  he  was  governed. 

"  January^  1837.  The  most  interesting  point  to  me  on  the  Abo- 
htion  question  at  this  moment  is,  the  real  state  of  feeling  at  the 
South,  the  real  motive  for  perpetuating  slavery.  If  this  be  love  of 
gain,  1  am  prepared  to  speak  as  I  have  not.  I  wish  one  treatise 
might  be  devoted  b}'  some  able  man  to  this  single  subject.  Noth- 
ing has  such  an  influence  in  preventing  a  right  action  and  feeling 
on  slavery  at  the  North  as  the  belief  that  the  evil  is  an  inherited 
one,  which  the  present  generation  are  obliged  to  continue  for  their 
own  safety,  and  which  they  would  gladly  escape.  Let  the  truth  be 
known.  I  have  felt  myself  called  to  express  a  good  hope  of  many 
slaveholders,  not  only  to  be  just  to  them,  but  to  counteract  what 
has  seemed  to  me  the  bad  influence  of  the  uncharitablencss  of  the 
Abolitionists  on  the  people  here  who  have  sided  with  the  slave- 
holder as  an  injured  man.  I  have  wished  that  it  might  be  seen, 
that  utter  abhorrence  of  slavery  is  reconcilable  with  justice  to  the 
master.  If,  however,  we  have  been  more  than  just,  if  we  have 
been  excessively,  unreasonably  lenient  to  the  slaveholders,  let  the 
truth  be  told.  If  the  basest  of  all  motives  is  perpetuating  the 
greatest  of  wrongs,  then  it  is  time  to  set  the  proofs  of  this  enor- 
mity- before  the  people." 

It  was  during  the  winter  of  1837,  that  the  great  battle  in  favor  of 


544  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

the  Right  of  Petition  was  fought  and  won  in  Congress,  by  the 
venerable  John  Quincy  Adams,  amidst  brutal  insults,  threats  of 
violence,  volleys  of  abuse,  and  the  wiles  and  ambuscades  of  petti- 
fogging politicians.  Dr.  Channing's  views  in  regard  to  the  expe- 
diency of  using  this  right  were  thus  expressed  in  a  letter  to  Ellis 
Gray  Loring,  Esq. 

''''March  11,  1837.  I  wanted  strength  to  talk  freely  last  even- 
ing, and  I  felt,  after  j-ou  had  left  me,  that  I  had  given  30U  a  very 
imperfect  statement  of  my  views  in  relation  to  the  subject  of  our 
conversation.  Being  confined  to  the  house  to-da}',  I  will  tr}^  to 
supply  the  deficiency  by  throwing  a  few  thoughts  upon  paper. 

^  I  have  alwa3'S  doubted  the  expediency'  of  agitating  the  subject 
of  Abolitionism  in  Congress.  I  have  petitioned  once  or  twice  for 
the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  District ;  but  my  great  motive  for  so 
doing  was  personal.  I  wished  by  some  public  act  to  disclaim  all 
participation  in  the  national  guilt  incurred  by  the  continuance  of 
slavery  on  that  spot.  I  had  no  expectation  of  success  ;  and  having 
freed  my  conscience,  I  ceased  from  this  mode  of  action.  I  have 
feared  that  the  Antislavery  cause  would  be  thrown  back  b}'  calling 
on  Congress  to  forward  it.  This  cause  has  two  aspects :  —  first, 
the  political ;  next,  the  moral,  religious,  philanthropic.  It  must 
be  presented,  as  I  think,  under  the  last.  The  great  obstruction  to 
its  progress  is,  that  the  people  habitually  view  it  under  the  first. 
Its  political  connections  and  bearings  have  got  possession  of  men's 
minds,  and  shut  out  the  higher  views  which  alone  can  free  the 
slave 

"  The  agitation  of  the  matter  in  Congress  turns  the  majority'  of 
minds  to  the  political  aspect  and  political  consequences  of  Aboli- 
tionism ;  and  behind  this  banner  the  multitude  are  inaccessible  to 
moral  and  philanthropic  views  of  the  subject.  In  these  views,  how- 
ever, the  strength  of  the  cause  lies.  Whatever  interrupts  their 
agency  is  most  pernicious. 

"Antislavery  is  to  triumph,  not  by  force  or  appeals  to  interest, 
but  by  becoming  a  living  part  of  the  public  conscience  and  religion. 
Just  in  proportion  as  it  is  complicated  with  political  questions  and 
feelings,  it  is  shorn  of  its  strength. 

"  If  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia  were 
practicable,  the  expediency  of  the  efllbrts  now  directed  to  that  end 
would  be  less  questionable.  But  I  have  never  anticipated  such  a 
result.  The  South,  united  to  a  man,  will  ahvays  avail  itself  of 
party  divisions  at  the  North,  sufficiently  to  secure  a  majority  in 
Congress  against  such  a  measure.  What  makes  this  more  certain 
is  the  deliberate  purpose  of  the  South  to  secede,  in  the  event  of  the 


GREAT  PRINCIPLES.  545 

union  of  the  North  in  such  legislative  action.  On  this  point,  the 
South  does  not  merely  bluster,  but  is  in  earnest ;  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  its  mind  is  here  fuU}^  made  up,  will  always  prevent  such 
a  union  of  Northern  members.  The  efforts  against  slavery  in  the 
District  cannot,  then,  accomplish  their  declared  end.  They  can 
serve  the  cause  only  by  drawing  attention  to  it,  keeping  men  alive 
to  it ;  but  if  they  lead  men  to  view  it  in  a  false  light,  to  overlook 
its  highest  claims,  do  they  serve  it? 

"  I  augur  no  good  from  the  political  action  of  the  Abolitionists. 
Their  business  is  witli  the  conscience  ;  and  they  lose  their  power 
over  this,  just  in  proportion  as  they  mix  up  their  cause  witli  party 
passions.  The  questions  which  they  propose  to  candidates  for 
office  bring  out  hollow  answers,  and  make  hypocrites,  who,  of 
course,  are  less  trustworthy  than  before,  and  cannot  be  held  to 
their  profession  in  critical  seasons.  There  is  a  class  of  politicians 
who  will  use  Abolitionism  to  rise  by,  but  will  disgrace  it  by  want 
of  principle.  You  owe  your  success,  as  far  as  you  have  succeeded, 
to  your  unworldly,  spiritual  devotion  to  a  good  cause,  and  no  policy 
can  take  the  place  of  this.  I  hear  less  said  now  of  your  fanaticism, 
and  more  of  your  want  of  moral  purity.  I  ascribe  the  change  to 
your  political  action. 

"  I  know  how  idle  it  is  to  attempt  to  tie  down  a  great  movement 
by  precise  rules.  The  force  which  is  to  achieve  great  revolutions,  to 
sweep  away  the  abuses  of  ages,  will  be  more  or  less  wild.  We  must 
accept  enthusiasm  with  its  evil  as  well  as  its  good,  if  we  accept  it 
at  all.  Antislavery  will  run  its  race,  with  little  change  of  direction 
from  admonitions  of  friend  or  foe.  I  cannot,  however,  help  desir- 
ing that  its  fervor  and  deep  feeling  may  be  turned  to  the  best 
account,  —  that  no  part  of  its  force  may  be  lost.  I  wish  not  to 
cripple  it,  btit  to  increase  its  efflcienc}'. 

"  I  abstain  from  publishing  these  views,  because  I  am  unwilling, 
without  plain  necessity,  to  find  fault  with  an  injured  party,  and 
because  Antislavery  has  no  great  love  for  advice.  I  have  there- 
fore given  you  my  mind  in  this  form,  and  if  you  think  any  of  your 
number  would  be  interested  by  this  letter,  you  are  at  liberty  to  com- 
municate it  to  them.  "  Your  friend." 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  foregoing  letter,  that  Dr.  Channing  was 
chiefly  desirous  to  awaken  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  to  the 
great  spiritual  truths  involved  in  tlie  Antislavery  movement,  and 
was  fearful  that  the  whole  tone  of  feeling  and  action  in  regard  to 
our  gi-eat  national  sin  and  shame  would  be  debased  by  the  inter- 
mixture of  political  jealousies  and  intrigues.  In  fact,  his  cherished 
hope  was,  that  Abolitionism  —  asserting  as  it  did  tlie  very  funda- 

36 


546  THE   ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

mental  principles  of  justice,  the  essential  rights  of  every  human 
being,  and  the  universal  law  of  love  —  would  widen  and  grow  up 
into  a  Church  of  Practical  Christianity,  by  whose  influence  the 
whole  nation  might  be  regenerated.  A  few  letters  written  at  vari- 
ous intervals  will  yet  further  illustrate  his  views. 

'-'•  Boston,  July  29,  1836.-^  Your  letter  of  April  1st  was  very  cheer- 
ing to  me.  I  felt  that  I  had  not  labored  in  vain  in  my  little  work  on 
Slavery.  My  aim  was  to  oppose  slaver}'  on  principles  which,  if  ad- 
mitted, would  inspire  resistance  to  all  the  wrongs,  and  reverence  for 
all  the  rights,  of  human  nature.  I  have  no  doubt  as  to  the  triumph 
of  these  principles,  and  my  confidence  is  founded  not  on  events,  on 
outward  progress,  so  much  as  on  the  power  with  which  they  work  on 
my  mind.  In  the  response  of  my  own  soul  to  an}'  great,  unchange- 
able truth,  I  hear  the  voice  of  universal  humanity.  I  can  conceive 
that  my  feelings  are  individual,  but  not  any  great  convictions  of 
the  intellect,  or  loft}^  inspirations  of  the  heart.  These  do  not 
belong  to  me.  The}'  are  universal.  They  will  live  and  spread, 
when  the  individual  who  gave  some  faint  utterance  to  them  is 
gone." 

"M?y  9,  1837.2  j  fgg^  strongly,  that,  by  preaching  Christianity 
in  its  length  and  breadth,  by  bringing  out  its  true  spirit  clearly, 
powerfully,  in  the  language  of  deep  conviction,  we  are  advancing 
the  Antislavery  cause  most  effectually.  Men  will  apply  the  truth 
so  taught  in  a  case  like  the  present ;  that  is,  when  a  whole  commu- 
nity are  alive  to  a  great  subject.  The  common  difficulty  is,  that 
great  principles  are  not  unfolded  and  enforced  with  a  true  under- 
standing and  profound  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  preacher.  Let 
him  do  his  part,  and  the  people  generally  may  be  left  to  make 
the  application.  I  am  less  anxious  that  Antislavery  should  be 
preached,  than  that  the  spirit  of  Christianity  should  be  set  forth 
with  clearness  and  energy.  The  great  service  which  Antislavery 
is  to  do,  is  to  reveal  this  spirit  with  a  new  life  and  power. 

"  This  is  a  greater  work  than  to  liberate  the  slave.  There  is 
something  more  terrible  than  slavery,  and  that  is  the  spirit  which 
enslaves.  This  spirit  is  in  us  all,  is  as  strong  in  many  who  con- 
demn as  in  those  who  uphold  slavery.  Let  the  axe  be  laid  to  the 
root  of  the  tree.  I  do  not  mean  that  particular  evils  are  never  to 
be  assailed.  Far  from  it ;  but  the  great  way  to  assail  them  is  to 
strike  at  their  principle.  The  Abolitionists  are  to  do  vastly  more 
good  by  establishing  principles  than  by  attacking  abuses.  It  is 
easy  to  do  the  last.     Few  can  do  the  first.  .  It  is  the  insane  love  of 

1  To  J.  Blanco  White.  2  To  Dr.  Charles  FoUen. 


ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS.  547 

nionev  pervading  the  trading  world  which  rivets  the  chains  of  the 
slave"  — that  covetousness  against  wliich  Jesus  spol^e  in  language 
of  such  fearful  energy.  Some  hope  that  the  present  convulsion  in 
the  commercial  community  is  to  do  good.  It  will,  if  it  leads  men 
to  comprehend  the  great  principle  on  which  wealth  is  to  be  reared. 
The  effect  of  mere  suffering  will  be  very  temporary." 

^'■December  25,  1837.1     j  have  just  read  the  account  of  the  Abo- 
lition debate.     I  cannot  acquiesce  in  any  restriction  on  the  right 
of  petition;   but  I  must  say  that  I  anticipate  no  good  from  the 
aoitation  of  the  question  of  slavery  in  Congress.     I  look  wholl}' to 
m°oral  and  religious  influences  for  the  removal  of  this  evil,  and  I 
fear  that  these  are  weakened  by  bringing  the  subject  before  the 
national  leoislature.     I  wish  to  avoid  awakening  political  passions 
and  preiudfces,  or  stirring  up  political  action  on  the  matter.     The 
great  obstruction  to   antislavery  sentiments    at  the  North  is  the 
fear  of  dissolving  the  Union;   and  this  fear  gains  strength  from 
excitements  in  Congress  about  slavery.     I  petitioned  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia,  without  the  least  hope 
of  success,  but  simply  to  relieve  myself  from  all  responsibility  for 
this  outrage  on  human  rights.     It  is  certain  that  the  South  will 
command  votes  enough  in  the  Free  States  to  continue  the  present 
state  of  things,  until  the  latter  shall  be  thoroughly  moved  with  the 
antislaverv  spirit.     Is  it,  then,  best  for  the  country  or  for  Aboh- 
tion  to   persevere   in  efforts  which  must  fail,   which  disturb   the 
Union  without   any    counterbalancing  good,   and  which   interfere 
with  the  only  labors  from  which  success  must  be  hoped  ?     I  would 
have  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts  protest  against  slavery  in  the 
District,  declare  itself  free  from  the  guilt  of  the  system,  and  at 
the  same  time  declare,  that,  as  resistance  to  it  is  now  hopeless,  we 
shall  abstaih  until  better  times  to  remonstrate  against  it,  remon- 
strance bringing  only  evil.     I  wish  the  Abolitionists  would  look  at 
the  mattei-  calmly.     That  the  cause  is  injured  North  and  South,  by 
the  present  course  in  regard  to  the  District,  I  fear." 

Though  Dr.  Channing's  wish  to  concentrate  the  attention  of  his 
fellow-cTtizens  upon  the^principles  of  humanity,  which  were  the  life 
of  the  Antislavery  movement,  was  thus  strong,  he  was  yet  awake 
to  the  importance  of  limiting  the  growth  of  the  slave  power,  and 
most  anxious  to  break  the  yoke  which  it  had  so  skilfully  imposed 
on  Northern  freemen.  It  was  in  this  year  of  1837  that  he  saw 
the  urgent  necessity  of  making  a  determined  political  resistance  to 
the  grasping  spirit  of  the  faction  of  slaveholders.  The  Texas 
1  To  Dr.  Charles  FoUen. 


548  THE   ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

plot  —  generated  b}-  subtle  polic}-  and  slowly-  matured  b}-  worldll- 
ness  —  was  born.  The  designs  of  an  unlimited  extension  of  the 
slave  S3-stem,  by  means  of  a  professedly  free  government,  was 
asserted  with  unblushing  effrontery  as  the  fulfilment  of  our  national 
destin}'.  From  the  time  when  the  devoted  Benjamin  Lundy  first 
exposed  the  nefarious  project  of  the  dismemberment  of  Mexico,  all 
Antislavery  men  had  been  in  a  measure  prepared  for  the  coming 
struggle.  But  in  1837  the  lamentable  fact  became  evident,  that 
political  profligacy  had  insinuated  its  fatal  corruptions  into  the 
ver}'  heart  of  Congress  and  the  Administration  ;  and  again  Dr. 
Channing  heard  himself  summoned  by  the  stern  call  of  duty  to 
break  off  the  train  of  his  favorite  thoughts,  and,  though  sick  and 
weak,  to  make  one  more  effort  to  rouse  in  his  countrymen  the  spirit 
of  freemen.     In  July,  1837,  he  wrote  thus  to  Dr.  Tuckerman  :  — 

"I  am  engaged  in  an  important  work.  I  have  been  thinking 
for  some  time,  that,  if  nobody  would  write  about  the  annexation 
of  Texas  to  this  country,  I  must  do  it ;  and  since  Mr.  Phillips  left 
me  I  have  been  as  bus}'  as  a  beaver,  and  made  such  progress,  that, 
if  m}'  strength  holds  out,  I  shall  finish  m3'work  by  the  beginning  of 
the  next  week.  It  will  be  a  very  serious  affair,  and  I  need  counsel. 
I  should  like  to  read  it  to  you  and  INIr.  Phillips.  Has  he  gone,  or 
will  he  be  in  Boston?  Can  3'ou  think  of  an}'  other  person  who 
should  hear  it?  I  have  thought  of  Mr.  Mann.  If  I  come  the  next 
week,  it  will  be  only  for  a  day.  Nothing  is  to  be  said  of  m}'  labors, 
for  I  shall  not  publish,  unless,  after  consultation,  I  see  my  way 
clear.  I  shall  provoke  hostilities  such  as  I  have  never  met.  But 
no  matter.     I  am  doing  right." 

On  the  30th  of  July,  he  thus  announced  the  completion  of  his 
task  :  — 

"  My  work  is  done,  save  a  short  conclusion.  I  have  given  to  it 
more  time  than  was  good  for  me,  but  I  supposed  it  should  appear 
at  once,  and  I  thank  God  for  strength  to  do  it.  How  it  will  seem 
to  me,  when  I  read  it  over  deliberateh',  I  cannot  tell.  It  now 
seems  to  me  fitted  to  its  end." 

The  Letter  to  Mr.  Clay  was  immediatel}-  published,  and  for  the 
time  averted  the  threatened  wrong.  The  gratification  which  Dr. 
Channing  felt  at  the  accomplishment  of  his  work  appears  in  the 
following  letter,  which  is  of  interest,  also,  as  showing  his  moderate 
estimate  of  his  success  and  his  wise  forecast. 

"  Septeviher  12,  1837.^  Your  letter  receiA-ed  3'esterday  gave  me 
great  pleasure.  I  rejoice  that  you,  with  others  in  whom  I  confide, 
1  To  Dr.  Charles  Follen. 


ANNEXATION   OF   TEXAS.  549 

think  m}'  Letter  fitted  to  its  end.  That  it  should  do  an}^  good 
ought,  perhaps,  to  surprise  me,  when  I  think  of  m}-  unfitness  for 
the  work.  How  painful,  that  I  should  be  driven  to  a  task  lying 
beyond  my  province,  by  the  unwillingness  of  others  to  undertake 
it !  M}'  success  does  not  make  me  forget  that  I  have  done  very 
little,  and  that  much  remains  to  be  done.  The  Letter  ought  to  be 
followed  up  b}-  an  able  exposure  of  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the 
annexation  of  Texas.  Who  will  do  this  ?  I  had  no  time  to  take 
up  this  part  of  the  subject,  for  I  deferred  writing  till  just  before  the 
session  of  Congress,  and  it  was  thought  important  that  the  Letter 
should  appear  immediately.  I  feel,  too,  how  much  more  ably  this 
branch  may  be  treated  by  some  one  in  active  or  public  life. 

"  I  have  had  the  means  of  ascertaining  some  of  the  objections 
which  will  be  made  to  my  Letter,  and  of  the  arguments  in  favor 
of  annexation.  1.  All  design  on  the  part  of  the  South  and  West 
to  subjugate  Texas,  especially  for  the  extension  of  slavery,  is 
disclaimed,  and  will  be  indignantly  disclaimed.  2.  The  design  of 
annexing  Texas  to  us,  previousl}'  to  the  recognition  of  its  inde- 
pendence by  Mexico,  will  be  disclaimed  by  man}'  who  yet  are  bent 
on  the  annexation.  I  suppose  the  public  feeling  against  the  meas- 
ure will  lead  to  new  efl!brts  on  the  part  of  our  government  to  secure 
the  recognition  by  Mexico.  3.  The  great  argument  is,  that  Texas, 
being  independent,  will  be  a  slave  country,  and  that  there  Avill  be 
more  and  more  slavery  in  it  separated  from  us  than  united.  It 
will  be  said,  that  the  United  States,  anxious  to  supply  that  market, 
will  exclude  slaves  from  Africa.  This  is  a  consideration  worth 
looking  at.  4.  In  case  of  the  annexation,  it  will  be  maintained 
that  the  ascendency  of  the  population  will  remain  with  the  Free 
States.  5.  The  dangers  or  evils  of  an  independent  English  state 
in  that  quarter  will  be  dwelt  upon.  You  undoubtedly  meet  with 
other  arguments  in  the  papers  at  New  York.  I  should  like  to 
know  them  all.  Is  there  no  one  to  go  over  the  ground  calmly, 
ably?" 

Dr.  Channing  thus  prophetically  sketched  the  sure  results  of  our 
national  crime :  — 

"  By  this  act,  our  country  will  enter  on  a  career  of  encroachment, 
war,  and  crime,  and  will  merit  and  incur  the  punishment  and  woe 
of  aggravated  wrong-doing.  The  seizure  of  Texas  will  not  stand 
alone.  It  will  darken  our  future  history.  It  will  be  linked  by  an 
iron  necessity  to  long-continued  deeds  of  rapine  and  blood.  Ages 
may  not  see  the  catastrophe  of  the  tragedy,  the  first  scene  of  which 
we  are  so  ready  to  enact Texas  is  a  country  conquered  by 


550  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

our  citizens ;  and  the  annexation  of  it  to  our  Union  will  be  the 
beginning  of  conquests,  whicli,  unless  arrested  and  beaten  back  by 
a  just  and  kind  Providence,  will  stop  only  at  the  Isthmus  of  Darien. 
Henceforth,  we  must  cease  to  cry,  Peace,  peace.  Our  eagle  will 
whet,  not  gorge,  its  appetite  on  its  first  victim  ;  and  will  snuff  a 
more  tempting  quarry,  more  alluring  blood,  in  every  new  region 
which  opens  southward.     To  annex  Texas  is  to  declare  perpetual 

war  with  Mexico Texas  is  the  first  step  to  Mexico.     The 

moment  we  plant  our  authority  on  Texas,  the  boundaries  of  those 
two  countries  will  become  nominal,  will  be  Httle  more  than  lines  on 

the  sand  of  the  sea-shore Can  Mexico  look  without  alarm 

on  the  approaches  of  this  ever-growing  tide  ?  Is  she  prepared  to 
be  a  passive  prey,  —  to  shrink  and  surrender  without  a  struggle  ? 
Is  she  not  strong  in  her  hatred,  if  not  in  her  fortresses  or  skill, 
—  strong  enough  to  make  war  a  dear  and  blood}-  game?  .... 
Even  were  the  dispositions  of  our  government  most  pacific  and 
opposed  to  encroachment,  the  annexation  of  Texas  would  almost 

certainly  embroil  us  with  Mexico Have  we  counted  the 

cost  of  establishing  and  making  perpetual  these  hostile  relations 
with  Mexico?  Will  wars,  begun  in  rapacit}',  carried  on  so  far  from 
the  centre  of  the  confederation,  and  of  consequence  little  checked 
or  controlled  b}'  Congress,  add  strength  to  our  institutions,  or 
cement  our  union,  or  exert  a  healthy  moral  influence  on  rulers  or 
people  ?  What  limits  can  be  set  to  the  atrocities  of  such  conflicts  ? 
What  limits  to  the  treasures  which  must  be  lavished  on  such  distant 
borders?  What  limits  to  the  patronage  and  power  which  such 
distant  expeditions  must  accumulate  in  the  hands  of  the  Executive  ? 
Are  the  blood  and  hard-earned  wealth  of  the  older  States  to  be 
poured  out  like  water,  to  protect  and  revenge  a  new  people,  whose 
character  and  condition  will  plunge  them  into  perpetual  wrongs?"  ^ 
In  his  Letter  to  Mr.  Cla}',^  Dr.  Channing  has  so  fully  explained 
his  views  in  regard  to  the  annexation  of  Texas,  that  there  is  but 
one  point  upon  which  anything  remains  to  be  added.  He  foresaw 
in  the  successful  accomplishment  of  this  nefarious  project  the  de- 
struction of  the  national  bond  of  union.  In  this  emei'genc}',  his  mind 
was  perfectly  made  up  as  to  duty,  as  all  knew  who  were  intimate 
with  him.  He  but  expressed  his  calm,  deliberate,  unfaltering  pur- 
pose, when  he  declared,  — 

"For  one,  I  say  that,  earnestly  as  I  deprecate  the  separation 
of  these  States,  and  though  this  event  would  disappoint  most 
cherished  hopes  for  my  country,  still  I  can  submit  to  it  more  readily 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.  pp.  204-209.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  760-7(52. 

2  lb.  pp.  183-260.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  752-781. 


DEATH  OF  LOVEJOY.  551 

tlian  to  the  reception  of  Texas  into  the  confederacy.  I  shrink 
from  that  contamination.  I  shrink  from  an  act  which  is  to  pledge 
us  as  a  people  to  robber}*  and  war,  to  the  work  of  upholding  and 
extending  slavery  without  limitation  or  end.  I  do  not  desire  to 
share  the  responsibility,  or  to  live  under  the  laws  of  a  government 
adopting  such  a  policy,  and  swayed  by  such  a  spirit,  as  would  be 
expressed  by  the  incorporation  of  Texas  with  our  country."  ^ 

"To  me  it  seems  not  only  the  right,  but  the  duty,  of  the  Free 
States,  in  case  of  the  annexation  of  Texas,  to  say  to  the  Slave- 
holding  States,  '  We  regard  this  act  as  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union.  The  essential  conditions  of  the  national  compact  are 
violated.'  "  ^ 

Dr.  Channing  valued  the  Union,  indeed,  as  an  "inestimable 
good,  to  be  prized  not  merely  or  chiefly  for  its  commercial  benefits 
or  any  pecuniary  advantages,  but  simply  as  Union."  ^  To  him  it 
was  not  "  a  Means,  but  an  End,  ....  our  highest  national  in- 
terest, next  to  liberty,  ....  to  which  everything  should  be  yielded 
but  truth,  honor,  and  liberty."  *  But  at  the  same  time  his  coinic- 
tion  was  clear,  that  when  by  this  union  "the  most  sacred  rights 
and  dearest  interests  of  humanity"  were  violated,  then  it  "  would 
be  bought  at  too  dear  a  rate ;  then  it  would  be  changed  from  a 
virtuous  bond  into  a  league  of  crime  and  shame."  ^  And  he  summed 
up  his  solemn  determination  in  these  emphatic  words:  "We  will 
not  become  partners  in  3'our  wars  with  Mexico  and  Europe,  in  3-our 
schemes  of  spreading  and  perpetuating  slaver^',  in  j-our  hopes  of 

conquest,  in  3'Our  unrighteous  spoils A  pacific  division  in 

the  first  instance  seems  to  me  to  threaten  less  contention  than  a 
lingering,  feverish  dissolution  of  the  Union,  such  as  must  be 
expected  under  this  fatal  innovation."  ®  Dr.  Channing  was  no 
boaster ;  he  was  as  firm  as  he  was  moderate  ;  and,  had  he  lived,  he 
would  unquestionably  have  put  forth  his  full  power  to  make  good 
these  words.  It  is  but  justice  to  him,  therefore,  to  record,  that  in 
private  conversation  he  never  bated  one  jot  or  tittle  from  these  un- 
compromising declarations  of  duty. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  this  year,  1837,  that  Dr.  Channing's 
faith  and  firmness  were  put  to  a  somewhat  severe  test.  On  the  7th 
of  November,  the  Rev.  Elijah  P.  Lovejoy,  editor  of  the  Alton  Ob- 
server, in  Illinois,  was  shot  b}^  one  of  a  mob,  while  defending  the 
building  containing  his  press.     This  event,  so  fitly  consummating 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.  p.  238.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  773. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  237.    Ibid.,  p.  773.  3  ibid..  Vol.  VI.,  p.  333.   Ibid.,  p.  891. 
*  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  p.  144.   Ibid.,  p.  739.        5  ibid. 

6  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  p.  238.     Ibid.,  p.  773. 


552  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

the  long  series  of  outrages  committed  or  tolerated  against  the  Abo- 
litionists, excited  a  profound  sensation.  Even  those  whose  cau- 
tion, social  connections,  and  business  interests  had  hitherto  made 
them  hostile  or  indifferent  to  the  Antislaver}'  movement,  were  star- 
tled. And  the  occasion  seemed  the  right  one,  therefore,  to  arouse 
the  people  to  a  consciousness  of  their  duties  as  freemen. 

In  a  conversation  with  a  friend,  Samuel  E.  Sewall,  Esq.,  Dr. 
Channing  suggested  the  plan  of  a  meeting  of  the  citizens  of  Boston 
in  Fancuil  Hall,  to  protest  against  the  lawless  violence  which  had 
at  length  resulted  in  the  destruction  of  life.  A  petition  to  the  cit}^ 
government  was  accordingly  drawn  np  by  that  gentleman  for  the 
/      use  of  P'aneuil  Hall,  and  having  been  headed  b}'  Dr.  Channing,  and 

/  the  requisite  number  of  signers  obtained,  was  presented.  It  was 
immediately  followed  b}^  a  counter  petition  numerously  signed.  In 
this  dark  da}',  the  taint  of  "Abolitionism"  was  so  much  di*eaded, 
especially  in  large  trading  communities,  that  influential  men  readily 
came  forward  to  oppose  even  an  expression  of  indignant  remon- 
strance against  the  violence  under  which  Abolitionists  had  suffered. 
Under  their  influence  the  hall  was  refused,  and  from  considerations 
which  will  appear  in  the  subsequent  documents.  Thus  an  issue  was 
made  for  freedom  of  speech  and  tlie  supremacy  of  law,  in  which 
Dr.  Channing  found  himself  most  unexpectedly  involved  as  a 
principal. 

The  results  of  this  contest  were  important  in  their  silent  opera- 
tion on  public  opinion.  They  were  important  also,  in  a  personal 
point  of  view,  for  many  of  the  early  and  near  friends  of  Dr.  Chan- 
nine  fell  away  from  him.  The  absurd  notion  was  originated,  at 
this  time,  that  he  intended  to  change  his  calling  for  a  political  one. 
The  coldness  toward  him  which  then  began  to  manifest  itself  was 
never  entirely  removed  ;   and  suspicions  with  regard  to  the  purity 

V  of  his  aim  were  cherished  by  a  few,  even  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
They  could  not  comprehend  the  depth  of  his  desire  to  make  religion 
the  controlling  principle  in  all  human  affairs.  This  experience  was 
instructive,  too,  to  himself,  and  though  he  had  always  regarded 
public  events  from  a  religious  point  of  view,  yet  thenceforward  he 
looked  iTiore  to  the  direct  application  of  Christianity  to  social  and 
political  life.  He  said  soon  afterward  to  a  friend,  that  he  was  glad 
of  what  had  occurred,  as  it  had  enabled  him  to  give  a  practical 
manifestation  of  opinions  which  might  otherwise  have  been  consid- 
ered merel}'  theoretical. 

On  the  second  of  December,  the  following  appeal  was  published 
in  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  prefaced  by  some  editorial  remarks 
sustaining  the  course  of  the  city  government. 


PETITION  FOR  FANEUIL  HALL.  553 

"  To  THE  Citizens  of  Boston. 

"  I  feel  that  I  owe  it  to  my  fellow-citizens  and  myself,  to  offer 
some  remarks  on  the  proceedings  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen,  in  re- 
lation to  a  petition  presented  to  them  for  the  use  of  Faneuil  Hall, 
hi  order  that  there  might  be  an  expression  of  public  sentiment  in 
regard  to  the  late  ferocious  assault  on  the  libei'ty  of  the  press  at 
Alton.  Had  I  for  a  moment  imagined  that,  by  placing  my  name 
at  tlie  head  of  this  petition,  I  was  to  bring  myself  before  the 
pul)lic  as  I  haxe  done,  I  should  have  been  solicitous  to  avoid 
the  distinction.  But  the  past  cannot  be  recalled ;  and  having 
performed  tiiis  act  from  a  conviction  of  duty,  I  cannot  regret  it. 
My  only  desire  is,  that  its  true  character  ma}'  be  understood  by 
my  fellow-citizens,  who  will  not,  1  beheve,  when  they  know  the 
truth,  give  the  sanction  of  their  approbation  to  the  proceedings 
of  the  government. 

'  *•  The  petition  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  '  Boston,  Nov.  27,  1837. 
"  '  To  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  of  the  City  of  Boston. 

"  'The  undersigned,  citizens  of  Boston,  request  that  the  use  of 
Faneuil  Hall  may  be  granted  to  them  on  Monda}^  evening,  Dec.  4th, 
for  tlie  purpose  of  holding  a  public  meeting  to  notice  in  a  suitable 
manner  the  recent  murder,  in  the  city  of  Alton,  of  a  native  of  New 
England,  and  citizen  of  the  free  State  of  Illinois,  who  fell  in  defence 
of  the  freedom  of  the  press.' 

"This  petition  was  rejected  by  the  Board  of  Aldermen,  on  the 
ground,  that  the  resolutions  which  might  be  passed  at  the  proposed 
meeting  would  not  express  the  pulilic  opinion  of  the  cit}',  and  would 
even  create  a  disgraceful  confusion  in  Faneuil  Hall,  or,  in  other 
words,  would  excite  a  mob.  I  need  not  say  to  those  who  know 
me,  that  I  am  incapable  of  proposing  a  measure  which  should  seem 
to  me  fitted  to  expose  the  city  to  tumult.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
possibility  of  such  an  occurrence  did  not  enter  my  thoughts.  The 
object  of  the  proposed  meeting  was  so  obvious,  so  unexceptionable, 
so  righteous,  and  had  such  claims  on  ever}'  friend  of  order  and  lib- 
erty, that  I  did  not  pause  a  moment  when  I  was  requested  to  sign 
the  petition.  I  should  have  pronounced  it  impossible  that  a  man 
of  common  sense  and  common  honesty  could  view  and  pass  over 
the  tragedy  of  Alton  as  a  matter  touching  merel}^  the  interests  of 
one  or  another  party.  To  me  it  had  a  character  of  its  own,  which 
stood  out  in  terrible  relief.  I  saw  in  it  systematic,  deliberate  mur- 
der, for  the  destruction  of  the  freedom  of  the  press.  The  petition 
was  presented  for  one  purpose  and  one  only,  —  namel}',  that  the 


554  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

good  people  of  Boston  might  manifest  in  the  most  solemn  and  im- 
pressive manner  their  dee])  abhorrence  of  the  spirit  of  mobs  which 
threatens  all  our  institutions,  and  particularlj-  might  express  their 
utter,  uncompromising  reprobation  of  the  violence  which  has  been 
offered  to  the  freedom  of  speech  and  the  press.  The  Freedom  of 
the  Press,  —  the  sacredness  of  this  right,  —  the  dutj-  of  maintaining 
it  against  all  assaults,  — this  was  the  great  idea  to  which  the  meet- 
ing was  intended  to  give  utterance.  I  was  requested  to  prepare 
the  resolutions  ;  and  1  was  meditating  this  work  when  I  heard  the 
decision  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen.  My  single  aim  was,  to  frame 
such  resolutions  as  should  pledge  all  who  should  concur  in  them  to 
the  exertion  of  their  whole  influence  for  the  suppression  of  mobs, 
for  the  discouragement  of  violence,  for  the  vindication  of  the  su- 
premacy of  the  laws,  and  especially  for  the  assertion  and  defence 
of  the  freedom  of  the  press.  My  intention  was,  to  exclude  all  ref- 
erence to  parties,  all  topics  about  which  there  could  be  a  di\ision 
among  the  friends  of  liberty.  No  other  resolutions  could  have  been 
drawn  up  in  consistency  with  the  petition  ;  and  the  Board  of  Alder- 
men had  no  right  to  expect  any  others. 

"To  intimate  that  such  resolutions  would  not  express  the  public 
opinion  of  Boston,  and  would  even  create  a  mob,  is  to  pronounce 
the  severest  hbel  on  this  city.  It  is  to  assert  that  peaceful  citizens 
cannot  meet  here  in  safety  to  strengthen  and  pledge  themselves 
against  violence  and  in  defence  of  the  dearest  and  most  sacred 
rights.  And  has  it  come  to  this?  Has  Boston  fallen  so  low? 
May  not  its  citizens  be  trusted  to  come  together  to  express  the 
great  principles  of  liberty,  for  which  their  fathers  died?  Are  our 
fellow-citizens  to  be  murdered  in  the  act  of  defending  their  prop- 
ert}',  and  of  asserting  the  right  of  free  discussion :  and  is  it  unsafe 
in  this  metropolis,  once  the  refuge  of  liberty,  to  express  abhorrence 
of  the  deed?  If  such  be  our  degradation,  we  ought  to  know  the 
awful  truth  ;  and  those  among  us  who  retain  a  portion  of  the  spirit 
of  our  ancestors  should  set  themselves  to  work  to  recover  their  de- 
generate posterity.  But  I  do  not  believe  in  this  degeneracy.  The 
people  of  Boston  may  be  trusted.  There  is  a  moral  soundness  in 
this  community  on  the  great  points  involved  in  the  petition  which 
has  been  rejected.  There  is  among  us  a  deep  abhorrence  of  the 
spirit  of  violence  which  is  spreading  through  our  land  ;  and  from 
this  city  ought  to  go  forth  a  voice  to  awaken  the  whole  country  to 
its  danger,  to  the  growing  i)eril  of  the  substitution  of  lawless  force 
for  tlie  authority  of  the  laws.  This,  in  trutli,  was  tlie  great  object 
of  those  who  proposed  the  meeting,  to  bring  out  a  loud,  general 
expression  of  opinion  and  feeling,  which  would  awe  the  spirit  of 


PUBLIC   OPINION   IN   BOSTON.  555 

mobs,  and  would  especially  secure  the  press  from  violence.  In- 
stead of  this,  what  is  Boston  now  doing?  Into  what  scale  is  this 
city  now  thrown?  Boston  now  says  to  Alton,  'Go  on;  destroy 
the  press  ;  put  down  the  libert}'  of  speech  ;  and,  still  more,  murder 
the  citizen  who  asserts  it ;  and  no  united  voice  shall  here  be  lifted 
up  against  you,  lest  a  like  violence  should  break  forth  among 
ourselves.' 

"It  is  this  view  of  the  rejection  of  the  petition  which  deeply 
moves  me.  That  a  petition  bearing  m}'  name  should  be  denied, 
would  not  excite  a  moment's  thought  or  feeling.  But  that  this  cit}', 
which  I  have  been  proud  to  call  ni}-  home,  should  be  so  exhibited 
to  the  world,  and  should  exert  this  disastrous  influence  on  the  coun- 
tr}-,  —  this  I  cannot  meet  with  indifference. 

"  I  earnestly  hope  that  my  fellow-citizens  will  demand  the  public 
meeting  which  has  been  refused,  with  a  voice  which  cannot  be 
denied  ;  but,  unless  so  called,  I  do  not  desire  that  it  should  be 
held.  If  not  demanded  b}'  acclamation,  it  would  very  possibly 
become  a  riot.  A  government  which  announces  its  expectation  of 
a  mob  does  virtuaUy,  though  unintentionall}',  summon  a  mob,  and 
would  then  cast  all  the  blame  of  it  on  the  '  rash  men '  who  might 
become  its  victims. 

"But  is  there  no  part  of  our  country,  where  a  voice  of  power 
shall  be  lifted  up  in  defence  of  rights  incomparablj'  more  precious 
than  the  temporary  interests  which  have  often  crowded  Faneuil 
Hall  to  suffocation?  Is  the  whole  country  to  sleep?  An  event 
has  occurred  which  ought  to  thrill  the  hearts  of  this  people  as  the 
heart  of  one  man.  A  martyr  to  the  freedom  of  the  press  has  fallen 
among  us.  A  citizen  has  been  murdered  in  defence  of  the  right  of 
free  discussion.  I  do  not  ask  whether  he  was  a  Christian  or  unbe- 
liever, whether  he  was  Abolitionist  or  Colonizationist.  He  has 
been  murdered  in  exercising  what  I  hold  to  be  the  dearest  right  of 
the  citizen.  Nor  is  this  a  solitary  act  of  violence.  It  is  the  con- 
summation of  a  long  series  of  assaults  on  public  order,  on  freedom, 
on  the  majest}'  of  the  laws.  I  ask,  Is  there  not  a  spot  in  the  coun- 
try- whence  a  voice  of  moral  reprobation,  of  patriotic  remonstrance, 
of  solemn  warning,  shall  go  forth  to  awaken  the  slumbering  com- 
munity? There  are,  indeed,  in  various  places,  meetings  of  Anti- 
slaver3-  societies,  to  express  their  sorrow  for  a  fallen  brother.  But 
in  these  I  take  no  part.  What  I  desired  was,  that  the  citizens  of 
Boston,  of  all  parties,  should  join  as  one  man  in  putting  down  the 
reign  of  terror  by  the  force  of  opinion,  and  in  spreading  a  shield 
over  our  menaced  liberties.  I  felt,  that  the  verj'  fact,  that  the 
majority-  of  the  people  here  are  opposed  to  the  peculiar  opinions  of 


556  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

our  murdered  fellow-citizen,  would  give  increased  authority  to  our 
condemnation  of  this  ferocious  deed. 

"  Tlie  principles  on  which  I  have  acted  in  this  affair  are  such  as 
have  governed  my  whole  life.  This  is  not  the  first  time  in  which  I 
have  come  forward  to  defend  the  freedom  of  opinion,  the  freedom 
of  speech,  the  freedom  of  the  press.  Not  a  few  of  my  fellow-citi- 
zens will  bear  witness  to  the  sincerity  of  my  devotion  to  this  cause. 
The  rights  of  a  human  being  to  inquire,  to  judge,  and  to  express 
his  honest  conviction,  —  these  are  dear  to  me  as  life  ;  and  if  I  ask 
a  distinction  in  society,  it  is  that  of  being  the  defender  of  these,  I 
cannot,  I  will  not,  tamely  and  silently,  see  these  trampled  down  in 
the  person  of  a  fellow-citizen,  be  he  rich  or  poor,  be  he  friend  or  foe, 
be  he  the  advocate  or  the  opposer  of  what  I  deem  the  truth. 

"That  in  these  sentiments  I  have  the  sympathy  of  my  fellow- 
citizens,  I  cannot  doubt.  I  am  confident  that,  when  the  true  im- 
port of  the  petition  which  I  have  signed  is  understood,  the  vast 
majority  will  agree  with  me  in  the  fitness  of  the  action  which  it  was 
intended  to  promote.  I  have  no  distrust  of  my  fellow-citizens. 
They  are  true  to  the  principles  of  liberty ;  and  the  time,  I  hope,  is 
near,  when  the  stain  now  thrown  on  our  ancient  and  free  city  will 
be  wiped  away,  —  when  a  petition,  headed  by  a  worthier  name,  will 
assemble  the  wise  and  good,  the  friends  of  order  and  liberty,  of  all 
sects  and  parties,  to  bear  their  solemn  testimony  against  the  spirit 
of  misrule  and  violence,  to  express  their  devotion  to  the  laws,  and 
their  unconquerable  purpose  to  maintain  the  freedom  of  speech  and 
of  the  press.  "  Wm.  E.  Chaxning." 

The  issue  thus  made  with  the  city  authorities  was  rendered  still 
more  comi)licated  by  the  fact  that  the  municipal  election  was  close 
at  hand.  This  caused  the  motives  of  men  who  took  an  active  part 
in  tlie  affair  to  be  regarded  with  party  jealousy.  No  effort,  how- 
ever, it  is  just  to  say,  was  put  forth  by  either  party  to  create 
"  i)ohtical  capital"  out  of  the  question. 

In  answer  to  the  appeal,  a  gathering  of  citizens  was  held,  on  the 
evening  of  December  3d,  in  the  old  Supreme  Court  room,  —  a  room 
not  large,  but  crowded  on  that  occasion, — to  consider  "the  rea- 
sons assigned  by  the  JNIayor  and  Aldermen  for  withholding  the  use 
of  Faneuil  Ilall,  and  to  act  in  the  i)remises  as  the}-  might  deem 
expedient."  Resolutions  were  ado^ited  concerning  the  freedom  of 
the  press  and  of  discussion,  and  the  riglit  of  the  people  i)eaceably  to 
assemble.  It  was  also  resolved  to  circulate  widely  through  the 
city  the  same  petition,  headed  as  before  by  William  E.  Clianning, 
with  only  a  change  in  the  time  of  the  meeting.  Before  adjourning, 
the  following  expression  of  respect  was  passed  :  — 


MEETING  AT  FANEUIL  HALL.  557 

"  Resolved,  That  the  thanks  of  this  meetuig  be  presented  to  the 
Rev.  WiUiam  E.  Channing  for  the  eloquent,  elevated,  and  dignified 
vindication  he  has  made,  in  his  published  Address,  of  the  right  of 
the  citizens  to  assemble  together  for  the  purpose  of  '  pledging  them- 
selves against  violence,  and  in  defence  of  the  dearest  and  most 
sacred  rights ' ;  and  that  he  be  requested  by  this  meeting  to  ])re- 
pare  the  resolutions  to  be  presented  at  the  proposed  meeting  in 
Faneuil  Hall  on  the  8th  instant." 

The  city  authorities  immediatel}'  signified  their  willingness,  with- 
out waiting  to  test  the  number  of  names,  to  opem  the  hall,  and  it 
was  under  these  circumstances  that  the  meeting  was  held,  at  ten 
o'clock  on  the  morning  of  December  8th.  The  large  hall,  capable 
of  holding  five  thousand  persons,  was  crowded  earl}-.  On  all  sides 
were  earnest  and  anxious  faces.  The  Hon.  Jonathan  Phillips,  Dr. 
Channing's  intimate  friend,  was  called  to  preside.  A  prayer  was 
offered  by  the  Rev.  E.  M.  P.  Wells,  who  knelt  on  the  platform 
before  the  assembly ;  and  then  Dr.  Channing  addressed  the  meet- 
ing with  the  following  remarks,  which  he  had  previously  prepared 
and  committed  to  memory.  Some  of  the  sentiments  at  first  called 
forth  a  strong  expression  of  applause,  which  the  speaker  checked, 
by  begging  his  fellow-citizens  to  evince  their  approbation  by  their 
silent  attention.     The  request  was  instantly  complied  with. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  — M}-  relation  to  this  meeting  not  onl}'  author- 
izes, but  requires,  me  to  offer,  at  its  commencement,  some  remarks 
on  the  purpose  for  which  we  are  now  assembled.  It  is  not,  indeed, 
without  reluctance,  that  I  rise  to  speak  in  a  place,  and  under  cir- 
cumstances, to  me  so  new  and  unusual ;  but  I  am  commanded  to 
make  this  effort  b}'  a  voice  which  I  cannot  disobey,  b}'  a  sense  of 
what  I  owe  to  myself,  to  this  community,  and  to  the  cause  of  free- 
dom. 

"  I  know  that  there  are  those  who  say  that  this  is  not  my  place,  — 
that  ni}'  voice  should  be  heard  only  in  the  hoi}-  temples  of  religion. 
I  ask,  Is  there  nothing  holy  here  ?  "Was  there  nothing  holy  in  the 
spirit  of  our  fathers,  when  within  these  walls  the}-  iuA^oked  the 
blessing  of  God  on  their  struggles  for  freedom  ?  Every  place  may 
be  made  holy  by  holy  deeds.  Nothing,  nothing,  Sir,  would  tempt 
me  to  come  here  to  mingle  in  the  conflicts  of  party.  But  when  a 
great  question  of  humanity  and  justice  is  discussed  here,  when  a 
number  of  my  fellow-citizens  meet  here  to  Hft  up  their  voices 
against  violence  and  murder,  and  in  support  of  the  laws  and  the 
press,  I  feel  that  ray  place  is  here. 

"  I  rise  simply  to  state  the  object  of  this  meeting.     It  has  been 


5-38  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

misrepresented,  —  I  do  not  say  intentionall}'.  I  do  not  come  here 
to  charge  an^^  of  my  fellow-citizens  with  unworth}-  motives.  But 
there  has  been  misrepi'csentation.  You  have  been  told  that  the 
professed  object  of  the  meeting  is  not  its  real  one ;  that  it  was 
called  to  serve  the  purposes  of  a  part}- ;  that  it  is  an  imposition. 
I  grieve  that  this  language  has  been  used.  It  shows  how  little 
faith  man  has  in  man,  how  slow  he  is  to  ascribe  good  puri)oses  to 
his  brother,  how  prone  to  see  bj'-ends  and  bad  ends  in  honorable 
undertakings.  Sir,  there  does  exist  such  a  thing  as  purit}-  of  pur- 
pose. It  is  possible  for  a  man  to  desire  freedom,  not  only  for  him- 
self, but  for  his  whole  race.  It  is  possible  for  a  man  to  desire  that 
the  laws  ma}-  guard,  not  only  his  own  possessions,  but  the  rights 
of  every  human  being ;  and  when  laws  and  rights  and  freedom  are 
trodden  under  foot,  not  once,  but  again  and  again,  and  with  in- 
creasing fury,  it  is  possible  for  a  man  sincerely  to  feel  that  he 
ought  to  meet  with  those  of  a  like  mind,  and  bear  testimony  with 
them  against  these  atrocities.  Sir,  are  not  here  motives  enough 
and  of  sufficient  force  to  bring  men  together,  and  to  crowd  this 
hall, — motives  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  explain  this 
meeting?  And  why,  then,  look  be^'ond  these, — wli}-  look  for 
others  and  base  ones? 

"I  can  say  with  confidence.  Sir,  that  this  meeting  had  a  good 
origin.  Call  it  unwise,  if  3'ou  will ;  but  its  purpose  was  pure,  was 
generous,  and  worth}'  of  Christian  freemen.  1  claim  to  know  some- 
thing of  its  origin  ;  for  I  believe  no  one  had  more  to  do  with  calling 
it  than  myself.  Soon  after  the  recent  traged}'  at  Alton,  I  was 
called  upon,  and  requested  to  deliver  a  discourse  on  that  sad  event. 
For  various  reasons,  I  declined  so  to  do.  I  said  to  the  friend  who 
made  the  request,  and  I  said  it  from  m}-  own  mind,  and  without 
any  hint  from  another,  that  I  wished  that  the  citizens  of  Boston 
would,  in  some  public  manner,  express  their  abhorrence  of  the  law- 
less spirit  which  had  prompted  to  this  and  kindred  deeds,  and  which 
had  broken  out  here  as  well  as  at  a  distance.  On  the  next  da}'  a 
petition  was  sent  me,  embod3'ing  the  suggestion  which  I  had  made 
the  evening  before.  To  this  petition  I  affixed  my  name.  In  sign- 
ing it,  m}'  great  apprehension  was,  that  the  absorption  of  our  cit- 
izens in  their  private  affairs  would  make  them  indifferent  to  the 
subject,  so  that  a  meeting  sufficiently  numerous  for  the  desired  im- 
pression might  not  be  obtained.  The  idea  of  opposition  to  it  did 
not  enter  m}'  thoughts,  and  up  to  this  hour  I  find  a  difficulty  in 
comprehending,  in  making  real  to  m^'self,  the  opposition  it  has 
excited.  I  signed  the  petition  with  the  full  understanding  that  the 
meeting  should  bear  no  relation  to  part}',  but  should  comprehend 


RESOLUTIONS.  559 

all  citizens,   of  whatever  sect  or  party,  whose   spirits  had  been 
stirred,  as  mine  was,  b}'  the  fearful  progress  of  lawless  force. 

"  On  me,  then,  Sir,  not  a  little  of  the  responsibility  of  this  meet- 
ing rests.  I  owe  it  to  truth  and  honor  to  avow  it,  and  I  am  ready 
to  bear  this  responsibility.  I  have  no  misgi^'ings.  I  have  a  distinct 
consciousness,  that  the  part  which  I  act  becomes  a  man,  a  citizen, 
and  a  Christian.  I  am  willing  that  the  report  of  what  I  am  doing 
should  go  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  I  am  willing 
it  should  cross  the  ocean.  I  care  not  how  far,  how  wide,  it  is 
known,  that,  at  this  moment  of  increasing  peril  from  lawless  force, 
I  labored  to  bring  m}*  fellow-citizens  together,  in  order  that,  by  a 
solemn  public  act,  they  might  help  to  put  down  civil  convulsion  and 
T)loodshed,  —  might  assert  the  insulted  supremacy'  of  the  laws,  and 
might  pledge  themselves  to  sustain  the  endangered  rights  of  the 
citizen.  Sir,  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  report  of  this  meeting 
may  cross  the  ocean,  and  may  form  a  part  of  the  enduring  records 
of  this  city.  I  trust  that  it  will  not  detract  from  the  glor}-  of  our 
beloved  city.  I  trust  that  the  gentlemen  who  are  now  to  address 
3-0U  will  feel  the  dignit}',  the  sacredness,  of  this  occasion.  I  trust 
that  tliej'  will  rise  above  all  local,  personal,  party  considerations. 
I  rejoice  that  the  opening  of  this  hall  to  us  by  the  fathers  of  our 
city  has  put  to  rest  one  question  which  lately  excited  us,  and  I 
trust  that  no  reference  to  this  will  disturb  our  harmony.  In  a 
word,  I  trust  that  this  assembly  will  speak  a  language  worthy  of 
Boston;  and  worthy  of  those  illustrious  men,  who,  in  times  that 
tried  men's  souls,  made  these  walls  echo  with  their  thrilling  voices, 
and  left  here  a  testimony,  which  will  never  die,  to  the  principles  of 
freedom." 

The  following  resolutions,  written  by  Dr.  Channing,  were  then 
presented  to  the  meeting  by  Benjamin  F.  Hallet,  Esq,  :  — 

"  Resolved,  That  our  civil  and  religious  liberties,  which  have  come 
down  to  us  from  our  fathers,  sealed  with  their  blood,  are  a  most 
precious  bequest,  and  that,  when  liberty  is  invaded,  this  consecrated 
hall  is  the  chosen  spot  where  its  friends  should  meet  together  to 
pledge  themselves  to  its  support. 

"  Resolved,  That  we  are  assembled  here  to  assume  the  badge  of 
no  pai'ty,  to  narrow  ourselves  to  no  local  or  temporary  interests, 
but  to  maintain  the  supremacy  of  the  laws,  and  to  give  expression 
and  support  to  those  universal  principles  of  justice  and  freedom  on 
which  popular  institutions  and  the  hopes  of  philanthropy  rest. 

^'■Resolved,  That  it  has  pleased  God  to  commit  to  this  people, 
above  all  others,  the  cause  of  human  freedom ;  that  we  are  called 


560  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

to  the  high  office  of  manifesting  the  power  of  free  institutions  to 
ennoble  and  bless  a  people ;  and  that,  in  proving  false  to  this  trust, 
we  shall  not  only  cast  away  our  own  happiness,  but  shall  betra}-  the 
interests  of  the  human  race,  and  shall  deserve  the  condemning  sen- 
tence of  all  nations  and  of  future  times 

"  Resolved^  That  among  our  rights  we  hold  none  more  dear  than 
the  freedom  of  speech  and  the  press  ;  that  we  look  to  this  as  the 
guardian  of  all  other  rights  and  the  chief  spring  of  human  improve- 
ment ;  so  that  to  wrest  it  from  tlie  citizen,  by  violence  and  murder, 
is  to  inflict  the  deepest  wound  on  the  republic 

^'•Resolved,  That  it  is  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  freedom  of 
speech  and  the  press,  that  the  citizen  shall  be  protected  from  vio- 
lence, in  uttering  opinions  opposed  to  those  which  prevail  around 
him  ;  that  if  b}'  such  freedom  nothing  more  were  intended  than  the 
libert}'  of  publishing  what  none  would  denj',  then  absolute  govern- 
ments might  boast  of  it  as  loudly  as  republics  ;  so  that  to  put  the 
citizen  in  peril,  on  the  ground  that  he  presumptuously  perseveres  in 
uttering  what  is  unpopular,  or  what  the  majority"  do  not  approve,  is 
to  assail  this  freedom  in  its  very  foundation,  and  to  destroy  its  very 
Ufe. 

"  Resolved^  That,  in  a  free  country,  the  laws,  enacted  according 
to  the  prescriptions  of  the  constitution,  are  the  ^'oice  of  the  people, 
and  are  the  only  forms  by  which  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  is 
exercised  and  expressed ;  and  that  of  consequence  a  mob,  or  a 
combination  of  citizens  for  the  purpose  of  suspending  by  force 
the  administration  of  the  laws,  or  of  taking  awa}'  rights  which 
these  have  guaranteed,  is  treason  against  the  people,  a  contempt 
of  their  sovereignty,  and  deserves  to  be  visited  with  exemplar}- 
punishment. 

"  Resolced,  That  the  spirit  of  mobs  is  a  spirit  of  indiscriminate 
destruction  ;  that,  when  the  press  shall  have  become  its  pre}',  its 
next  victim  will  be  property ;  that  there  is  no  power  on  earth  so 
terrible  as  human  passion,  unbridled  by  principle  and  law,  and  in- 
flamed to  madness  by  the  sympathies  of  a  crowd  ;  and  that,  if  we 
silently  and  passively  abandon  any  portion  of  our  fellow-citizens  to 
this  power,  we  shall  have  no  right  to  complain  when  our  own  turn 
shall  come  to  feed  its  rapaciousness  and  Any. 

"  Resolved,  That  in  this  country  the  mightiest  influence  is  public 
opinion  ;  that  mobs  cannot  prevail  without  a  criminal  apathy  in  the 
public  mind  ;  that  one  of  the  darkest  omens  of  our  times  is  the  in- 
difl"erence  with  wliich  the  nation  has  looked  on  the  triumphs  of  law- 
less force ;  and  that  the  time  is  now  come  for  this  people  to  shake 
off  their  lethargy,  to  vindicate  the  insulted  majesty'  of  the  laws,  and 


RESOLUTIONS.  561 

to  pronounce  a  sentence  on  unprincipled  violence,  which  the  reck- 
less and  turbulent  will  be  unable  to  withstand. 

' '  Resolved,  That  when  a  fellow-citizen  has  been  destroyed  in 
defending  propert}'  and  the  press,  it  is  alike  weak  and  criminal  to 
reproach  him  as  responsible  for  the  deed,  because  he  refused  to 
surrender  his  undoubted  rights  at  the  command  of  his  murderers  ; 
that  with  equal  justice  the  highwayman  ma}'  throw  the  blame  of  his 
crime  on  the  slaughtered  traveller,  who  refuses,  when  summoned, 
to  surrender  his  purse  ;  and  even  if  our  fellow-citizen,  who  recentlj' 
fell  in  defence  of  the  freedom  of  the  press,  Avas  driven  by  the  vio- 
lence which  assailed  him  into  rash  and  injudicious  deeds,  we  are 
bound  so  to  express  our  grief  as  in  no  degree  to  screen  his  lawless 
assailants  from  the  reproliation  which  is  their  due. 

'•'•Resolved,  That  the  Christian  is  not  autliorized  by  his  religion 
to  look  with  indifference  on  public  affairs,  and  that  he  ought  par- 
ticularly- to  be  roused  by  acts  of  cruelty  and  violence,  which  degrade 
our  country-  to  the  level  of  heathenism. 

'■'■  Resolved,  That  we  deem  this  occasion  too  solemn  for  the  lan- 
guage of  passion  ;  that  we  have  come  to  this  place  to  establish  and 
difTuse  tlie  principles  of  order  and  peace  ;  that  we  acknowledge  our 
obligation  to  cherish  in  the  community  a  spirit  of  mutual  forbear- 
ance and  good-will ;  and  that  we  earnestly  desire,  whilst  we  vindi- 
cate the  rights  of  speech  and  the  press,  that  these  ma}'  be  most 
conscientiously  exercised,  in  obedience  to  the  dictates  of  justice  and 
philanthrop}-. 

"  Resolved,  That  our  affection  for  our  countr}'  is  undiminished  by 
the  public  crimes  by  which  it  is  dishonored  ;  that  we  implore  for 
it  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God  ;  and  that  we  pledge  om-selves, 
according  to  our  power,  to  sustain  its  laws,  to  give  stability  to  its 
union,  and  .to  transmit  its  free  institutions  unimpaired  to  posterity." 

These  resolutions  were  supported  by  George  S.  Hillard,  P^sq., 
in  a  speech  which  was  listened  to  witli  great  attention,  and  which 
was  pronounced  in  the  papers  of  the  day  to  have  been  "  fervid  in 
eloquence,  chaste  in  language,  and  noble  in  sentiment."  Its  effect 
was  at  once  elevating  and  soothing.  The  vast  multitude  seemed 
to  be  of  one  mind,  and  all  signs  betokened  a  meeting  in  tlie  highest 
degree  honorable  to  the  old  "  Cradle  of  Liberty."  But  the  powers 
of  evil  purposed  otherwise.  The  respectful  order  was  but  a  delusive 
calm.  One  third  of  the  persons  assembled,  perhaps,  were  Abolition- 
ists or  free-discnssionists  ;  another  third  were  curious  on-lookers, 
eager  chiefly  for  excitement,  and  swayed  to  and  fro  by  every 
speaker ;  but  there  was  also  a  party  gathered  there,  at  once  from 
counting-rooms  and  cellars,  who  were  deadly  foes  to  the  Antislavery 

36 


562  THE   ANTISLAVERY   MOVEMENT. 

movement,  and  only  waiting  a  fit  chance  for  outbreak.  Tlic  occa- 
sion came.  The  Attorne3--General  mounted  the  platform.  He 
pronounced  the  resolutions  to  be,  so  far  as  he  had  heard  them, 
"  abstract  propositions  "  ;  said  that  "  it  would  be  idle  and  useless 
to  call  this  great  meeting  of  the  citizens  together  merely  to  affirm 
by  solemn  vote  what  nobody  would  have  the  hardihood  to  deny  "  ; 
demanded  to  know  how  Mr.  Lovcjoy  had  merited  the  distinction  of 
being  thus  commemorated  ;  accused  him  of  inciting  the  slaves  to 
rise  upon  their  masters  ;  compared  the  slaves  to  wild  beasts  thirst- 
ing for  blood  ;  asked  whether  "  that  man  had  not  died  as  the  fool 
dieth  "  ;  likened  the  mob  of  Alton  to  the  fathers  of  the  Revolution  ; 
and  wound  up  by  saying,  "to  sjmpathize  with  those  who  have 
been  mobbed,  and  whose  own  rashness  and  imprudence  ha^-e  in- 
cited the  mob,  is  not  the  best  way  to  put  down  mobs."  ^  This 
speech,  of  course,  awakened  the  latent  emotions  of  all  parties,  and 
shouts  of  approval,  and  hisses  of  contempt,  alternately  drowned 
each  other. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  uproar  that  the  chairman,  turning  to 
his  friend,  said,  with  a  smile,  "  Can  3'ou  stand  thunder?"  "  Such 
thunder  as  this,"  was  the  answer,  "in  any  measure."  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  was  sitting  at  the  time  upon  the  platform,  and  looking  down 
over  the  surging  waves  of  the  excited  crowd  with  undisturbed 
serenit}'.  For  a  few  moments  it  seemed  doubtful  what  would  be 
the  result  of  this  ai)peal  from  one  of  the  highest  officers  of  the  State 
to  popular  prejudice  and  passion.  And  then  it  was  that  there  oc- 
curred a  scene  which  alwaj'S  remained  bright  in  Dr.  Channing's 
memory.  Wendell  Philhps,  Esq.,  a  young  lawyer,  whose  rare 
powers  of  commanding  and  brilliant  eloquence  were  then  unknown, 
and  who  had  no  influence  to  sustain  him  but  associations  connected 
with  the  honored  family  of  which  he  was  a  branch,  took  the  stage. 
He  began  by  expressing  his  "  surprise  at  the  sentiments  of  the  last 
speaker,  —  surprise,  not  only  at' such  sentiments  from  such  a  man, 
but  at  the  applause  they  had  elicited  within  these  walls."  At- 
tempts were  made  to  silence  the  bold  3'outh,  but  on  he  went  until 
he  reached  this  climax  of  his  philippic.  "  I  thought  those  pictured 
lips,"  pointing  to  the  portraits  in  the  hall,  "  would  have  broken  into 
voice  to  rebuke  the  recreant  American,  the  slanderer  of  the  dead. 
The  gentleman  said,  that  he  should  sink  into  insignificance,  if  he 
dared  to  gainsay  the  principles  of  these  resolutions.  Sir,  for  the 
sentiments  he  has  uttered,  on  soil  consecrated  by  the  prayers  of  Pu- 
ritans and  the  blood  of  patriots,  the  earth  should  have  yawned  and 
swallowed  him  up."  Here  the  tumult  of  applause  and  counter- 
1  The  Daily  Advocate,  December  9tli,  1837. 


SPEECH  OF  WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  563 

applause  became  deafening,  and  some  time  elapsed  before  order 
could  be  restored.  Dr.  Channing  frequently  referred  to  the  tone, 
look,  gesture,  with  which  this  young  man,  beaming  with  truth,  up- 
borne "bv  justice,  strong  in  rectitude,  careless  of  consequences,  in 
the  hallconsecrated  by  grand  associations,  and  before  a  vast  assem- 
bly of  fellow-citizens,  half  hostile  to  freedom,  poured  forth  the  vial 
of  his  indignation,  as  "  morally  sublime."  That  brave  deed  com- 
manded unwilling  respect  from  all,  and  won  the  day.  The  Hon. 
William  Sturgis  had  already,  in  an  earlier  part  of  Mr.  Phillips's 
remarks,  bespoken  for  him  a  fair  hearing,  thus  throwing  the  weight 
of  his  high  commercial  character  on  the  right  side  ;  and  George 
Bond,  vlq.,  justly  respected  by  the  community  for  business  energy 
and  Christian  charity,  now  followed  up  the  speech  in  a  most  manly, 
generous,  direct  appeal  to  the  consciences  and  hearts  of  the  assem- 
bly. The  vote  was  then  taken,  and  the  resolutions  were  adopted 
by  a  large  majority.  And  so  ''free  discussion  of  the  subject  of  free 
discussion"  was  secured  in  Boston.  "  Stout  men,  my  husband  for 
one,"  wrote  a  spectator  of  this  scene,  "  came  home  that  day  and 
'  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wept.'  Dr.  Channing  did  not  know  how 
dangerous  an  experiment  — as  people  count  danger  — he  adven- 
tured. We  knew  that  we  must  send  the  children  out  of  town,  and 
sleep  in  our  day-garments  that  night,  unless  free  discussion  pre- 
vailed." 

On  the  25th  of  December,  Dr.  Channing  thus  summed  up  the 
history  of  this  eventful  struggle  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Follen  :  — 

"  I  send  you  an  account  of  the  proceedings  at  Faneuil  Hall,  as 
you  desire.  I  gave  the  movers  of  it  to  understand  that  I  should 
not  speak  ;  but  when  I  found  that  the  opposition  to  the  meeting 
made  it  difficult  to  get  speakers,  I  felt  myself  bound  to  give  up  my 
objections,'  and  to^ay  a  few  words.  I  Uttle  expected,  when  I 
signed  the  petition,  to  get  myself  into  a  fray  ;  but  the  path  of  duty 
was  plain  ;  and  a  man  ought  not  to  talk  of  difficulty  when  he  sees 
clearly  the  right.  Good  was  done  to  myself;  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  much  was  done  to  others." 

Dr.  Channing's  course,  in  relation  to  the  Faneuil  Hall  meeting, 
identified  him  before  the  public  with  the  "  Abolitionists"  proper,  as 
he  had  never  been  before  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  this  added 
claim  to  their  confidence,  as  well  as  an  increased  sense  of  responsi- 
bility for  the  conduct  of  the  Antislavery  movement,  made  him 
desire  to  address  to  them  some  words  of  counsel.  That  he  had 
meditated  such  a  communication  even  earlier  appears  from  the  fol- 
lowing letter. 


564  THE   ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

"  Newport,  October  26,  1837.^  There  is  one  subject  on  which  I 
should  like  to  write,  but  can  promise  nothing,  and  that  is  the  char- 
acter of  Abolitionism.  I  should  like  to  point  out  what  I  think  its 
defects  and  dangers,  and  to  do  something  towards  helping  people 
to  comprehend  it.  Perhaps  the  Abolitionists  themselves  are  not 
aware  how  little  they  are  understood,  both  at  the  North  and  the 
South.  The}'  are  supposed  to  be  partly  heated  by  ideas  of  rights 
and  liberty,  partly  fevered  by  exaggerated  ideas  of  the  slave's  suf- 
ferings, partly  stirred  up  by  the  passion  for  notoriety.  That  they 
have  an  affection  for  the  colored  man  as  a  man  and  a  brother,  and 
wish  to  remove  what  crushes  his  humanity,  is  not  suspected.  The 
South  cannot  conceive  of  this  feeling,  nor  is  it  very  comprehensible 
at  the  North.  Your  brotherly  feeling  towards  the  slave  is  a  mys- 
tery, to  a  degree  which,  perhaps,  you  do  not  suspect.  I  should  like 
to  scatter  this  delusion.  Could  I  help  to  make  people  understand 
what  a  stream  of  real  love  is  flowing  toward  the  slave,  perhaps  I 
should  do  him  more  good  than  by  a  general  vindication  of  his 
rights  It  would  be  vastly  more  difficult,  but  it  would  open  his 
way  to  other  hearts.  Perhaps  the  difficulty  is  to  be  overcome  by 
the  Abolitionists  alone,  by  their  persevering,  unaffected  kindness 
to  the  colored  race.  Are  you  aware  that  a  master  feels  as  if  you 
were  injuring  him  by  presuming  to  love  his  slaves,  and  to  care  for 
their  happiness  ?  It  is  as  if  you  should  take  a  special  liking  to  his 
horses  or  dogs,  and  think  of  ministering  to  their  comforts.  They 
are  all  his." 

But  the  sad  event  of  Mr.  Lovejoy's  murder,  while  in  the  act  of 
forcibly  defending  his  civil  rights,  gave  a  new  direction  to  Dr. 
Channing's  thoughts,  and  made  him  still  more  solicitous  than  be- 
fore to  infuse  a  higher  spirit  of  calmness,  candor,  wisdom,  into  the 
hearts  of  those  whom  he  so  deeply  honored  for  their  humanity  and 
heroism.  Immediately  after  the  Faneuil  Hall  meeting,  therefore, 
he  sent  a  letter  to  the  Liberator,  extracts  from  which  will  fully 
explain  his  views. 

''Boston,  December  14,  1837.  My  Friends:  —  A  recent  event 
induces  me  to  address  to  you  a  few  remarks.  I  trust  you  will  not 
ascribe  them  to  a  love  of  dictation,  and  especially  that  you  will  not 
thinlc  me  capable  of  uttering  a  word  of  censure,  in  deference  to  the 
prejudices  and  passions  of  your  opposers.  My  sympathies  are  with 
the  oppressed  and  persecuted.  I  have  labored,  in  a  darker  day 
than  this,  to  vindicate  your  rights  ;  and  nothing  would  tempt  me  at 
this  moment  to  speak  a  disapproving  word,  if  I  thought  I  should 

1  To  Dr.  Charles  FoUen. 


LETTER  TO   THE  ABOLITIONISTS.  565 

give  the  slightest  countenance  to  the  violence  under  which  you  have 
suffered.  I  have  spoken  of  the  slight  service  which  I  have  ren- 
dered, not  as  a  claim  for  gratitude,  —  for  I  onl}'  performed  a  plain 
dut}',  —  but  as  giving  me  a  title  to  a  candid  construction  of  what  I 
am  now  to  offer. 

"You  well  know  that  I  have  not  been  satisfied  with  all  your 
modes  of  operation.  I  have  particularly  made  objections  to  the 
organization  and  union  of  numerous  and  wide-spread  societies  for 
the  subversion  of  slavery.  I  have  believed,  however,  that  man}'  of 
the  dangerous  tendencies  of  such  an  association  would  be  obviated 
b}^  your  adoption  of  what  is  called  '  the  peace  principle ' ;  in  other 
words,  by  your  unwillingness  to  use  physical  force  for  self-defence. 
To  this  feature  of  your  societ}'  I  have  looked  as  a  pledge  that  your 
zeal,  even  if  it  should  prove  excessive,  would  not  work  much  harm. 
You  can  judge,  then,  of  the  sorrow  with  which  I  heard  of  the  trage- 
dy of  Alton,  where  one  of  your  respected  brethren  fell  witli  arms 
in  his  hands.  I  felt,  indeed,  that  his  course  was  justified  by  the 
laws  of  liis  country',  and  b}'  tlie  established  opinions  and  practice 
of  the  civilized  world.  I  felt,  too,  that  the  violence  under  which 
he  fell,  regarded  as  an  assault  on  the  press  and  our  clearest  riglits, 
deserved  the  same  reprobation  from  the  friends  of  free  institutions 
as  if  he  had  fallen  an  unresisting  victim.  But  I  felt  that  a  cloud 
had  gathered  over  your  society,  and  that  a  dangerous  precedent  had 
been  given  in  the  cause  of  humanity.  So  strong  was  this  impres- 
sion, that,  whilst  this  event  found  its  way  into  other  pulpits,  I  was 
unwilling  to  make  it  the  topic  of  a  religious  discourse,  but  preferred 
to  express  my  reprobation  of  it  in  another  place,  where  it  would  be 
viewed  only  in  its  bearings  on  civil  and  political  rights.  M3'  hope 
was,  that  the  members  of  3'our  society,  whilst  they  would  do  honor 
to  the  fearless  spirit  of  j-our  fallen  brother,  would  still,  with  one 
loud  voice,  proclaim  their  disapprobation  of  his  last  act,  and  their 
sorrow  tliat  through  him  a  cause  of  philanthrop}'  had  been  stained 
with  blood.  In  this,  I  am  sorry  to  sa}-  that  I  have  been  disap- 
pointed. I  have  seen,  indeed,  no  justification  of  the  act.  I  have 
seen  a  few  disapproving  sentences,  but  no  such  clear  and  general 
testimon}'  against  this  error  of  the  lamented  Lovejo}'  as  is  needed 
to  give  assurance  against  its  repetition 

"It  seems  to  me  of  great  importance,  that  you  should  steadily 
disavow  this  resort  to  force  b}-  Mr.  Lovejo}-.  There  are  peculiar 
reasons  for  it.  Your  position  in  our  country  is  peculiar,  and  makes 
it  important  that  you  should  be  viewed  as  incapable  of  resorting  to 
violent  means. 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  are  a  large  and  growing  part}',  and  are 


5Q6  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

possessed  with  a  fervent  zeal,  such  as  has  been  unknown  since  the 
beginning  of  our  Revolutionarj'  conflict.  At  the  same  time,  you 
are  distrusted,  and,  still  more,  hated,  by  a  multitude  of  3'our 
fellow-citizens.  Here,  then,  are  the  elements  of  deadl}-  strife. 
From  masses  so  hostile,  so  inflamed,  there  is  reason  to  fear  tumults, 
conflicts,  bloodshed.  What  is  it  which  has  prevented  these  sad 
results  in  the  past,  in  the  days  of  your  weakness?  Your  forbear- 
ance ;  your  unwillingness  to  meet  force  by  force.  Had  j'ou  adopted 
the  means  of  defence  which  an}'  other  part}',  so  persecuted,  would 
have  chosen,  our  streets  might  again  and  again  have  flowed  with 
blood.  Societ}'  might  have  been  shaken  b}-  the  conflict.  If  now, 
hi  your  strength,  you  take  the  sword,  and  repa}'  blow  with  blow, 
what  is  not  to  be  feared  ?  It  is  one  of  the  objections  to  great  asso- 
ciations, that  the}'  accumulate  a  power  which,  in  seasons  of  excite- 
ment and  exasperation,  threatens  public  commotions,  and  which 
may  even  turn  our  country  into  a  field  of  battle.  I  say,  then,  that 
if  you  choose  to  organize  so  vast  a  force  for  a  cause  which  awakens 
fierce  passions,  you  must  adopt  '  the  peace  principle '  as  your  in- 
violable rule.  You  must  trust  in  the  laws,  and  in  the  moral  s}'m- 
pathies  of  the  community.  You  must  try  the  power  of  suff'oring 
for  truth.  The  first  Christians  tried  this  among  communities  more 
ferocious  than  our  own.  You  have  yourselves  tried  it,  and  through 
it  have  made  rapid  progress.  To  desert  it  miglit  be  to  plunge 
the  country  into  fearful  contests,  and  to  rob  your  cause  of  all  its 
sanctity 

"  Hitherto  I  have  appealed  confidently  to  your  pacific  principles 
as  securities  against  all  wrongs.  I  have  seen  with  indignation  the 
violence  of  cowardly  and  unprincipled  men  directed  against  an  un- 
resisting band.  I  trust  that  your  friends  will  never  have  cause  to 
grow  faint  in  your  defence.  I  trust  that  the  tragedy  of  Alton  will 
draw  from  you  new  assurances  of  your  trust  in  God,  in  the  power  of 
truth,  and  in  the  moral  sympathies  of  a  Christian  people 

"Having  expressed  my  disapprobation  and  fears,  I  feel  that  it 
is  right  to  close  this  letter  with  expressing  tlie  deep  interest  I  feel 
in  you,  not  as  an  association,  but  as  men  pledged  to  the  use  of  all 
lawful  means  for  the  subversion  of  slavery.  There  is  but  one  test 
by  which  individuals  or  parties  can  be  judged,  and  that  is,  the 
principles  from  which  they  act,  and  which  they  are  pledged  to 
support.  No  matter  how  many  able  men  a  party  may  number  in 
its  ranks  ;  unless  pledged  to  great  principles,  it  must  pass  away, 
and  its  leaders  sink  into  oblivion.  There  are  two  great  principles 
to  which  you  are  devoted,  and  for  which  I  have  always  honored 
3'ou.     The  first  is,  the  freedom  of  the  press.     This  you  have  not 


PRINCIPLES  OF  THE  ABOLITIONISTS.  567 

only  vindicated  with  your  lips  and  pens,  but  you  have  asserted  it 
amidst  persecutions.  The  right  of  a  man  to  publish  his  convictions 
on  subjects  of  deepest  concern  to  society  and  humanity,  this  you 
have  held  fast  when  most  men  would  have  shrunk  from  it.  This 
practical  assertion  of  a  great  principle  I  hold  to  be  worth  more  than 
the  most  eloquent  professions  of  it  in  public  meetings,  or  than  all 
the  vindications  of  it  in  the  closet.  I  have  thanked  you,  and  thank 
you  again,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  for  this  good  service  which  you 
have  rendered  her.  I  know  of  none  to  whom  her  debt  is  greater. 
There  was  a  time  when  the  freedom  of  the  press  needed  no  de- 
fenders in  our  land,  for  it  was  strong  in  the  love  of  the  people.  It 
was  recognized  as  the  pervading  life,  the  conservative  power,  of 
our  institutions.  A  voice  raised  against  it  would  have  been  pro- 
nounced moral  treason.  We  clung  to  it  as  an  immutable  principle, 
as  a  universal  and  inalienable  right.  We  received  it  as  an  intui- 
tive truth,  as  no  more  to  be  questioned  than  a  law  of  nature.  But 
'  the  times  are  changed,  and  we  change  with  them.'  Are  there  no 
signs,  is  there  nothing  to  make  us  fear,  that  the  freedom  of  speech 
and  the  press,  regarded  as  a  right  and  a  principle,  is  dying  out  of 
the  hearts  of  this  people  ?  It  is  not  a  sufficient  answer  to  say  that 
the  vast  majority  speak  and  publish  their  thoughts  without  danger. 
The  question  is,  whether  this  freedom  is  distinctly  and  practically 
recognized  as  every  man's  right.  Unless  it  stands  on  this  ground,  it 
is  little  more  than  a  name ;  it  has  no  permanent  life.  To  refuse 
it  to  a  minority,  however  small,  is  to  loosen  every  man's  hold  of  it, 
to  violate  its  sacredness,  to  break  up  its  foundation.  A  despotism 
too  strong  for  fear  may,  through  its  very  strength,  allow  to  the 
mass  great  liberty  of  utterance  ;  but  in  conceding  it  as  a  privilege, 
and  not  as  a  right,  and  by  withholding  it  at  pleasure  from  offensive 
individuals,  the  despot  betrays  himself  as  truly  as  if  he  had  put  a 
seal  on  every  man's  lips.  That  state  must  not  call  itself  free,  in 
which  any  party,  however  small,  cannot  safely  speak  its  mind  ;  in 
which  any  party  is  exposed  to  violence  for  the  exercise  of  a  uni- 
versal right ;  in  which  the  laws,  made  to  protect  all,  cannot  be 
sustained  against  brute  force.  The  freedom  of  speech  and  the 
press  seems  now  to  be  sharing  the  lot  of  all  great  principles.  His- 
torj'  shows  us,  that  all  great  principles,  however  ardently  espoused 
for  a  time,  have  a  tendency  to  fade  into  traditions,  to  degenerate 
into  a  hollow  cant,  to  become  words  of  little  import,  and  to  remain 
for  declamation  when  their  vital  power  is  gone.  At  such  a  period, 
every  good  citizen  is  called  to  do  what  in  him  lies  to  restore  their 
life  and  power.  To  some,  it  may  be  a  disheartening  thought,  that 
the  battle  of  libert}-  is  never  to  end,  that  its  first  principles  must  be 


568  THE   ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

established  anew,  on  the  very  spots  where  they  seemed  immovably 
fixed.  But  it  is  the  law  of  our  being,  that  no  true  good  can  be 
made  sure  without  struggle  ;  and  it  should  cheer  us  to  think,  that 
to  struggle  for  the  right  is  the  noblest  use  of  our  powers,  and  the 
only  means  of  happiness  and  perfection. 

"Another  ground  of  my  strong  interest  in  your  body  is,  that 
you  are  pledged  to  another  principle,  far  broader  than  the  freedom 
of  the  press,  and  on  which  this  and  all  other  rights  repose.  You 
start  from  the  subliniest  truth.  You  oppose  slaver}',  not  from 
political  or  worldly  considerations.  You  take  your  stand  on  the 
unutterable  worth  of  every  human  being,  and  on  his  inalienable 
rights  as  a  rational,  moral,  and  immortal  child  of  God.  Here  is 
your  strength.  Unlike  the  political  parties  which  agitate  the 
country',  you  have  Vi  principle^  and  the  grandest  which  can  unite  a 
body  of  men.  That  3'ou  fully  comprehend  it,  or  are  always  faithful 
to  it,  cannot  be  affirmed  ;  but  you  have  it,  and  it  is  cause  of  joy  to 
see  men  seizing  it  even  in  an  imperfect  form.  All  slavery,  all 
oppressive  institutions,  all  social  abuses,  spring  from  or  involve 
contempt  of  human  nature.  The  tyrant  does  not  know  ivho  it  is 
whom  he  tramples  in  the  dust.  You  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
truth.  The  inappreciable  worth  of  every  human  being,  and  the 
derivation  of  his  rights,  not  from  paper  constitutions  and  human 
laws,  but  from  his  spiritual  and  immortal  nature,  from  his  affinity 
with  God,  —  these  are  the  truths  which  are  to  renovate  society,  by 
the  light  of  which  our  present  civilization  will  one  day  be  seen  to 
bear  man}'  an  impress  of  barbarism,  and  b}'  the  power  of  which  a 
real  brotherhood  will  more  and  more  unite  the  now  divided  and 
struggling  family  of  man 

"This  is  a  high  standard,  but  not  too  high  for  men  who  have 
started  from  the  great  principle  of  your  association.  They  who 
found  their  efforts  against  oppression  on  every  man's  near  relation 
to  God,  on  every  man's  participation  of  a  moral  and  immortal 
nature,  cannot,  without  singular  inconsistency,  grow  fierce  against 
the  many  in  their  zeal  for  a  few.  From  a  body  founded  on  such  a 
principle  ought  to  come  forth  more  enlightened  friends  of  the  race, 
more  enlarged  i)hilanthropists,  than  have  3"et  been  trained.  Guard 
from  dishonor  the  divine  truth  which  you  have  espoused  as  your 
creed  and  }our  rule.  Show  forth  its  energ}'  in  what  you  do  and 
suffer.  Show  forth  its  celestial  purity  in  your  freedom  from  un- 
worthy passions.  Prove  it  to  be  from  God,  by  serene  trust  in  his 
providence,  by  fearless  obedience  to  his  will,  by  imitating  his  im- 
partial justice  and  his  universal  love. 

' '  I  now  close  this  long  letter.     I  kave  spoken  the  more  freely, 


'  RELATIONS  WITH  THE  ABOLITIONISTS.  569 

because  I  shall  probably  be  prevented,  b}'  various  and  pressing 
objects,  from  communicating  with  you  again.  In  3'our  great  and 
holy  purpose  3'ou  have  m}'  s^^mpathies  and  best  wishes.  I  implore 
for  3-ou  the  guidance  and  blessing  of  God. 

"Very  sincerel}',  3'Our  friend." 

In  the  well-known  article,  entitled  "The  Mart3'r  Age  of  the 
United  States  of  America,"  ^  Miss  Martineau  thus  narrates  an  oc- 
currence, of  which  she  was  probabl}^  a  witness,  and  which  it  ma}- 
be  well  to  record,  as  illustrating  Dr.  Channing's  relations  with  the 
Abolitionists.  It  happened  at  the  time  when  the  board  of  man- 
agers of  the  Massachusetts  Antislaver}'  Societ}'  had  appointed  a 
committee  to  confer  with  a  committee  of  the  legislature,  in  relation 
to  the  subject  of  penal  enactments  against  Abolition  societies  and 
Abolition  presses,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  some  of  the  Southern 
States  had  demanded.  "  While  the  committee  were,  with  osten- 
tatious negligence,  keeping  the  Abolitionists  waiting,  the  Senate 
Chamber  presented  an  interesting  spectacle.  The  contemptuous 
committee,  dawdling  about  some  immaterial  business,  were  lolling 

over  a  table The  Abolitionists,  to  whom  this  business  was 

a  prelude  to  life  or  death,  were  earnestly  consulting  in  groups,  — 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  chamber.  Garrison  and  another,  standing 
head  to  head,  —  somewhat  nearer.  Dr.  Follen,  looking  German  aU 
over,  and  a  deeper  earnestness  than  usual  overspreading  his  serene 
and  meditative  countenance ;  and  in  consultation  with  him  Mr. 
Loriug,  looking  only  too  frail  in  form,  but  with  a  face  radiant  with 
inward  light.  There  were  May,  and  Goodell,  and  Sewall,  and 
several  more,  and  many  an  anxious  wife,  or  sister,  or  friend,  look- 
ing down  from  the  gallery.  During  the  suspense,  the  door  opened, 
and  Dr.  Channing  entered,  —  one  of  the  last  people  that  could,  on 
that  wintry  afternoon,  have  been  expected.  He  stood  for  a  few 
moments  muffled  in  cloak  and  shawl-handkerchief,  then  walked  the 
whole  length  of  the  room,  and  was  immediately  seen  shaking  hands 
with  Mr.  Garrison.  He  afterwards  explained,  that  he  was  not,  at 
the  moment,  certain  that  it  was  Mr.  Garrison,  but  that  he  was  not 
the  less  happy  to  have  shaken  hands  with  him.  A  murmur  ran 
through  the  gallery,  and  a  smile  went  round  the  chamber.  Mrs. 
Chapman  whispered  to  her  next  neighbor,  —  '  Righteousness  and 
peace  have  kissed  each  other.'  Dr.  Channing  had  censured  the 
Abolitionists  in  his  pamphlet  on  Slaver}-.  Mr.  Garrison,  in  the 
Liberator,  had  rejected  the  censure,  and  here  they  were,  shaking 
hands  in  the  Senate  Chamber.     It  was  presently  found  that  a  pres- 

1  London  and  Westminster  Review,  December,  1838. 


570  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

sure  of  numbers  compelled  an  adjournment  to  the  larger  House  of 
Representatives.  There  Dr.  Channing  sat,  behind  the  speakers, 
handing  them  notes,  and  most  obviously  affording  them  his  counte- 
nance, so  as  to  be  thenceforth  considered  by  the  world  an  accession 
to  their  principles,  though  not  to  their  organized  body." 

Some  painful  facts  in  relation  to  the  mode  in  which  the  Antislav- 
ery  movement  was  for  many  years  regarded  by  leading  persons  in 
the  Federal  Street  Society  must  here  be  stated,  as  yet  further 
proving  Dr.  Channing's  readiness  to  co-operate  with  the  Abolition- 
ists, so  far  as  his  judgment  and  conscience  would  permit.  In  ''Right 
and  Wrong  in  Boston,  1835,"  Mrs.  Chapman,  speaking  of  the  Bos- 
ton Female  Antislavery  Society,  says:  "Having  notified  it"  —  an 
address  by  George  Thompson,  explanatory  of  the  objects  of  Anti- 
slavery  associations  —  "in  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing's  church,  where 
a  notice  of  our  meetings  has  never  been  refused  a  reading."  This 
was  true  of  the  earliest  years  of  the  Antislavery  movement,  and 
would  have  been  true  always,  had  Dr.  Channing's  wishes  been 
followed.  It  was  his  desire,  not  only  that  notices  of  the  Anti- 
slavery  societies  should  be  freely  read  in  the  Federal  Street  pulpit, 
but  that  the  meeting-house  itself  should  be  opened  for  their  use. 
In  both  respects  he  was  overruled  by  the  decision  of  the  Federal 
Street  congregation.  The  standing  committee  placed  a  strict  em- 
bargo upon  all  notices  of  a  doubtful  character,  so  that  veiy  few  of 
Antislavery  meetings  ever  reached  the  officiating  minister.  And 
in  April,  1837,  Dr.  Channing  received  a  negative  answer  to  the 
following  note :  — 

"  To  the  Standing  Committee  of  Federal  Street  Church. 

' '  Gentlemen  :  —  The  enclosed  letter  "  —  an  application  by  Francis 
Jackson,  Esq.,  for  the  use  of  the  church  for  the  Anniversaiy  Meet- 
ing of  the  New  England  Antislavery  Society  —  "was  sent  to  me 
this  morning.  I  wrote  in  reply,  that  it  would  be  very  agreeable  to 
me  that  our  church  should  be  used  for  the  purpose  expressed  in  the 
letter ;  but  that  it  was  the  custom  with  us  for  the  committee  of  the 
society  to  receive  and  decide  on  such  applications,  and  that  I  would 
accordingly-  lay  the  subject  before  them,  which  I  now  do. 

"  Very  truly,  3'our  friend." 

It  was  entirely  against  his  will  that,  under  these  circumstances, 
the  Federal  Street  meeting-house  was  obtained  from  the  committee 
for  the  purpose  of  a  lecture,  b^'  the  disingenuous  action  of  an  agent 
of  the  Colonization  Societ3'.  ^^'^^  ^  f^i'  i«ore  bitter  disappointment 
followed.    Nothing  in  all  his  intercourse  with  his  people,  nothing  in 


THE   COLONIZATION  SOCIETY.  571 

his  whole  Antislavery  experience,  caused  him  so  much  pain  as  a 
refusal  of  the  use  of  the  church  to  the  Massachusetts  Antislavery 
Societj",  on  the  sad  occasion  when  all  true-hearted  persons  were 
called  to  mourn  the  awful  death  of  Charles  Follen,  and  when  the 
Rev.  S.  J.  May  had  prepared  a  discourse  in  commemoration  of  the 
rare  virtues  of  that  heroic  and  honored  man.  It  was  not  only  the 
insult  to  the  memory  of  a  beloved  friend  that  grieved  him,  —  though 
"Hiis  could  not  but  shock  his  cjuick  and  delicate  feelings ;  still  less 
was  it  the  disregard,  under  such  touching  circumstances,  of  his  well- 
known  wishes,  that  wounded  him  most  deeply- ;  but  this  manifesta- 
tion of  a  want  of  high  sentiment  in  the  congregation  to  which,  for 
so  man^-  j'ears,  he  had  officiated  as  pastor,  made  him  question  the 
usefulness  of  his  whole  ministry.  To  what  end  had  he  poured  out 
his  soul,  if  such  conduct  was  a  practical  embodiment  of  the  principles 
and  precepts  which  he  had  so  earnestly'  inculcated?  This  event 
brought  home  to  his  heart  the  conviction,  that  the  need  was  ver}^ 
urgent  of  a  thorough  application  of  the  Christian  law  of  love  to  all 
existing  social  relations. 

The  following  letters  will  complete  the  view  of  Dr.  Channing's 
connection  with  the  Antislavery  movement. 

"  Newport^  August  2,  1838.^  Yesterday  we  rode  to  Fall  River,  to 
attend  a  meeting  in  acknowledgment  of  the  great  goodness  of  God 
in  giving  freedom  to  eight  hundred  thousand  fellow-creatures  in  the 
West  Indies.  What  a  glorious  truunph  of  Christianity  !  —  for  this 
work  has  been  accomphshed  by  the  spirit  of  justice  and  benevolence 
which  Christianity  has  spread  abroad.  And  can  this  spirit  stop? 
Has  it  done  its  work?  Has  it  more  than  begun  its  work?  I  feel  a 
more  cheering  hope  than  ever  for  my  race.  Never  had  I  so  little 
alarm.  In  truth,  all  alarm  seems  to  have  left  me.  I  confide  in 
truth,  and  God,  and  human  nature  more  than  ever,  and  want  noth- 
ing but  strength  to  enter  with  new  life  on  my  labors." 

'•'•Boston^   February  26,   1840.     Slavery  never  seemed  to  me  a 

more  important  subject.     I  am  sorry  that thinks  so  highly  of 

political  action  on  the  subject.  M\'  belief  is,  that  the  cause  would 
have  gone  on  steadily,  surely,  had  not  political  action  been  resorted 
to,  —  had  the  friends  of  the  cause  labored  to  attract  to  it  the  think- 
ing, virtuous,  patriotic,  by  unremitting  appeals  to  the  reason  and 
conscience." 

"  October  6,  1840.^  I  have  no  hostility  to  this  society,^  if  it  will 
confine  itself  to  its  legitimate  objects.     The  chief  of  these  I  under- 

1  To  Joseph  Tiickerman,  D.  D.  3  The  Colonization  Society. 

2  To  Mr.  Hazard,  Vaucluse,  R.  I. 


572  THE  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

stand  to  be  the  civilizing  and  Christianizing  of  Africa,  and  the  sup- 
pression of  the  slave  trade.  How  far  a  colon}'  made  up  of  such 
materials  as  you  send  ma}"  answer  these  ends,  some  will  question. 
But  if  any  have  faith  in  it,  I  sa}',  let  them  try  it,  and  may  God  bless 
their  benevolent  efforts.  My  objection  to  the  societ}'  is,  that  it  has 
exerted  an  influence,  and  a  ver}'  disastrous  one,  beyond  its  proper 
limits.  1  fear  that  it  has  done  more  to  depress  and  corrupt  the 
moral  sentiments  of  the  community  on  the  subject  of  Emancipation, 
than  all  other  things. 

"But  the  past  is  past.  I  desire  a  better  future.  You,  as  a 
friend  of  freedom  and  humanity,  cannot  knowingl}',  I  am  sure,  give 
aid  to  doctrines  and  efforts  which  go  to  quiet  the  conscience  of  the 
slaveholder  and  to  crush  the  hope  of  the  slave.  Why  is  it  neces- 
sary that  Colonization  and  Emancipation  should  come  into  col- 
lision? Wh}'  may  not  good  men  favor  both?  Why  cannot  the 
children  of  Africa  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean  be  raised  at  the  same 
moment  to  the  rights  and  dignity  of  man?  Good  men  will  choose, 
among  various  objects  of  humanit}',  to  which  they  will  devote  them- 
selves. But  why  quarrel  with  and  obstruct  others?  Whoever 
places  himself  in  the  way  of  Emancipation  I  must  regard  as  acting 
the  part  of  the  enemy  of  his  race,  and  it  is  poor  comfort  to  me  that 
he  does  this  in  order  to  produce  another  good.  In  these  views  I 
doubt  not  that  I  have  your  sympathy,  and  what  I  desire  is,  that 
3'ou  would  spare  no  effort  to  bring  the  operations  of  the  Coloniza- 
tion Society  into  harmony  with  them.  I  should  rejoice  to  see  this 
institution  accomplishing  its  ends  in  Africa ;  but  I  cannot  expect 
to  see  it  doing  good  abroad,  if  it  shall,  in  any  way,  countenance 
oppression  at  home.  Let  its  munificent  patrons  say,  with  decision, 
that  it  must  not,  directly  or  indirectly,  obstruct  the  cause  of  eman- 
cipation at  home,  and  I  believe  the  difficulty  will  end.  Is  the  time 
never  to  come  when  good  men  will  pursue  their  various  paths  in 
peace  ?  " 

''April  1,  1841.^  I  thank  you  for  'The  Hour  and  the  Man.' 
You  have  given  a  magnificent  picture  of  Toussaint ;  and,  in  truth, 
I  know  not  where  the  heroic  character  is  more  grandly  conceived. 
May  you  live  to  render  many  such  services  to  humanity  !  " 

"■  Neivport,  June  21,  1841.  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  visit 
southward,  —  have  seen  more  of  society  and  the  country,  and  expe- 
rienced much  kindness.  The  Abolitionists  have  given  me  a  cordial 
welcome,  and  it  delights  me  to  see  how  a  great  common  object 

1  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


RELIGION  AND  POLITICS.  573 

establishes  in  an  hour  a  confidence  and  friendship  which  3'ears  are 
sometimes  necessary  to  produce.  My  '  Emancipation '  has  been 
spread  widel}',  and  I  believe  done  much  good.  It  has  been  put 
into  the  hands  of  men  of  influence.  It  is  just  stereot^'ped ,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  thousands  are  to  be  sent  forth.  A  Quaker 
from  England  brought  me  a  letter  from  the  venerable  Clarkson, 
with  a  lock  of  his  hair,  in  testimony  of  his  pleasure  in  the  work.  I 
cannot  tell  3'ou  the  hospitalities  which  m^'  Abolition  labors  win  for 
me,  nor  was  I  aware  of  the  extent  of  their  influence.  I  ought  cer- 
tainlj'  to  be  grateful  for  them.  The  opposition  the}-  have  excited 
has  done  me  great  good,  has  been  a  very  precious  part  of  the  expe- 
rience of  my  life,  and  now  the  blessings  of  success  are  added  to  the 
higher  blessing  of  suffering  for  the  truth.  I  do  not  wear  as  yet  a 
crown  of  mart3-rdom.  I  hope  I  have  not  declined  it  by  dishonora- 
ble comphance." 

'■'August  10,  1842.  Finding  the  people  around  me  disposed  to 
forget  the  slave,  I  prepared  an  address  for  the  First  of  August, 
which  has  gone  to  the  press.  I  feel  that  such  efforts  bring  me 
before  the  public  as  a  pamphleteer^  not  a  very  exalted  name  in  liter- 
ature. But  this  is  the  readiest  wa}'  to  the  public  mind,  and  I  could 
not  decline  the  task  without  self-reproach." 

"  September^  1842.^  M}^  First  of  August  address  was  written 
under  the  inspiration  of  the  mountains,  which  you  know  are  the 
'  holy  land '  of  liberty.  I  did  not  think  of  making  any  serious 
efl^brt,  but  insensibly  it  grew  under  m}-  hands,  till  it  spread  over 
pages  enough  to  require  an  hour  and  a  half  for  the  delivery.  I  had 
onl}-  strength  to  speak  an  hour  and  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  I  do 
not  know  that  I  ever  spoke  with  more  effect.  I  felt  that  I  had 
found  my  way  to  the  hearts  of  my  hearers.  What  the  intrinsic, 
permanent  merits  of  the  address  are,  I  cannot  say.  Its  popularity 
is  no  proof  of  any  particular  merit.     It  is  in  the  press." 


Chapter  V.— POLITICS. 

From  the  days  when,  as  a  bo}',  he  stood  amid  the  assembled 
citizens  of  Rhode  Island,  and  heard  his  father's  persuasive  voice 
urging  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  onward  through 
every  year  of  widening  experience  and  growing  power,  Dr.  Chan- 

1  To  Mrs.  E.  L.  Follen. 


574  POLITICS. 

ning's  interest  had  deepened  in  the  changes  by  which  human  gov- 
ernments are  becoming  moulded  after  patterns  of  divine  order. 
Piet}'  and  charity-,  breathed  in  from  Christianity-,  onl}-  enlarged, 
while  they  purified,  his  love  of  civil  freedom.  Politics  were  to  him 
the  body  of  religion.  And  his  ever-expanding  hope  and  purpose 
was  to  aid  in  diffusing  that  spirit  of  love,  whereb}-  law  and  libert}- 
will  become  one,  and  societies  on  earth  be  made  to  image  in  justice 
and  in  J03'  the  societies  of  heaven. 

In  a  letter  suggested  by  reading  the  "  Great  Song"  of  Charles 
Follen,^  Dr.  Channing  has  ver}'  beautifully  sketched  the  process, 
which  he  had  seen  in  his  friend,  and  was  conscious  of  in  himself, 
whereby  3'outh's  glowing  zeal  is  transformed  into  the  steel-like 
firmness  of  manhood,  in  the  truly  disinterested  political  refonner. 
The  extract  will  best  introduce  his  views  of  politics  in  later  years. 

"  They  who  have  felt  in  their  j^outh  the  enthusiasm  of  freedom, 
whose  spirits  have  been  stirred  within  them  by  the  sight  of  oppres- 
sion, will  easily  interpret  the  language  of  this  song,  written  at  the 
age  of  seventeen.  They  will  see  in  its  tone  of  vehement  indigna- 
tion nothing  cruel  or  unfeeling,  but  the  natural  utterance  of  intense, 
all-sacrificing  devotion  to  the  rights,  dignitj-,  and  happiness  of  man- 
kind. The  fier}'  soul  of  j-outh  does  not  count  its  words,  nor  does 
it  weigh  cautiously-  the  consequences  of  acts  to  which  it  is  prompted 
by  generous  impulse.  In  its  inexperience  and  earnestness,  it  is 
impatient  of  slow  means  of  redress,  and  hopes  to  level  the  fabric  of 
despotism,  the  work  of  ages,  with  a  blow.  Courageous,  heroic, 
S3'mpathizing  with  the  martyr  of  liberty  in  all  ages,  it  burns  to 
seize  the  avenging  sword,  and  almost  envies  those  who  have  re- 
deemed oppressed  nations  b}'  their  blood.  Such  is  the  picture  of 
the  noblest  and  most  generous  natures  in  3'outh,  and  we  should 
grievously  misconstrue  them,  were  we  to  see  in  their  defying  tones 
the  signs  of  ferocit}'.  A  manhood  of  the  sweetest,  serenest  virtue 
often  follows  a  youth  of  irrepressible  enthusiasm.  The  most  inter- 
esting characters,  indeed,  are  those  in  which  the  uncalculating, 
disinterested  ardor  of  early  life  is  tempered  with  the  wisdom  of 
years." 

Few  men  have  lived  more  profoundlj^  moved  by  patriotism  — 
if  that  much  abused  word  ma}'  be  redeemed  to  signify-  a  devoted- 
ness  to  the  essential  principles  and  real  prosperity  of  a  people  — 
than  Dr.  Channing.  AVith  his  whole  soul  he  longed  to  realize  that 
ideal  of  a  "  Christian  Commonwealth,"  which  heralded  our  fore- 
fathers to  this  virgin  land.     No  storms,  no  frosts,  could  dim  the 

1  Life  of  Charles  Follen,  p.  593. 


FOUNDATION  OF  FREE  INSTITUTIONS.  575 

beacon-fire  of  this  great  hope.     Yet  how  expansive  was  this  patri- 
otism ma}'^  be  seen  from  tlie  following  extracts. 

1831.  "A  nation,  blessed  as  we  are  with  free  institutions, 
should  feel  that  it  holds  these  not  for  itself  onlj',  but  for  mankind, 
and  that  all  oppressive  establishments  must  fall  before  their  influ- 
ence, if  it  will  but  give  proof  of  their  tendency  and  power  to  exalt 
a  people  in  spirit,  in  virtue,  and  in  condition.  In  truth,  this  close 
connection  of  different  communities  should  lead  us  as  individuals, 
as  well  as  in  our  associated  character,  to  interest  ourselves  in  the 
cause  of  humanity  through  the  whole  earth.  The  present  is  an  age 
of  great  movements,  of  great  perils,  and  still  of  glorious  prospects, 
and  one  in  which  there  is  a  power  of  sympathy,  as  well  as  means 
of  co-operation  and  extensive  agency,  never  known  before.  In 
such  an  age,  we  should  not  shut  up  ourselves  in  ourselves,  or  look 
on  the  struggles  of  nations  with  a  vain  curiosit}',  but  should  watch 
the  changes  of  the  world  with  profound  concern,  and  respond  to 
great  principles,  and  cheer  philanthropic  efforts,  wherever  mani- 
fested. We  should  feel,  I  think,  that  the  time  is  approaching  in 
which  Christian  philanthropy  is  to  act  a  new  part  on  the  theatre  of 
human  affairs,  is  to  unite  men  of  different  countries  in  the  same 
great  work  of  rolling  away  abuses,  of  staying  wide-spread  evils, 
vindicating  private  rights,  establishing  public  peace,  and  exalting 
the  condition  of  the  ignorant.  We  should  do  what  we  can  to  has- 
ten on  this  era.  Our  children  should  be  educated  on  more  generous 
principles,  and  taught  to  make  new  sacrifices  to  the  cause  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  Every  age  teaches  its  own  lesson.  The  lesson 
of  this  age  is  that  of  sympathy  with  the  suffering,  and  of  devotion 
to  the  progress  of  the  whole  human  race." 

His  conviction  of  the  grand  privileges  and  duties  of  the  United 
States  made  Dr.  Channing  indignant  at  the  scepticism  which  he 
found  but  too  prevalent  in  regard  to  the  success  of  free  institutions. 
This  feeling  manifests  itself  in  a  sermon  preached  to  his  people 
soon  after  the  destruction  of  the  convent  on  Mount  Benedict. 

October,  1834.  "  With  the  mob  itself  I  have  nothing  to  do. 
On  the  feelings  of  the  community  which  excited  it,  or  which  have 
grown  out  of  it,  and  which  seem  to  me  reprehensible,  I  shall  offer 
a  few  remarks. 

"Let  me  begin  with  observing,  that  the  tone  of  alarm  and 
despair  produced  by  this  outrage,  and  in  which,  as  a  community, 
we  are  very  prone  to  indulge  in  all  critical  seasons,  seems  to  me 
neither  just  nor  wise.  Multitudes  among  us,  on  that  occasion, 
spoke,  as  they  have  too  often  spoken,  as  if  society  were  shaken  to 


576  POLITICS. 

its  foundations,  all  its  joints  loosened,  all  its  fixtures  about  to  l)e 
swept  avva}'.  Such  alarms  create  the  danger  which  the^-  imagine. 
The  foundation  of  a  free  community  is  the  moral  confidence  of 
its  members  in  one  another.  Impair  this,  and  society  is  indeed 
convulsed.  Inspire  a  people  with  mutual  distrust,  and  you  fit 
them  for  chains.  What  is  the  strength  of  a  despotism?  It  is 
the  want  of  moral  confidence  in  a  people.  Wh^-  does  one  will 
subjugate  millions  ?  Because  those  millions  have  no  mutual  respect 
or  trust  as  a.basis  of  joint  action.  The  individual  on  whose  heart 
the  thought  of  freedom  has  dawned  dares  not  breathe  it  into  his 
neighbor's  ear,  lest  that  neighbor  should  prove  a  spy.  He  has 
around  him  cowards  or  sycophants,  men  sold  to  selfishness  and 
meanness,  and  sinks  into  despair.  Breathe  through  this  mass  one 
generous  sentiment  which  should  bind  them  together,  and  despot- 
ism would  fall  as  by  an  earthquake. 

"The  old  enthusiasm  of  libert}-  seems  to  be  dying  among  us. 
The  spirit  of  aristocracy,  which  always  grows  with  the  growth  of 
population  and  wealth,  and,  still  more,  the  crimes  and  errors  which 
have  dishonored  the  cause  of  constitutional  freedom  in  both  conti- 
nents, have  chilled  the  old  republican  ardor.  The  faith  of  many  in 
the  capacity  of  men  for  self-government  is  shaken.  Little  interest 
is  felt  in  the  struggles  of  other  nations  for  emancipation  from  old 
abuses,  and  for  securing  better  institutions.  This  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  but  it  is  much  to  be  deplored.  Despair  of  improvement 
is  the  symptom  of  spiritual  death.  Freedom  is  departing  when 
faith  in  it  is  lost.  The  dangers  of  innovation,  and  the  liableness 
of  liberty  to  abuse,  do,  indeed,  teach  and  enjoin  great  caution  and 
sobriet}'  in  the  adoption  of  plans  for  the  advancement  of  society ; 
but  they  ought  not  to  repress  or  weaken  our  sense  of  justice,  our 
sympathy  with  the  oppressed,  our  earnest  desire  to  break  every 
chain,  and  our  trust  in  patient,  upright  eflTorts  in  the  cause  of 
human  nature 

"  Let  us,  then,  trust  in  one  another  to  the  ver^'  limit  of  truth. 
Men  grow  more  trustworthy  b}'  mutual  confidence.  We  are  unwise 
and  unjust  to  ourselves  in  speaking,  as  we  are  apt  to  do,  of  our 
free  government  as  a  rope  of  sand,  as  a  Imseless,  rotten  fabric, 
which  any  storm  may  sweep  away.  We  make  it  insecure  by  this 
distrust  of  its  stability.  Undoubtedly  it  has  its  dangers,  for  liberty 
of  every  kind  is  perilous ;  but  if  ever  a  nation  had  the  means  of 
giving  permanence  to  freedom,  it  is  the  United  States,  and  ours 
will  be  the  crime  if  it  perish  in  our  hands. 

"  A  mob  is,  indeed,  to  be  regarded  with  horror  and  detestation, 
just  as  we  regard  a  murderer.     But  when  a  man  is  murdered,  we 


NATIVE   AMERICANISM.  677 

do  not  think  that  butchery  is  to  become  the  order  of  the  da}- ;  nor 
when  a  mob  breaks  out  ought  we  to  feel  as  if  all  the  authority  of 
law,  all  social  order,  were  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  Mobs  springing 
from  the  blind  prejudices  or  passions  of  individuals  may  do  great 
harm,  and  ought  to  be  provided  against  more  ertieiently  ;  but  tliese 
will  never  dissolve  our  government,  or  essentially  impair  [)ublic 
security.  Mobs  may,  indeed,  become  instruments  of  ruin,  but  not 
SLicli  as  we  have  lately  witnessed.  I  refer  to  mobs  connected  with 
great  parties,  protected  by  them,  and  used  by  them  as  instruments. 
Here  is  a  peril  which  cannot  be  set  before  us  in  too  strong  a  light. 
Even  here,  however,  the  danger  will  not  be  in  the  mob,  but  in  the 
spirit  of  party,  which  will  vindicate,  organize,  and  wield  it.  The 
great  danger  of  our  countr}'  does  not  lie  in  occasional  outbreakings 
of  the  ignorant  and  depraved  part  of  the  community,  but  in  the 
spirit  of  party,  inflaming  and  poisoning  all  breasts  with  liatred, 
propagating  falsehood  till  no  man  can  know  the  truth,  legalizing 
fraud,  intrigue,  and  corruption,  subverting  moral  confidence,  seek- 
ing strengtli  in  tumults,  and  converting  elections  into  mobs.  If 
this  state  of  madness  should  be  produced  in  the  community,  then 
indeed,  and  then  only,  the  shout  of  mobs  will  be  the  knell  of 
freedom." 

From  these  general  remarks,  the  preaclier  passes  on  to  a  par- 
ticular consideration  of  the  mob  at  Cliarlestown.  It  will  be  seen 
how  utterl}'  opposed  he  was  in  princi[)le  and  feeling  to  the  blind 
prejudices  wliich  prompted  that  outrage  ;  and  an  inference  may  be 
drawn  as  to  the  tone  in  which  he  would  have  spoken  of  "Native 
Americanism,"  had  he  been  living,  althougli  he  was  full}^  aware  of 
the  evils  incident  to  promiscuous  suffrage. 

"  Tlie  feelings  excited  by  that  event  were  in  general  just  and 
honorable  to'us  as  a  community.  But  I  understand  one  feeling  has 
been  called  out  which  deserves  severe  reprobation,  and  which,  I 
fear,  has  not  been  rebuked  as  it  deserves.  It  is  said,  that  not  a 
few  among  us  are,  in  a  measure,  reconciled  to  the  outrage,  because 
of  its  bearing  on  an  unpopular  sect,  —  because  it  broke  down  one 
of  the  fortresses  of  Popery  ;  though  tliis  is  the  very  circumstance 
which  ought  to  awaken  against  it  peculiar  indignation.  It  is  said 
that  language  like  tlie  following  is  not  very  uncommon :  '  The 
mob  was  a  bad  thing,  but  it  did  some  good.  It  destroyed  the  con- 
vent, that  hateful  monument  of  Romanism.'  This  language  is  as 
unworth}^  as  it  is  false,  and  deserves  as  severe  rebuke  as  the  mob 
itself.  No  good  has  been  done,  and  the  evil  was  the  ver}'  one  which 
ought  most  to  humble  us  as  a  people.     Our  higliest  distinction  as 

37 


578  POLITICS. 

a  community  is  the  spirit  of  religious  freedom.  Tliis  city  has  been 
the  metropolis  of  religious  libert}-  to  the  whole  earth,  and  that  the 
persecution  of  the  Dark  Ages  should  be  revived  here  is  cause  of 
luiutterable  shame.  It  is  no  good  that  a  convent  has  been  burnt. 
Better  that  twenty  convents  should  rise  than  that  one  should  be 
suppressed  by  brute  force. 

"It  is  hoped  by  many  that  Catholicism  has  thus  received  a 
check.  I  trust  it  has  not.  Better  that  it  should  triumph  than  be 
thus  checked.  Experience  has  shown  that  persecution  strengthens 
religious  sects.  Ma}'  this  experience  never  fail.  IMay  persecutors 
learn,  by  invariable  disappointment,  that  they  are  working  ruin  to 
themselves  and  their  cause  by  their  bloody  instruments,  —  that 
their  weapons  are  sure  to  recoil  on  themselves.  In  what  lies  the 
worst  evil  of  Poper}-  ?  Not  in  its  doctrines,  —  in  trausubstantiation, 
purgator}-,  or  the  invocation  of  saints.  Many  who  have  held  these 
errors  have  been  the  excellent  of  the  earth,  unsurpassed  in  genius, 
philanthropy,  and  piet3^  It  is  the  insolent,  intolerant  pretension 
to  infallibility, — to  the  distinction  of  being  the  owXy  true  and 
apostolic  church,  — to  the  authorit}-  of  denouncing  heres}',  —  which 
has  made  Popery  the  scourge  and  curse  of  Christendom.  It  is  the 
war  which  this  church  has  waged  against  the  rights  of  conscience, 
against  the  free  worship  of  God,  which  has  branded  her  with  in- 
delible infani}'.  And  do  we  who  call  ourselves  Protestants,  Avho 
have  inscribed  religious  freedom  on  our  banner,  —  do  we  begin  to 
borrow  the  sword  and  fire  of  persecuting  Rome  ?  Do  we  stoop  to 
take  up  the  unholy  weapons  which  even  Rome  is  throwing  down  ? 

"■Is  there  a  man  with  tlie  least  pretension  to  character  among 
us,  wlio  dares  even  to  insinuate  his  complacency  at  the  check  which 
Catholicism  has  received  by  the  late  outrage  ?  Rebuke  and  indig- 
nation should  put  him  to  shame.  Nothing  is  so  terrible  as  perse- 
cution. Human  nature  has  never  shown  itself  more  fiendish  than 
when  it  has  cloaked  its  bad  passions  under  the  garb  of  religion,  and 
let  tliem  loose  against  the  enemies  of  God.  Religion  was  given  to 
bind  together,  refine,  soften  human  hearts.  Its  great  ministry  is 
that  of  love.  But  when  narrowed  into  bigotry,  when  it  worships 
God  as  the  God  of  a  sect,  and  arms  itself  in  his  name  with  fiames 
or  tortures  for  the  suppression  of  opposite  creeds,  it  is  more  harden- 
ing to  the  heart,  more  merciless  and  unsparing,  and  presents  more 
insuperable  obstacles  to  the  progress  of  truth  and  the  free  develop- 
ment of  human  nature,  than  any  principle  which  can  be  named. 
We  did  hope  that  tliis  crime  of  dark  ages  was  past ;  that,  among 
all  our  vices,  persecution  by  force  was  at  an  end  ;  and  I  know  tliat 
it  is  the  abhorrence  of  those  to  whom  I  speak,  and  of  the  com- 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  FREE  GOVERNMENTS.      579 

munity.  But  tlie  fact,  that  any  have  been  found  among  us,  con- 
senting, however  indirectly,  to  the  putting  down  of  a  sect  by  force, 
shows  us  that  the  spirit  of  persecution  is  not  dead.  If,  then,  you 
meet  persons  who,  condemning  the  mob,  yet  hope  advantage  from 
the  direction  of  its  fury  against  a  superstitious  church,  tell  them 
that  then-  language  is  disloyalty  to  Protestantism,  and  pregnant 
with  evil  to  society  and  religion  ;  that,  could  Catholicism  be  utterly 
destroyed  by  such  an  outrage,  the  evil  would  swallow  up  the  imagined 
good  ;  that  the  sanction  thus  given  to  persecution  would  bring  a 
flood  of  crimes  and  woes  into  the  church,  far  worse  than  the  super- 
stition which  would  be  overwhelmed.  Tell  them,  that  in  their 
hearts  they  are  the  true  disciples  of  the  school  of  the  Inquisition, 
and  that  perhaps  notliing  but  the  power  of  opinion  or  the  spirit  of 
the  age  prevents  them  from  re-enacting  the  part  of  St.  Dominick." 

The  political  lesson  taught  by  mobs  he  thus  faithfully  interprets :  — 
"  I  grieve  when  I  hear  men  referring  to  the  next  legislature,  as 
if  some  stronger  laws  were  all  that  we  need  for  our  security.  Let 
us  have  these  laws  ;  but  unless  accompanied  by  wise,  patient,  gen- 
erous efforts  for  the  reformation  and  advancement  of  the  ignorant 
and  exposed  classes  of  the  community,  they  will  avail  little.  Our 
mobs,  though  they  have  spoken  in  confused  and  discordant  yells, 
have  uttered  one  truth  plainly  ;  and  this  truth  is,  that  there  exists 
among  us  —  what  ought  to  exist  in  no  Christian  country  —  a  mass 
of  gross  ignorance  and  vice.  They  teach  one  plain  lesson  to  the 
religious,  virtuous,  philanthropic,  educated,  refined,  and  opulent; 
and  that  is,  that  these  have  a  great  work  to  do,  the  work  of  enlight- 
ening and  lifting  up  a  large  portion  of  their  fellow-creatures  and 
their  neighbors  ;  that  they  have  no  right  to  spend  their  lives  in 
accumulating  wealth  or  in  selfish  indulgences,  but  that  they  are  to 
labor,  to  expend  time,  thought,  wealth,  as  their  circumstances  may 
permit,  for  the  intellectual,  moral,  spiritual  life  of  a  multitude  around 
them,  buried  in  darkness,  prejudice,  sensuality,  excess,  and  crime. 
This  is  the  great  lesson  to  be  learned  from  moljs.  If  we  heed  not 
this,  if  we  look  for  safety  to  penal  laws,  rather  than  to  the  perform- 
ance of  personal  duty,  the  disinterested  labors  of  Christian  love, 
and  the  faithful  use  of  the  best  means  of  purifying  and  elevating 
society,  we  shall  have  none  to  blame  but  ourselves,  if  society  be- 
come the  prey  of  violence  and  insurrection." 

These  extracts  prove  how  deeply  Dr.  Channing  was  convinced 
that  the  security  and  strength  of  free  governments  are  to  be  found 
in  the  general  culture  and  the  cordial  intercourse  of  all  classes  of 
citizens.     His  w^ant  of  confidence  in  force  and  penalties,  as  means 


580  POLITICS. 

of  order  in  republics,  appears  very  clearlj'  in  a  letter  occasioned  by 
the  struggle  to  secure  universal  suffrage  in  his  native  State. 

"  Zewox,  Mass.^  July  3,  1842.^  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  received,  a 
short  time  since,  your  discourse  on  the  Rhode  Island  troubles,  and 
was  truly  grateful  for  it.  Your  views  are  fitted  to  do  much  good, 
though  on  one  ponit  I,  who  reside  at  a  distance,  haA^e  a  somewhat 
dirtercnt  state  of  feeling.  I  have  never  doubted  that  the  great  mass 
of  the  'Suffrage  party'  started  with  a  truly  honest  purpose,  and 
with  a  thorough  conviction  of  right.  Indeed,  I  suppose  all  thought 
themselves  in  the  right.  Tlie  doctrine,  that  '  the  majority  ought  to 
govern,'  passes  with  the  multitude  as  an  intuition,  and  they  have 
never  thouglit  how  far  it  is  to  be  modified  in  practice,  and  how  far 
the  application  of  it  ought  to  be  controlled  by  other  principles. 
The  '  Suffrage  party '  were  inflamed  and  confirmed  b}'  fierce  spirits 
through  the  country,  and  still  more,  they  had  just  cause  of  com- 
plaint against  the  Charter.  The  disfranchisement  of  so  great  a 
number,  who,  according  to  our  republican  creed,  had  a  right  to 
vote,  and  the  enormous  and  unjust  inequalities  of  representation  in 
the  northern  and  southern  parts  of  the  State,  were  serious  griev- 
ances,—  giving  no  ground  for  the  use  of  force  against  the  existing 
government,  indeed,  but  very  naturally  leading  the  half-educated 
multitude  to  believe  in  their  right  to  get  rid  of  this  government  in 
any  way  whatever.  The  existence  of  these  wrongs  in  the  estab- 
lished system  has  alwaj's  made  me  look  with  great  tenderness  on 
the  rash  steps  of  the  revolutionists.  I  do  believe  that  the  idea  of 
right  has  been  present  to  their  minds,  and  has  done  much  to  hide 
from  them  their  own  violence  and  wrong-doing.  And  I  insist  on 
this,  because  I  am  most  desirous  that  a  system  of  great  lenit}^ 
should  be  adopted  towards  these  misguided  men.  I  know  that  the 
State  does  not  need  severity  for  its  own  safety,  and  I  hope  it  will 
not  fall  into  cruelt}^  from  revenge.     You  have  a  great  influence.     I 

beg  you  to  exei't  it  in  the  cause  of  mercy  and  humanity 

"With  great  regard,  your  friend." 

But  though  thus  earnestly  advocating  the  just  claims  of  the  Suf- 
frage party,  Dr.  Channing  was  not  in  favor  of  the  unrestricted  right 
of  voting.  The  views  which  he  was  inclined  to  adopt  upon  this 
fundamental  question  are  thus  expressed  :  — 

"I  have  endeavored,  on  all  occasions,  to  disprove  the  notion, 
that  the  laboring  classes  are  unfit  depositaries  of  political  powder, 
I  owe  it,  however,  to  truth  to  say,  that  I  believe  that  the  elective 

1  To  Francis  Wayland,  D.  D. 


UNIVERSAL  SUFFRAGE.  681 

franchise  is  extended  too  far  in  this  country.  No  man,  I  think, 
should  be  intrusted  with  this  liigh  privilege,  wlio  has  not  been  in- 
structed in  the  principles  of  our  government  and  in  the  duties  of  a 
good  citizen,  and  who  cannot  afford  evidence  of  respectability  in 
regard  to  morals.  One  of  the  principal  objects  of  our  public  schools 
should  be,  to  train  the  young  of  all  conditions  for  the  duties  of  good 
citizens,  to  furnish  them  with  the  necessary  knowledge  of  princi- 
ples for  the  judicious  use  of  political  power.  The  admission  of  the 
young  to  the  privilege  of  voting  should  be  the  most  solemn  public 
act,  the  grand  national  festival.  It  should  be  preceded  by  an  ex- 
amination of  the  candidates.  It  should  be  accompanied  by  the 
most  imposing  forms,  fitted  to  impress  the  young  and  the  whole 
community  with  the  great  responsibility  and  honorableness  of  this 
trust. 

"None  of  us  seem  adequately  to  understand,  that  to  confer  the 
elective  franchise  is  to  admit  a  man  to  the  participation  of  sover- 
eignty, of  the  supreme  power  of  the  state.  The  levity  with  which 
this  dignity  is  conferred,  the  thoughtlessness  with  which  it  has  been 
extended,  constitutes  one  of  our  great  political  dangers.  Were  the 
proper  qualifications  for  it  required,  they  would  not  exclude  one 
class  rather  than  another.  The  aim  should  be  to  exclude  the  un- 
worth}'  of  all  classes.  A  community  is  bound  to  provide  for  itself 
the  best  possible  government,  and  this  implies  the  obligation  to 
withhold  political  power  from  those  who  are  palpably  disqualified 
by  gross  ignorance  or  by  profligacy  for  comprehending  or  consult- 
ing the  general  welfare,  —  who  cannot  exercise  the  sovereignty, 
without  injuring  the  commonwealth. 

"  I  am  fully  aware  of  the  obstacles  which  the  violence  of  party 
spirit  would  throw  in  the  way  of  the  system  now  proposed,  and  I 
cannot  but  fear  that  the  inconsiderateness  with  which  the  highest 
political  power  has  been  squandered  in  this  country  has  gone  too 
far  for  remedy.  Still,  it  is  useful  to  hold  up  to  a  people  what  it 
owes  to  itself.  At  least,  these  remarks  will  prevent  my  fellow-citi- 
zens from  considering  me  as  an  advocate  of  universal  suffrage,  in 
the  present  state  of  society.  I  think,  however,  that  a  system  of 
education  should  be  established  in  a  republic  for  the  very  purpose 
of  making  suffrage  universal,  —  that  is,  for  the  purpose  of  qualify- 
ing every  man  to  be  a  voter.  But  in  the  case  of  those  who  will  not 
avail  themselves  of  the  natural  means  of  improvement,  political 
power  should  be  withheld." 

In  this  extract,  some  remaining  influence  may  be  traced  of  the 
earl}^  Federal  training  of  the  writer.  Through  life,  however,  Dr. 
Channing  was  steadily  becoming  more  confident  in  regard  to  the 


582  POLITICS. 

working  of  the  most  popular  forms  of  government.  The  folio  whig 
letters  indicate  this  tendency. 

'■'■  October  25,  1840.^  I  am  truly  glad  that  Professor  Smyth  re- 
ceived any  pleasure  from  my  notice  of  his  work.  I  have  now  read 
both  volumes,  and  the  impressions  made  by  the  first  are  all  con- 
firmed  But  what  I  particularly  regret  is  the  severe  sentence 

he  passes  on  republican  or  democratic  institutions.  He  maintains 
that  these  do  not  admit  a  proper  executive  power.  This  opinion  he 
grounds  chiefly  on  the  weakness  of  the  Continental  Congress  during 
our  Revolution,  which,  indeed,  put  our  hberties  in  peril.  That 
Congress  was  not  properly  a  government ;  it  was  rather  a  com- 
mittee of  the  ditierent  States,  having  no  power  to  tax  the  people, 
but  simply  to  recommend  taxes  to  the  State  legislatures.  These 
legislatures  were  the  only  governments  ;  and  though  got  up  in  a 
moment  of  insurrection,  they  were  able  to  keep  order  in  a  country 
overrun  with  an  eneni}'.  This  is  no  mean  testimony  to  their 
eflficacy. 

''Our  present  federal  government,  framed  deliberately  after  the 
Revolution,  is  a  fair  specimen  of  republican  institutions.  And 
what  is  the  result,  —  that  the  executive  proves  too  weak  ?  At  this 
moment,  the  outer}'  of  the  old  Federalists,  of  the  ver}-  men  most 
anxious  for  a  strong  government,  is,  that  the  balance  of  the  system 
is  endangered  by  the  growth  of  the  executive  power.  It  was  a 
common  remark,  that  President  Jackson  had  more  power  than  your 
King  William.  Besides  the  great  patronage  which  the  astonishing 
growth  of  the  country  has  thrown  into  the  President's  hands,  it  is 
found  that,  in  the  present  stage  of  society,  a  free  country-  must  be 
broken  into,  and  governed  by  parties,  and  that  among  us  the 
stronger  party  is  represented  by  the  President,  who  is,  indeed,  its 
head,  and  is  sustained  in  all  his  measures  by  its  wJiole  power.  Un- 
douV)tcdly,  a  dominant  party  may  help  to  secure  itself  in  some  exi- 
gency by  relaxing  the  authority  of  the  laws  ;  but  the  expedient  is  a 
dangerous  one,  and  cannot  go  far  in  an  industrious,  commercial, 
and  tolerably  enlightened  community,  where  the  people  at  large 
have  a  plain  interest  in  social  order  and  in  the  rights  of  property. 

"  In  this  country,  besides  the  general  government,  we  have 
twenty-six  State  governments,  purely  republican,  and  in  their  con- 
stitutional sphere  independent  of  each  other  and  of  Congress  ;  and 
one  third  of  these  States  have  shot  up  suddenly  in  the  wilderness, 
a  circumstance  most  unfavorable  to  rigid  execution  of  law.  Yet 
the  country,  as  a  whole,  is  not  surpassed  in  point  of  order.     Our 

1  To  William  Rathbone,  Esq. 


EXECUTIVE  POWER.  683 

institutions,  in  tlieir  infancy,  have  stood  the  storm  of  the  French 
Eevolution,  the  tendencies  to  lawlessness  in  new  settlements,  and 
terrible  commercial  convulsions,  springing  from  a  reckless  spirit  of 
speculation.  Have  they  severer  trials  to  fear?  In  your  country  a 
very  strong  government  is  rendered  necessary  by  the  unnatural  state 
of  society,  artificial  ranks,  exclusive  privileges,  fearful  inequalities 
of  condition,  the  ignorance  and  degradation  and  misery  of  the 
working  classes,  an  intolerable  debt,  vast  and  distant  colonies,  and 
a  most'' cumbrous  state  machinery  required  to  manage  such  an  un- 
wieldy and  disproportioned  whole.  A  government  starting  on  just 
and  simple  principles,  and  proposing,  as  its  first  object,  to  establish 
and  enforce  an  equal  and  wise  jurisprudence,  so  that  the  rights  of  all 
may  be  equally  secure,  will  require  but  little  comparative  force. 

"  I  have  written  thus  largely,  because  I  want  Professor  Smyth  to 
think  better  of  republics.  I  know  their  danger,  but  they  seem 
to  me  the  fittest  institutions  for  a  man  to  live  under.  Can  you  give 
him  my  views  ? " 

''June  20,  1841.^  I  wish  your  venerable  friend,  Mr.  Smyth, 
had,  for  his  own  sake,  or  the  comfort  of  his  last  years,  retained  his 
faith  in  freedom  unimpaired.  Retain  it  in  a  measure  he  must.  He 
could  not  live  without  it,  but  he  fears,  I  think,  more  than  he  need 
fear.  My  judgment  in  regard  to  this  country  I  should  not  think  of 
stating  to  him  again  ;  but  it  is  worthy  of  his  consideration,  that  our 
conservatives,  our  alarmists,  the  men  who  sympathize  with  him 
most,  all  agree  in  the  belief,  that  the  balance  of  the  Constitution 
has  been  endangered  by  the  increase  of  the  executive  power.  I 
feel  more  and  more  the  difficulty  of  judging  of  new  institutions, 
especially  in  a  foreign  country.  The  great  danger  to  our  institu- 
tions, which  alarms  our  conservatives  most,  has  not,  perhaps, 
entered  Mr.  Smyth's  mind.  It  is  the  danger  of  a  party  organiza- 
tion so  subtle  and  strong  as  to  make  the  government  the  monopoly 
of  a  few  leaders,  and  to  insure  the  transmission  of  the  executive 
power  from  hand  to  hand,  almost  as  regularly  as  in  a  monarchy. 
A  sagacious  and  old  conservative  told  me,  a  few  months  ago,  that 
the  Democratic  party  under  Jackson  and  Van  Burcn  had  become  so 
trained,  so  closely  bound  together,  especially  by  the  executive  patron- 
age, that  nothing  but  the  late  tremendous  suffering  of  the  coun- 
try could  have  stirred  it  up  to  throw  off  the  yoke.  His  statement 
I  think  exaggerated,  but  that  this  danger  is  real  cannot  be  doubted. 
So  that  we  have  to  watch  against  despotism  as  well  as,  or  more 
than,  anarch}'. 

1  To  Mrs.  Wm.  Ratlibone. 


584  POLITICS. 

"  Mr.  Rathbone,  too,  fell  into  an  error.  He  saw,  in  the  escape 
from  punishment  of  the  men  who  burnt  the  Catholic  convent  and 
the  Pennsylvania  Hall,  signs  of  the  weakness  of  our  government. 
These  men  escaped  wholly  in  consequence  of  our  adhering  to  the 
English  institution  of  trial  by  jury.  The  men  would  have  been  pun- 
ished, could  tiiey  have  been  convicted.  But  popular  prejudice  and 
passion  rendered  it  impossible  to  get  sufficient  evidence,  or  an  im- 
partial jury.  In  the  case  of  Pennsylvania  Hall,  the  trial  for  dam- 
ages is  still  going  on.  My  friends  hope  for  a  favorable  verdict.  In 
this  case  we  see  that  no  institutions,  however  good,  can  be  enjoyed 
without  experience  of  evil.  We  must  take  things  as  they  are.  A 
free  government  undoubtedly  has  its  evils.  A  people,  on  the 
whole,  are  poor  rulers,  but  far  better  than  kings  and  aristocracies. 
All  governments  are  and  must  be  bad,  till  men  grow  wiser  and 
better. 

"The  advantage  of  popular  institutions  is,  that  they  are  founded 
in  natural  right,  that  the^'  educate  and  elevate  a  people  more  than 
any  other,  and  thus,  in  the  long  run,  that  the  people  will  learn  their 
true  interest,  whilst  privileged  orders  must,  from  the  nature  of  the 
case,  postpone  this  interest  to  their  own." 

The  more  Dr.  Channing's  faith  in  man  deepened,  the  less  did  he 
look  to  government  in  an}'  form,  or  controlled  by  any  party,  as  a 
trustworthy  means  of  human  elevation.  He  was  jealous  of  power, 
whether  wielded  by  the  few  or  the  many.  His  estimate  of  existing 
parties,  and  of  their  tendencies,  will  best  appear  by  giving  a  few 
extracts  from  his  correspondence. 

"  Philadelphia.,  May  27,  1835.  Were  j'ou  here,  j'ou  would  be  in 
3'our  element,  for  the  political  fever  rages  not  a  little,  and  boj's  and 
men  talk  as  ardently  about  President  and  Bank  as  3'ou  could  desire. 
I  keep  myself  in  peace.  I  hear  sad  predictions ;  but  passion  is  a 
poor  prophet,  and  I  trust  more  to  my  own  calm  anticipations.  No 
convulsions  are  near,  but  the  age  is  a  troubled  one,  and  everj^ 
young  man  should  be  brought  up  to  make  great  sacrifices  for  his 
country,  and  for  the  rights  and  happiness  of  mankind.  I  confess  I 
have  a  desire  to  make  a  hero  of  3'ou  ;  not  a  vulgar  one,  not  a 
blood}'  one,  but  read}'  to  face  any  and  ever}'  thing  in  obedience  to 
your  conscience  and  highest  principles." 

1837.^  "  I  rejoice  to  find  any  portion  of  your  Democratic  breth- 
ren taking  the  ground  of  peace.  I  have  little  confidence  in  this 
party,  because  it  is  a  party.,  and  of  consequence  prepared  to  make 

1  To  J.  L.  O'SuUivan,  Esq. 


EXISTING  PARTIES.  585 

any  and  every  sacrifice  to  its  own  success.  How  I  should  rejoice 
to  find  tlie  real  friends  of  the  people  coming  together,  and  striving, 
through  good  and  evil  report,  for  each  and  every  man's  rights, 
liberties,  education,  and  elevation,  for  the  spirit  of  brotherhood, 
for  universal  peace,  and  for  the  freest  intercourse  of  nations ! 
That  the  Democratic  party  would  yield  its  full  proportion  of  such 
friends  of  the  people,  I  doubt  not.  But  I  hope  nothing  from  it  as 
a  party." 

^'■February  7,  1842.^  It  is  a  singular  problem,  how  a  people,  so 
practical  and  intelligent  in  the  main  as  we  are,  should  be  repre- 
sented by  such  a  set  of  men.  What  increases  the  mystery  is,  that 
most  of  these  men,  taken  singly  and  in  private  life,  are  respectable. 
The  solution  is,  that  political  power  is  more  bhnding,  corrupting, 
and  maddening  than  any  other,  and  the  lesson  is,  to  restrict  gov- 
ernment to  the  very  narrowest  powers  which  social  order  requires. 
Europe,  looking  at  our  House  of  Representatives,  must  think  us  a 
nation  of  half-fools  or  half-madmen  ;  and  yet  we  are  far  in  advance 
of  Europe.  It  is  only  on  the  political  stage  that  we  play  such 
antics.  The  people  seem  to  be  more  alive  to  the  disgrace  brought 
on  the  country  by  Congress.  But  it  will  be  long  before  the  wild 
spirits  of  the  West  and  South  will  be  tamed." 

'■'■March.  1,  1842.2  The  political  state  of  the  country  is  exceed- 
ingly perplexed.  The  Whig  party  has  httle  unit}',  and  is  threat- 
ened with  dissolution  by  President  Tyler's  veto  on  their  National 
Bank  bill,  a  measure  maintained  chiefly  on  party  grounds.  Would 
the  Democrats  break  up  too,  and  could  we  start  afresh,  the  gov- 
ernment would  probably  be  less  of  an  evil  than  it  is.  I  am  a 
thorough  republican,  as  you  know,  but  I  have  no  great  faith  in  the 
people,  any  more  than  in  kings,  as  legislators,  and  I  ask  of  both  to 
govern  as  little  as  possible.  In  the  present  state  of  the  world, 
King  Log  seems  the  best  king.  I  trust  we  are  growing  up  to  a 
comprehension  of  the  good  of  nations  and  individuals,  which  will 
make  government  a  safer  machine." 

From  the  following  passages  it  will  be  seen  how  clearly  Dr. 
Channing  recognized  that  the  aristocratic  and  democratic  elements, 
innate  and  uneradicable  as  they  are,  are  contending  under  new 
banners  and  with  new  weapons,  and  that  the  political  struggle  of 
this  generation  is  between  money  and  man,  the  owners  of  past 
labor  and  the  toiling  producers.  It  was  very  obvious  to  him  that  a 
new  era  has  opened,  —  the  reign  of  commerce  and  combined  capi- 

1  To  Harmanus  Bleecker,  Esq.  2  To  George  Combe,  Esq. 


586  POLITICS. 

tal,  — and  that  the  passion  for  propertj'  is  the  tyrant  chief!}'  now  to 
be  dreaded  as  the  foe  to  freedom.  He  thus  exposes  the  mercenary 
spirit  which  has  usurped  control  over  pohticians,  parties,  and  hu- 
mane principles :  — 

'•'■April  22,  1837.^  I  am  more  and  more  struck  with  the  mourn- 
ful effects  of  the  infinite,  intense  thirst  for  gain  and  accumulation 
here.  It  takes  so  much  the  form  of  insanit}*,  that  one  may,  on 
that  account,  charge  on  it  the  less  immoralit}'.  The  spirit  of 
commercial  gambling,  or  what  is  called  by  courtesy  speculation, 
has  infected  almost  all  ranks,  and  all  are  now  tasting  its  bitter 
fruits.  But  I  care  little  for  these  fruits  comparatively.  The  suf- 
fering we  deserve.  The  unprincipledness  which  has  led  to  it  is 
shocking.  My  comfort  is,  that  the  present  condition  of  society 
must  wear  out.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  necessary  stage,  but  a  better 
civilization  will  succeed  it.  This  people  will  find  out,  at  length, 
that  money  is  not  the  supreme  end  of  the  social  compact ;  that 
republican  institutions  in  particular  have  liberty  and  improvement, 
and  the  development  of  human  nature,  for  their  objects,  not  a 
miserable,  degrading  drudgery  for  accumulation.  I  sometimes 
desire  ardently  to  be  transported  to  some  simple  and  comparativel}' 
poor  condition  of  society,  where  I  might  meet  greater  respect  for 
human  nature,  and  a  sincere  prevalent  devotion  to  the  spiritual 
purposes  of  human  life." 

'■'■  August  23,  1837.^  The  morals  of  commerce  is  trul}'  a  great 
subject,  especiall}'  in  our  two  countries.  So  vast  and  various  are 
our  commercial  relations,  that  they  do  much  to  determine  indi- 
vidual character,  and  a  man  violating  principle  in  these  is  inflicting 
the  deadliest  wound  on  his  virtue.  Much  might  be  done  by  a 
strong,  clear  exposition  of  the  rights  and  duties,  the  true  principles, 
and  the  perils  of  trade.  The  cure,  however,  requires  deeper  appli- 
cations. The  unmastered,  immeasurable  passion  for  gain  lies  at 
the  root  of  the  evil,  and  this  is  to  be  met  by  a  higher,  wiser  appli- 
cation of  Christian  truth.  The  moral  sense  on  this  subject  is  to  be 
created.  I  have  often  been  struck  with  the  entire  composure  with 
which  a  congregation  will  hear  their  worldliness  rebuked,  when 
they  would  wince  if  any  acknowledged  vice  were  charged  on  them. 
They  really  see  no  guilt  in  an  entire  absorption  in  outward  inter- 
ests. We  want  a  new  administration  of  Christianity^  and  moral 
truth.  It  is  cheering  to  me  to  find  your  mind  so  alive  to  the  great 
principles  which  ought  to  be  enthroned  in  every  heart." 

1  To  George  Ticknor,  Esq.  2  To  William  Rathbone,  Esq. 


KEPUDIATION  AND   SPECULATION.  587 

'■'-April,  1840.^  Our  countiy  is  suffering  severe!}'  from  commer- 
cial depression.  An  inflated  currenc}',  wtiicli  gave  birth  and  means 
to  excessive  and  unprincipled  speculation,  is  producing  its  natural 
effects.  In  nearlj'  luilf  the  country,  the  banks  have  suspended 
specie  payments,  and  this  derangement  of  the  exchanges  has  sadly 
crippled  the  other  parts  of  the  country-.  Could  we  learn  wisdom 
by  what  we  suffer,  the  temporary  evil  would  be  as  nothing.  But 
the  present  commercial  system  seems  essentiall}'  corrupt.  I  see, 
however,  that  the  present  has  grown  out  of  the  past,  that  it  is  a 
necessary  stage  of  society,  that  its  evils  are  connected  with,  if  not 
results  of,  newly  developed  principles  and  energies,  which  the 
experience  of  centuries  may  be  needed  to  modify  and  harmonize. 
This  vast  system  of  Providence  stretches  beyond  our  sight  on 
ever}'  side.  We  must  not  be  disheartened  by  its  mysteries,  but  in 
a  spirit  of  faith  go  on  to  do  the  best  we  can  for  ourselves  and  our 
race." 

Seeing  thus  that  the  pi'ogress  of  civil  liberty'  in  the  state,  and  of 
moral  elevation  in  the  individual,  is  hindered  by  the  absorbing 
pursuit  of  gain,  and  that  the  insinuating  power  of  commercial 
speculators,  bankers,  l^rokers,  and  large  corporations  is  gaining 
mastery  over  all  other  elements  in  the  body  politic.  Dr.  Channing 
found  cause  for  rejoicing  in  the  periods  of  stagnation  and  bank- 
ruptcy, which,  under  the  present  s^'stem  of  competitive  anarchy, 
inevitabh'  alternate  with  those  of  fevered  enterprise.  In  preaching 
and  in  conversation  he  took  advantage  of  these  pauses  to  admin- 
ister the  frankest  words  of  counsel  to  all  within  the  sphere  of  his 
influence ;  and  his  letters  will  exhibit  the  uncompromising  fidelity 
with  which  he  interpreted  the  teachings  of  Providence. 

'■'•December  31,  1841.^  I  wish  I  could  send  you  any  better  ac- 
counts of  oln-  financial  concerns.  There  are  fears  that  some  of  the 
States  will  refuse  to  pay  the  interest  of  their  debts,  and  that  we  are 
to  be  disgraced  still  more  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  It  is  some 
comfort  to  know  that  no  foreigner  has  a  right  to  complain  of  New 
England.  It  ought,  too,  to  be  added,  that  our  people  have  got 
into  their  ditticulties  very  much  through  ignorance.  Our  State 
legislatures,  which  are  competent  to  ordinary'  matters,  are  unfit  to 
devise  and  carry  on  public  works,  and  know  little  of  finance  and 
of  the  arts  of  stock-jobbers.  The  consequence  is,  that,  through 
the  unskilfulness  or  frauds  of  their  agents,  and  the  tricks  of  the 
stock  market,  some,  perhaps  most,  of  the  indebted  States  have 

(  *  To  M.  J.  C.  L.  Simonde  de  Sismondi. 

2  To  Tliomas  Thornely,  Esq. 


588  POLITICS. 

been  cheated  out  of  no  small  part  of  the  loans  for  which  their 
bonds  were  given.  The  people  in  their  simplicity  have  all  along 
been  deceived  b}'  the  fair  promises  of  leaders  and  interested  men, 
and  now  tliat  they  wake  up  to  the  truth,  they  not  unnaturalh', 
though  very  unwarrantabl}',  seek  pretexts  for  breach  of  faith  in 
the  wrongs  and  artifices  which  have  been  practised  on  themselves. 

"  I  deplore  greatly  this  dishonesty  in  States,  and  the  sufferings 
of  individuals  which  must  follow  ;  but  I  have  little  doubt  that  in  the 
end  we  shall  have  a  sounder  state  of  things.  The  prodigality  and 
recklessness  of  our  State  legislatures,  which  have  inflicted  incom- 
parably greater  evil  on  this  country  than  on  foreign  creditors,  are 
brought  to  an  end,  and  the  people  have  learned  a  salutar}' jealousy 
of  those  bodies  which  will  not  soon  die.  Meanwhile,  the  whole  com- 
munity must  bear  the  reproach  which  belongs  to  a  small  part.  This 
is  a  necessary  consequence  of  our  political  union,  nor  do  I  desire  to 
avert  it.  It  is  by  such  retributions  that  the  importance  of  national 
character  is  more  felt.  I  have  no  despondence.  We  have  great 
evils  here,  as  ever3'where,  to  encounter,  but  there  is  an  amount  of 
intelligence  and  energy  which  must  at  length  triumph." 

'■'■Boston,  January  21,  1842.  I  am  sure  that  some  good  is  to 
come  from  our  present  dithculties.  The  State  legislatures  will  be 
kept  to  their  proper  spheres.  Our  facilities  of  credit  will  be  di- 
minished ;  and  I  hope,  that,  what  with  the  loss  of  reputation,  and 
what  with  the  suspension  of  public  works,  immigration  will  also  be 
diminished.  The  '  credit  system,'  as  it  is  called,  has  wrought  im- 
mense evil,  and  it  has  received  a  blow  not  easily  to  be  recovered 

from The  sum  is,  let  us,  as  individuals  and  as  a  people,  be 

scrupulously  honest.  The  papers  speak  of  Judge  Hopkinson's  dan- 
gerous sickness.  He  ought  to  be  honored  for  the  lessons  of  pecu- 
niary integrity  he  gave  to  his  fellow-citizens.  You  young  men 
cannot  feel  too  strongly  the  importance  of  '  common  honesty.' 

"I  am  most  anxious  that  the  insolvent  States  should  pay  their 
debts,  and  not  bring  infamy  on  us  all.  The  late  resolve  in  the 
Pennsylvania  legislature  is  encouraging.  How  far  is  it  a  true  ex- 
ponent of  public  feeling?  The  resolution  passed  quite  unanimously, 
indeed,  but  it  is  not  decisive.  Men  are  always  honest,  just  as  the}' 
are  Antislavery,  in  the  abstract ;  but  it  is  easy  to  defeat,  by  man- 
agement and  specious  o])structions,  the  operation  of  a  principle  for 
which  we  have  been  clamorous.  Our  late  credit  system  and  the 
common  maxims  of  trade  have  corrupted  the  people  sadly.  I  am 
not  for  setting  on  foot  an  anti-commercial  society,  but  the  stinni- 
lants  to  trade  and  money-getting  in  our  country  have  done  incal- 
culable harm." 


BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS.  589 

"  February  7,  1842.^  I  dare  sa^'  doleful  sounds  are  borne  to  3'ou 
across  the  ocean.  Our  country'  is  disgraced  abroad,  but  to  me  its 
prospects  are  much  brighter  at  home.  It  is  an  immense  good  that 
our  credit  in  Europe  is  so  shaken.  "We  have  been  ruined  by  the 
facility  of  borrowing,  and  by  the  madness  of  speculation  which  this 
generated.  What  we  called  our  prosperity  was  bloated  and  false, 
—  the  prosperity  of  a  spendthrift.  Things,  they  say,  are  coming 
to  a  crisis;  which  means,  that  the  men  who  cannot  pay  will  cease 
to  pass  for  solvent,  —  that  rotten  banks  will  be  broken,  «S:c.,  —  that 
there  will  be  a  crash  of  those  who  ought  to  have  fallen  long  ago. 
But  can  relief  come  in  any  other  way?  At  least,  such  seems  to  me 
the  state  of  things,  as  I  look  at  it  at  a  distance. 

"  I  confess,  when  I  look  at  the  mad  career  of  individuals  and 
States,  I  rather  wonder  that  we  are  let  off  so  easily.  The  idea  that 
the  country  is  to  sink  under  its  present  burdens  is  absurd  beyond 
measure.  That  our  bank  system  will  work  us  a  great  deal  of  evil, 
■when  business  revives,  I  take  for  granted  ;  but  our  experience  can- 
not be  wholly  lost.  Perhaps  the  States  which  have  suffered  most 
ma}^  be  the  first  to  reform  the  currenc}-,  and  may  give  lessons  to 
their  neighbors.  Congress  is  in  a  bad  state,  —  factious,  furious, 
senseless  ;  and  if  I  did  not  see  that  there  are  mighty  causes  at  work 
in  the  countr}- ,  which  a  few  mad  or  selfish  politicians  at  AVashington 
cannot  control,  I  might  fear.  Happily,  they  waste  their  strength  in 
fighting  against  one  another,  and  do  nothing ;  a  policj',  I  appre- 
hend, far  wiser  than  either  party  left  to  itself  would  give  us." 

"  March  1,  1842.^  I  do  not  wonder  that  Europe  raises  a  cry  of 
indignation  against  this  country.  I  wish  it  could  come  to  us  in 
thunder.  My  patriotism  does  not  incline  me  to  cloak  the  sins  of 
my  country.  I  wish  them  cured.  You,  however,  must  understand 
how  unjust  .these  sweeping  censures  are.  Not  a  stain  rests  on  the 
good  faith  of  New  England  and  New  York,  and  of  the  great  major- 
ity of  the  States. 

"  Bad  faith  in  public  matters  and  private  integrity  are  not  seldom 
found  in  strange  union.  To  measure  the  guilt  of  these  people,  you 
must  suppose  yonv  countrymen  placed  in  the  same  situation.  You 
must  suppose  universal  suffrage  introduced  into  Great  Britain.  Do 
you  think  that  your  national  debt  would  be  safer  than  that  of  Mis- 
sissippi? I  do  not  say  this  by  wa}'  of  excuse,  —  for  none  can  be 
made,  —  but  only  to  sliow,  that,  in  the  most  hopeless  parts  of  our 
country,  you  meet  nothing  worse  than  j'ou  find  everywhere.  Is  not 
3'our  national  debt  secure,  chiefly  because  the  creditors  hold  the 
reins  of  government  ? 

1  To  Harmanus  Bleecker,  Esq.  2  To  George  Combe,  Esq. 


590  POLITICS. 

' '  I  look  on  this  conntr}'  as  .in  a  better  condition  now  than  in  its 
'  prosperous  days.'  These  States  and  individuals  borrowed  reck- 
lessly and  spent  prodigall}'.  Our  prosperity  was  a  show.  Now, 
we  know  where  we  stand.  Now,  a  check  has  been  given  to  the 
State  governments  which  will  never  be  forgotten,  and  I  think  it 
a  great  gain  that  the  people  have  grown  jealous  of  State  legislation. 
Our  credit  abroad  is  shaken,  and  this  is  a  great  good  ;  for  excess 
of  credit  has  been  almost  our  ruin.  At  this  moment,  even,  we  are 
trusted  too  easily.  We  have  had  recentl}'  a  severe  money -pressure, 
from  excess  of  importations.  Could  credit  and  immigration  from 
Europe  be  exceedingl}'  abridged,  our  chance  would  be  much  better. 
Another  good  is,  that  the  monstrous  evils  of  our  banking  system 
have  been  brought  to  light,  and  the  whole  people  have  learned  a 
lesson  of  wisdom  on  this  point  which  must  bear  powerfuU}-  on  the 
government.  You  hear  the  word  '  distress '  in  the  cities,  but  the 
mass  of  the  people  enjoy  a  prosperity  unparalleled  on  the  earth. 

"I  want  Europe  to  shame  us  out  of  crimes,  and  care  not  how 
severe!}'  our  real  sins  are  reproved.  Nor  am  I  anxious  to  oppose 
the  misapprehensions  of  Europe  about  us ;  because  these  can  do  us 
no  harm,  because  they  are  obstinately  cherished,  and  because  the}' 
must  give  way  at  last  to  the  great  fact  of  our  progress,  if  our  pro- 
gress is  to  continue.  Nothing  can  arrest  this  progress  but  war,  and 
divisions  growing  out  of  slaver3\  The  opinion  of  Europe  has  never 
troubled  me.  But  to  j'ou,  who  are  a  true  friend  of  the  countr}'  and 
of  freedom,  I  would  sa}',  that  yon  need  have  no  fear  about  us,  ex- 
cept that  general  apprehension  which  human  frailty  obliges  us  to 
feel  about  everything  below." 

'•'■August  10,  1842.^  The  trading  community  suffer  much,  and 
this  must  be,  not  only  from  past  rashness,  but  because  we  have 
twice  as  many  people  in  trade  as  the  exchange  of  the  products  of  the 
country  requires.  This  is  a  natural  consequence  of  the  spread  of 
education,  and  will  correct  itself  in  time.  An  educated  man  would 
rather  live  by  his  wits  than  his  hands,  and  consequently  there  has 
been  a  great  rush  into  trade,  where  it  was  supposed,  that,  by  the 
union  of  shrewdness  with  enterprise,  men  might  grow  rich  with 
little  toil.  We  are  outgrowing  this  delusion.  Agriculture,  the  true 
work  of  man,  is  getting  into  favor  and  honor,  and  the  next  genera- 
tion may  be  saved  from  the  crimes  and  miseries  of  excessive,  un- 
bounded competition  in  trade." 

But  though  thus  just  in  his  recognition  of  the  peculiar  tempta- 
tions and  faults  of  his  countrymen.  Dr.  Channing  was  not  inclined 

1  To  William  Rathbone,  Esq. 


LETTER  ON   TEXAS.  591 

to  receive  passively  the  indiscriminate  criticism  of  travellers  and  of 
foreign  nations.  It  will  be  seen  from  the  following  letters  how  firm, 
while  candid,  he  was  in  asserting  the  claims  of  the  United  States  to 
respect. 

'•'-June  14,  1837.-^  I  am  reading  Miss  Martineau's  book  with 
much  interest.  I  see  in  it  a  genuine  expression  of  her  mind,  and 
feel  that  I  have  the  whole  of  what  she  thinks  of  the  country. 
Should  other  people  tell  us  the  whole,  should  we  be  equally  satisfied  ? 
No  honest  book  of  travels  can  be  popular  in  the  country  of  which  it 
treats.  She  falls  into  a  great  many  errors,  as  I  expected.  But  I 
consider,  that,  if  she  does  not  know  us  thoroughly,  neither  do  we 
know  ourselves ;  and  we  undoubtedly  reject  as  apocryphal  what  is 
true.  The  great  fault  of  the  book  is  its  presumption ;  for  what 
warrant  has  a  traveller,  under  her  circumstances,  to  pass  such  deci- 
sive judgments  on  such  an  infinitj*  of  matters  ?  And  yet,  I  do  not 
know  a  traveller  who  is  not  chargeable  with  the  same  fault.  I 
seldom  hear  the  conversation  of  men  or  women  returned  from 
Europe,  without  being  surprised  at  the  sweeping  sentence  which 
the^'  pass  on  what  they  could  not  comprehend. 

"  You  see  I  am  very  lenient  towards  the  faults  of  Miss  Martineau, 
whilst  I  admire  her  generous,  bold,  uncompi'omising  adherence  to 
the  great  principles  of  freedom  and  humanit3\  As  to  being  angry, 
I  cannot ;  for  the  opinions  of  travellers  about  our  country  seem  to 
me  of  too  little  moment  to  give  anybody  uneasiness 

"  Her  unpardonable  sin  is,  that  she  is  honest.  Who  of  us  would 
bear  the  honesty  which  should  tell  us  all  our  faults  ?  No  country  is 
worthy  of  respect.  So  sa^'s  the  minister  ever}'  Sunday,  who  ac- 
knowledges in  prayer,  and  rebukes  in  preaching,  the  corruptions 
around  him ;  and  yet,  when  a  stranger  tells  us  of  our  follies  and 
sins,  we  wonder  at  his  or  her  abusiveness.  Such  occasions  show  us 
the  real  blirtdness  of  a  people  to  its  own  moral  evils." 

"  Newport,  June  23, 1838 In  the  last  London  Quarterly  Re- 
view is  a  review  of  my  Letter  on  Texas,  in  which  my  strictures  on  our 
country  are  treated  as  proofs  of  the  failure  of  our  popular  institutions. 
I  should  like  to  write  another  letter,  to  show  that  these  institutions 
are  worth}'  of  higher  reverence  and  confidence  than  they  have  yet 
received,  and,  under  this  general  topic,  to  introduce  some  important 
truths  greatly  needed  now.  This  is  in  my  mind,  but  all  attempts  at 
writing  have,  as  3'et,  exhausted  me,  and  I  ma}'  not  regain  strength 
until  the  occasion  is  gone.  I  do  not,  however,  suffer  myself  to  de- 
spond.   I  have  entire,  unshaken  confidence  in  God.    I  know  his 

1  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D. 


592  POLITICS. 

paternal  interest  in  his  human  famil}',  and  that  he  will  never  want 
instruments  for  the  great  work  of  their  regeneration." 

"  September  24,  1838.^  I  offer  these  remarks,  because,  in  eon- 
sequence  of  my  Letter  on  Texas,  j'ou  seem  to  look  more  doubt- 
ingly  towards  this  country.  I  meant  that  Letter  for  my  own  people, 
and  little  expected  it  would  draw  attention  abroad  ;  and  I  was  so 
desirous  to  inspire  salutary  fear  and  compunction,  that  I  threw  into 
the  picture  the  darker  shades  only.  There  is,  indeed,  much  evil  here, 
as  there  must  be  in  our  present  civilization.  The  spirit  of  gain  has 
seized  on  all  countries,  and,  whilst  it  is  accomplishing  man}^  im- 
portant purposes,  and  is  perhaps  essential  to  the  supplanting  of  the 
old  aristocracies,  and  to  the  forming  of  new  connections  among 
countries  wliich  nothing  but  commerce  could  bring  together,  many 
of  its  immediate  influences  are  degrading.  A  selfish,  mercenary 
spirit  must  become  rife.  In  such  an  age,  the  idea  of  Property  may 
be  expected  sometimes  to  take  rank  of  Liberty.  Still,  I  see  signs 
of  progress  at  home." 

1839.  "  I  have  been  struck  of  late  with  the  disposition  through- 
out Europe  to  throw  the  blame  of  all  that  is  evil  in  this  country  on 
our/ree  mstitvtions,  as  if  freedom  were  the  only  element  of  our  social 
constitution.  The  truth  is,  that  freedom,  at  this  moment  particu- 
larly, has  less  influence  than  other  peculiarities  in  our  state.  Our 
most  striking  peculiarity  is,  that  we  are  a  young  people,  bringing 
all  the  powers  of  an  advanced  civilization  and  very  singular  energies 
of  industry  and  enterprise  to  bear  on  a  new  countr}-  of  inexhaustible 
resources.  Ever}'  day  discloses  to  us  new  mines  of  wealth.  In 
addition  to  our  own  capital,  which  has  increased  immensely,  foreign 
capital  is  pouring  in,  and  opportunities  of  profitable  investment 
seem  to  increase  in  still  greater  proportion.  The  consequence  you 
can  easily  conceive.  The  minds  of  the  people  are  intoxicated  with  a 
stimulant  which  human  nature  has  never  yet  been  strong  enough  to 
resist.  The  spirit  of  speculation,  the  passion  for  unbounded  accu- 
mulation, rages  among  us.  We  think  little  about  polities,  compared 
with  public  improvements,  as  the}'  are  called, — new  applications 
of  steam,  new  settlements  in  the  Far  West,  &c.  In  such  a  state  of 
things,  no  man  has  a  fixed  position.  Hardly  any  man  has  the 
strong,  local  feeling  of  other  countries.  A  mighty  stream  of  popu- 
lation, bearing  away  our  adventurous  youtli,  is  setting  westward. 
Journeys  of  five  hundred  or  a  thousand  miles  are  an  amusement  to 
us.  The  imagination  is  at  work  continually  on  the  distant  and  the 
vast.     The  result  is  a  ver}-  vigorous  though  partial  development  of 

1  To  Lant  Carpenter,  D.  D. 


MATERIAL   TENDENCIES.  593 

human  nature.  We  undei'stand  positive  material  interests  better 
than  any  other  people But  the  effect  of  this  boundless  ex- 
ternal activit}'-  is,  that  the  inward,  spiritual,  higher  interests  of 
humanit}'  are  little  comprehended,  prized,  or  sought.  We  surpass 
even  England  in  worldly  utilitarianism.  The  worth  of  the  higher 
intellectual  and  moral  culture  of  arts  and  studies  which  refine  and 
elevate  is  not  felt  as  it  should  be  ;  but  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
our  freedom,  or  is  not  to  be  charged  on  our  free  institutions. 

"  It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that,  with  all  tliis  worldly  activity,  there 
is  a  higher  standard  among  us  than  anywhere  else.  My  personal 
observation  is,  indeed,  confined  very  much  to  Boston.  I  have  seen 
tlie  population  of  that  place  quadrupled,  and  its  wealth  multiplied 
in  vastly  greater  proportion  ;  and  I  am  confident  that  there  has  been 
a  decided  advance  in  religion,  philanthropy,  and  general  virtue,  as 
well  as  in  intelligence 

"For  myself,  I  would  we  were  less  prosperous.  Our  freedom 
and  glory  are  endangered  In'  our  rapid  growth,  especially  by  our 
growth  from  abroad.  Our  foreign  population  is  becoming  a  great 
evil.  Our  fathers,  never  dreaming  of  what  has  taken  place,  and 
wishing  to  make  our  country  an  asylum  for  oppressed  humanity-, 
began  with  giving  the  rights  of  citizenship  on  too  eas}-  terms,  and 
we  have  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse,  until  the  elective  franchise  is 
lavished  on  ignorant  hordes  from  Europe,  who  cannot  but  abuse 
it.  This  profanation  of  so  high  a  privilege  moves  my  indignation. 
You  misunderstood  me,  when  you  supposed  me  to  say,  that  our 
present  civilization  increases  the  distance  between  the  higher  and 
lower  classes  generally.  I  said,  that  it  creates  a  more  decided 
pauperism. 

"  In  closing,  let  me  add,  that  I  do  not  despair  on  account  of  the 
material  tendencies  of  m}*  countrymen.  Perhaps  it  is  well  that 
human  nature  should  w^ork  itself  out  fairh*  in  one  direction.  It  is 
too  noble  and  various  to  work  always  in  one  way,  A  higher  activity 
is  to  manifest  itself,  though  perhaps  not  in  my  da}'." 

'■'■March  19,  1840.^  I  am  sorr}' you  have  seen  so  much  to  the 
disadvantage  of  my  countrymen,  and  yet  I  wish  the  truth  to  be 
seen  and  told.  Not  that  I  expect  any  sudden  changes  from  the 
fresh  expression  of  opinion.  Our  country  is  swept  along  by  mighty 
impulses.  The  causes  which  act  on  character  are  extensive  and 
exceedingl}'  strong.  There  is  so  much  in  our  condition  to  stir  up 
restlessness,  wild  schemes,  extravagant  speculation,  a  grasping 
spirit,  ambition,  and   fanaticism,  in  a  thousand  infectious  forms, 

1  To  George  Combe,  Esq. 
38 


594  POLITICS. 

that  there  is  not  much  chance  for  reflection,  for  moral  self-determi- 
nation. Something  may  be  done  to  sta}'  the  torrent,  but  merely 
moral  influences  cannot  avail  much.  The  stern,  terrible  lessons  of 
Providence  are  needed  by  such  a  people,  and  these  form  a  part  of 
ever}"  nation's  experience.  It  seems  to  me,  that  never  was  a  people 
so  tried  and  tempted  as  ours.  Freedom  alone,  so  unobstructed  as 
we  enjoy  it,  is  a  sufficient  trial ;  but  in  addition  to  this  are  our 
nnmense  territory,  with  its  infinite  and  undeveloped  resources,  the 
innumerable  openings  for  enterprise,  the  new  and  unexampled  ap- 
plications of  science  to  art,  the  miracles  of  machinery,  of  steam  by 
land  and  water.  All  these  combined  are  enough  to  madden  a 
people.  Tliat  a  worldl}',  material,  mercenary,  reckless  spirit  should 
spring  up  amid  these  circumstances,  we  must  expect. 

' '  Few  look  on  the  present  stage  of  societ}'  with  less  satisfaction 
than  1  do  ;  and  yet  it  seems  a  necessary  stage,  and  I  see  in  it  the 
promise  of  something  better.  The  commercial  s3-stem,  which  is 
the  strongest  power  of  our  times,  is,  for  the  most  part,  my  abhor- 
rence ;  and  3'et  I  do  see  that  it  is  breaking  down  the  feudal  system, 
the  military  system,  old  distinctions  and  old  alienations,  and  estab- 
lishing new  ties  among  men.  I  therefore  hope,  nor  do  I  think 
moral  means  nseless,  though  other  causes  are  for  the  time  trium- 
phant. You  and  I  may  still  work  in  faith.  The  reckless  activity-  of 
the  people  is  better  than  torpidness,  and  there  are  good  minds  open 
to  truth.  I  suppose  I  live  in  the  most  illuminated  region,  and  I 
do  see,  amidst  many  unpromising  circumstances,  a  spirit  of  im- 
provement at  work,  especially  among  the  laboring  class." 

Dr.  Channing  was  earnest  that  the  United  States  should  be  faith- 
ful to  their  rare  privilege  of  manifesting  among  the  nations  a  higher 
form  of  liberty,  justice,  peace,  and  felt  an  elevating  sentiment  of 
honor  in  view  of  the  glorious  destiny  to  which  his  country,  if  worthy, 
might  attain.  But  longing  for  the  elevation  of  humanity  at  lai-ge, 
and  looking  upon  Christendom  as  a  grand  fraternity,  he  watched 
with  most  cordial  sympathy  and  joy  every  struggle  for  the  elevation 
of  the  people  in  all  lands.  Especially  towards  P^ngland  did  he 
turn  with  gratitude  and  hope.  His  desire  of  friendly  relations 
between  the  United  States  and  Great  Britain,  and  liis  profound  in- 
terest m  her  political  progress,  are  fully  exhibited  in  his  corre- 
spondence. 

"  31(11/  27,  1825.  I  was  sorry  to  discover  in  your  remarks  some- 
thing of  what  I  may  call  tlie  bigotry  of  republicanism,  by  which  I 
mean  the  persuasion,  that  liberty  can  only  subsist  under  such  in- 
stitutions as  ours,  and  the  consequent  habit  of  looking  with  a  hostile 


THE   UNITED   STATES   AND    GREAT  BRITAIN.  595 

e3'e  on  all  other  institutions.  This  seems  to  me  an  example  of  an 
error  so  common  as  to  deserve  a  place  among  Bacon's  idols,  the 
error  of  confounding  the  means  with  the  end.  You  speak  as  if  we 
alone  were  free,  because  we  alone  act  throughout  on  the  system  of 
election.,  when  England,  our  mother,  and  the  fountain  of  all  our  lib- 
eral institutions,  is  free  in  spite  of  an  hereditary  king  and  nobility. 
It  is  wrong  to  suppose  that  public  opinion  can  embody  and  express 
itself  only  through  elections.  There  are  other  ways  ;  perhaps  there 
is  no  country  in  the  world  where  public  opinion  reigns  more  than 
in  England.  Yet  you  haA'e  made  no  distinction  between  that  coun- 
try and  the  other  monarchies  of  Europe. 

"  It  grieved  me  that,  in  so  excellent  a  discourse,  anything 
should  be  said  or  implied  to  diminish  the  sympathy,  already  too 
faint,  with  that  admirable  country,  on  which  God  has  bestowed  for 
two  centuries  the  signal  honor  of  being  the  bulwark  of  Prot- 
estant and  free  principles.  Nowhere  on  earth  will  you  find  a 
people  more  high-minded,  more  jealous  of  their  rights,  more  bold 
in  expressing  their  thoughts,  more  resolute  and  earnest  in  putting 
forth  all  the  powers  of  human  nature,  than  in  England  ;  and  irrec- 
oncilable as  the  fact  may  be  with  our  theories,  we  there  see,  under 
an  aristocracy  which  holds  a  large  part  of  the  real  estate  of  the 
kingdom,  an  improved  and  productive  agriculture,  giving  to  the 
countr}'  an  aspect  of  beaut}-  and  fruitfulness,  which  makes  this  and 
other  countries  appear  as  if  thej-  were  but  half  redeemed  from  a 
state  of  nature. 

"True  libert}'  rests  upon  and  consists  in  nothing  so  much  as  a 
free  press,  that  is,  in  intellectual  libert}',  in  liberty  to  think  and 
speak,  and  to  influence  other  minds  to  the  full  extent  of  the  indi- 
vidual's power.  This  creates  what  we  call  public  opinion,  an  in- 
fluence which  cannot  be  said  to  exist  anywhere  in  Europe,  save  in 
England,  arid  which  operates  there  with  astonishhig  energ}-.  The 
power  of  the  press  in  England  is  exceedingly  aided  by  local  causes. 
The  existence  of  a  metropolis  like  London  —  that  '  mighty  heart ' 
through  which  the  whole  blood  of  the  empire  circulates,  and  which 
sends  forth,  in  a  single  day,  through  every  village  the  report  of  a 
public  man's  services  or  misdeeds  —  produces  a  quick  common 
feeling,  communicates  an  electric  impulse  to  the  whole  body,  of 
which  no  other  country  is  susceptible.  The  power  of  public  opin- 
ion has  been  remarkably  manifested  in  the  change  whereby  the  re- 
strictive system,  which  has  been  looked  to  for  ages  as  a  nation's 
safeguard  and  source  of  wealth,  is  giving  way  to  the  improA^ed  in- 
telligence of  the  people,  and  the  freest  doctrines  as  to  the  inter- 
course  of  nations    are  not  only  avowed,   but  embodied  into  the 


596  POLITICS. 

commercial  code.  Look  at  the  immense  public  works  of  England, 
carried  on,  not  b}'  government,  but  b}^  private  associations  ;  and 
who  is  not  struck  witli  the  confidence  of  man  in  man,  tlie  power  of 
equal  laws,  and  the  unbounded  energy  of  character,  implied  in 
these?  .... 

"  The  amount  of  what  I  would  say  is  this.  I  wish  that  we  might 
speak  more  diffidentl}'  of  ourselves,  and  in  more  conciliatorv  lan- 
guage of  others  ;  that  we  might  seek  the  liberation  of  the  world  b^^ 
improvement  rather  than  convulsion  ;  that  we  might '  preach  peace ' 
to  monarchs  and  subjects  ;  that  we  might  never  speak  of  war, 
especially  of  civil  war,  but  with  the  aversion  and  horror  which 
Christianity  and  philanthropy  inspire.  As  for  kings,  wliilst  we 
remember  that  they  are  men  like  ourselves,  and  not  a  whit  better 
than  their  poorest  subjects,  let  us  not  deny  them  the  candor  and 
kindness  due  to  men.  The}^  are  made  masters  of  nations  by  the 
accident  of  birth,  not  by  their  own  will,  and  most  of  them,  if  they 
would,  could  not  innocently  abdicate  their  thrones  ;  for  nations, 
untrained  to  the  functions  of  self-government,  if  suddenly  called  to 
their  exercise,  would  soon  fill  the  vacant  thrones  with  worse  t3'rants 
than  their  old  masters.  Libert}'  is  not  the  growth  of  violence.  It 
is,  indeed,  the  greatest  political  good,  '  to  be  prized  aboA-e  all 
price  ' ;  but  it  is  also  a  moral  good,  and  is  to  be  diffused  b}'  nothing 
so  effectually'  as  by  that  spirit  of  love  which  makes  man  dear  to 
man,  and  by  which  Christianit}',  in  proportion  as  it  is  better  under- 
stood, will  bind  together  all  orders  of  societ}'." 

"  Boston,  Novemhcr  30,  1827.^  I  desire  to  do  something  to  make 
our  two  countries  better  acquainted  with  each  other,  and  I  know 
no  way  so  effectual  as  a  free  interchange  of  thought  between  those 
who  witliout  vanity  ma}^  lay  claim  to  some  enlargement  of  mind. 

"  I  see  what  is  called  national  spirit  working  a  thousand  evils, 
but  it  is  never  worse  emplo3'ed  than  in  separating  two  countries 
which  are  the  chosen  abodes  of  freedom,  and  which  are  intrusted 
with  the  dearest  interests  of  the  human  race.  I  know  that  this 
feeling  of  nationality  has  done  good,  especially  in  rude  ages,  when 
men  could  not  take  in  a  larger  idea  than  that  of  tribe  or  countr}-, 
and  when  no  other  motive  of  a  generous  kind  could  counteract 
selfish  and  sordid  tendencies.  I  can  admire  Roman  patriotism, 
unjust  and  cruel  as  it  was  ;  for  it  carried  the  individual  in  a  meas- 
ure out  of  himself,  or,  more  properly,  gaA'e  a  generous  cast  to  his 
selfishness  ;  but  I  should  mourn  if  I  thought  the  human  mind  capa- 
ble of  nothing  nobler,  and  I  am  sure  tliat  Christianity  is  meant  to 

1  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe. 


POSITION  OF  ENGLAND.  597 

pour  a  quite  different  and  more  celestial  fervor  through  the  soul. 
We  owe  to  nationalitj-  national  independence,  not  civil  and  personal 
liberty  ;  and  this  last  is  the  great  interest  and  hope  of  human  nature. 
Let  its  friends,  liowever  separated  by  oceans  or  tongues,  feel  them- 
selves brethren,  and  cherish  a  union  stronger  than  that  of  country. 
"  Tliis  ma}'  be  thought  an  interest  for  men  only  to  think  and 
write  about.  But  believing,  as  I  do,  that  liberty  is  a  moral  good, 
to  be  promoted,  not  Iw  the  sword,  but  b^^  magnanimit}'  of  thouglit 
and  feeling,  by  a  conviction  of  what  we  were  made  for,  of  the  dig- 
nity of  our  intellectual  and  moral  being,  I  feel  that  woman  ma}'  do 
her  full  share  towards  the  liberation  of  the  world." 

"  /September  24,  1838.*  I  anticipate  from  steam  navigation  in- 
creased intercourse  between  the  two  countries  of  a  higher  character 
than  has  subsisted  3'et.  Hitherto  we  have  exchanged  commercial 
agents,  and  have  known  one  another  b}'  specimens  of  the  money- 
getting  tribe,  and  those  not  the  best.  I  hope  the  intelligent,  refined, 
religious,  elevated,  will  now  represent  the  two  countries  to  each 
other.  If  our  mother  will  send  some  of  her  worthiest  sons  to  see 
us,  I  am  sure  thej'  will  not  make  her  grieve  over  a  degenerate  pos- 
terity. She  will  recognize  in  us,  perhaps,  some  of  her  own  faults, 
and  the  faults  of  youth  goaded  to  excess  by  peculiar  temptations  ; 
but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  she  will  find  few  of  her  works  to 
take  more  pride  in  than  in  this  same  rebellious  but  vigorous  republic 
of  ours.  I  call  it  her  work,  not  merely  because  she  sent  out  a  gen- 
erous stock  that  has  shot  up  into  a  great  people,  but  because  our 
institutions  are  the  expansions  of  her  own  free  principles." 

"  Boston,  October  25,  1840.^  Your  little  island  is  too  small  a 
basis  for  so  vast  an  empire,  and  it  is  hard  to  find  a  statesman  equal 
to  the  comprehension  of  so  many  and  such  complicated  interests. 
You  meet  the  fate  of  all  conquering  states.  To  keep  what  3'ou 
have,  you  must  grasp  more,  and  every  new  acquisition  is  a  new 
point  for  assault.  Your  business  with  China  is  a  sad  one,  Eng- 
land is  to  reconcile  the  world  to  her  ascendency  in  the  East,  by 
showing  herself  the  friend,  guardian,  civilizer  of  less  improved 
races.  That  she  should  be  the  chief  cultivator  of  a  ph3'sical  and 
moral  poison,  should  labor  to  force  it  on  a  less  improved  people, 
and  should  then  turn  against  this  defenceless  people  the  terrors  of 
European  warfare,  — all  this  does  little  credit  to  her  humanity,  and 
shows  that  in  pushing  her  trade  she  cares  very  little  for  the  influ- 
ence she  exerts  on  the  world.  Believing,  as  1  do,  that  England 
rests  on  her  moral  strength,  I  lament  this  wound  on  her  good  name, 

1  To  Lant  Carpenter,  D.  D,  2  To  William  Rathbone,  Esq, 


598  POLITICS. 

as  well  as  shudder  at  the  miseries  she  is  about  to  inflict  in  another 
hemisphere." 

'■'•  Newport^  July  11,  1841.^  In  regard  to  3'our  Chartists,  I  have 
a  strong  interest  in  them  ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  serve 
them,  except  by  recommending,  as  I  have  tried  to  do,  the  cause 
and  rights  of  the  depressed  and  injured  to  the  sympathj'  and  con- 
sciences of  their  fellow-creatures. 

"  I  differ  from  the  Chartists  in  their  fundamental  point,  immediate 
universal  suffrage.  Suffrage  is  not  merel}-  a  power  given  to  the 
individual  for  protection  of  his  own  rights,  but  a  power  of  acting  on 
the  most  sacred  rights  and  interests  of  the  whole  community  ;  and 
if  he  is  palpabhj  disqualified  to  act  on  these  justly  and  wisely,  the 
power  should  not  be  granted.  Every  individual  ought,  however,  to 
have  the  means  of  qualifying  himself  for  suffrage.  The  state  ought 
to  spare  no  pains  to  raise  every  member  from  that  brutal  ignorance 
and  degradation  which  unfits  him  for  all  public  action.  The  cry  of 
the  Chartists  should  be  for  immediate  universal  education,  and  for 
such  an  education  as  would  prepare  them  for  the  elective  franchise. 
In  the  Chartist  book  which  you  refer  to,  I  was  greatly  pleased  and 
encouraged  by  finding  that  this  party  had  discovered  the  true  means 
of  freedom.  Nothing  but  general  illumination  can  give  them  in- 
fluence. Enlighten  a  people,  and  even  under  the  worst  institutions 
they  will  be  felt.  The  elective  franchise  brings  no  liberty  to  a 
grossly  ignorant  multitude.  They  are  only  made  the  tools  of  those 
who  can  bribe  or  inflame  them,  and  generally  fall  into  the  hands  of 
their  enemies.  I  hope  the  Chartist  project  of  education  will  be 
carried  out.  If  a  generous  enthusiasm  could  lead  to  the  formation 
of  a  fraternity  of  teachers  among  them,  who,  from  love  to  their 
brethren,  and  in  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  would  give  themselves  up 
to  the  instruction  of  the  young,  much  good  might  be  accomplished, 

"I  could  point  out  passages  in  the  Ch.artist  pamphlet  which  I 
disapproved.  Nothing,  however,  gave  me  so  much  sorrow  as  the 
apparent  want  of  a  just  feeling  of  the  importance  of  reUgion  to  the 
people.  Religion  is  important,  essential,  to  us  all,  our  light  and 
life,  and  the  only  source  of  dignity,  freedom,  and  peace.  I  do  not, 
however,  wonder,  that  so  many  of  the  people  look  on  religion  as 
their  foe,  for  it  has  been  a  state  instrument,  a  political  machine, 
and  is  used  to  keep  them  down,  and  not  to  raise  them  up.  But  can 
they  read  the  New  Testament  and  help  seeing  that  Jesus  Christ 
treated  the  distinctions  of  this  world  with  contempt,  —  that  he 
lived  among  the  poor  as  his  brethren,  —  that  he  came  to  unite  all 

1  To  Joseph  Sturge,  Esq. 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA.  599 

men  in  brotherhood,  —  that  he  utterly' reprobates  the  passion  for 
power,  through  which  the  few  have  always  trodden  on  the  many,  — 
that  his  religion  is  the  peaceful  reniedj'  for  all  oppression,  and  that, 
even  where  it  does  not  break  the  j^oke,  it  can  give  to  the  oppressed 
dignity  and  peace? 

"  Christianit}'  —  not  as  taught  by  the  state,  but  as  taught  by  its 
Founder  —  is  eminently  the  friend  of  the  multitude,  —  their  charter, 
their  emancipator,  as  well  as  the  foundation  of  immortal  hope.  I 
do  not  wonder  at  the  existence  of  scepticism  among  the  Chartists ; 
but  it  is  a  mournful  and  discouraging  fact,  and,  to  my  mind,  one  of 
the  saddest  effects  of  the  unnatural  social  system  which  crushes 
them.  I  know,  however,  that  the  evil  is  but  a  temporary  one. 
Some  reformer  who  will  comprehend  the  liberal,  enlarged  spirit  of 
Christianit}',  and  utter  it  in  words  of  fire,  may,  at  any  moment, 
spring  up  amongst  them.  If  not,  time,  experience,  and  the  good 
providence  of  God,  will  work  their  deliverance." 

"  September  '2Q,  1841.^  These  general  views  give  me  great  hope 
about  England.  AVhen  I  think  of  the  great  amount  of  intellect, 
good  principle,  benevolence,  power,  wealth,  among  you,  I  feel  as  if 
you  must  work  your  wa}'  through  your  difficulties.  How^  I  know  not ; 
for  I  am  too  far  off,  and  perhaps  were  I  on  the  spot  I  should  be  as 
much  perplexed  ;  but  one  thing  I  know,  —  that  there  was  never  be- 
fore, in  an  equal  space,  such  an  amount  of  good  influences  as  in 
England,  — never  so  man}-  people  interested  in  upholding  order,  — 
never  so  many  clear  thinkers.  Out  of  all  this  something  must 
grow.  I  have  great  faith,  too,  in  our  Anglo-Saxon  blood.  We 
Anglo-Saxons  have  much  that  is  bad  in  us.  I  doubt  whether, 
through  this  race,  the  world  is  to  be  saved  ;  but  for  practical  energj', 
for  skill  in  surmounting  difficulties,  for  richness  of  resource,  we  are 
unrivalled,  -  That  England,  with  her  immense  wealth,  and  with  half 
the  world  under  her  sway,  should  sink  under  her  present  difficulties, 
I  cannot  believe.  We  Americans  should  solve  the  problem  some- 
how or  other,  and  3'ou  are  not  behind  us." 

1842.2  u  jj.  giygg  ^ijg  enlightened  part  of  our  community  much 
pleasure  to  observe  of  late  in  the  English  press  a  disposition  to  be 
more  just  to  our  country;  not  that  our  appetite  for  praise  is  very 
craving,  but  because  it  seems  important  to  us  that  nations  between 
which  such  strong  bonds  of  union  subsist  as  between  England  and 
America,  and  to  which  the  interests  of  freedom  and  reformed  Chris- 
tianity are  specially  confided  by  Providence,  should  not  be  alienated 
from  each  other  b}-  the  aspersions  of  malignit}-  and  party  spirit.    A 

1  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau.  2  -pg  jyugg  jane  E.  Roscoe. 


600  POLITICS. 

man  who  can  visit  this  countiy,  and  not  see  in  our  institutions  and 
manners  the  means  of  developing  the  noblest  faculties  and  senti- 
ments of  human  nature,  must  be  incapable  of  just  and  high  think- 
ing ;  and  I  pity  an  American  who  can  leave  j'our  shores  without  a 
grateful  sense  of  the  unparalleled  services  you  have  rendered  to  the 
cause  of  human  improvement,  and  without  rejoicing  in  the  powerful 
springs  of  happiness  and  moral  and  intellectual  progress  which  are 
in  operation  among  3'ou." 

Dr.  Channing's  sympathies  were  nowise  limited  to  England, 
warm  as  was  his  grateful  reverence  for  the  motlier-land  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons,  but  cordially  embraced  all  Continental  Europe. 
Heart  and  hand  he  held  himself  pledged,  as  a  faithful  brother,  to 
the  great  part}'  of  Liberalism  spread  throughout  civilized  nations, 
and  liis  earnest  prayer  was  for  universal  freedom  by  conservative 
reform,  —  if,  indeed,  peace  could  cure  the  corruptions  of  centuries. 
During  the  great  crisis  of  1830  he  thus  expressed  his  feelings  :  — 

"Amidst  the  stupendous  events  of  our  age,  when  the  whole 
civilized  world  is  heaving  like  an  ocean,  and  the  great  question  of 
human  freedom  is  at  issue,  I  see  not  how  they  who  love  their  race 
can  be  indifferent.  A  great  war  is  going  on,  that  of  opinions  and 
principles,  and  we  have  too  much  reason  to  dread  that  this  will 
bring  on  a  war  of  arms  and  bloodshed.  I  have  no  fear  as  to  the 
result,  but  I  shudder  at  this  means  of  gaining  even  the  greatest 
good." 

When  the  news,  therefore,  of  the  "  Three  Days  "  in  Paris  reached 
Newport,  his  heart  leaped  up  within  him  in  exulting  hope  ;  the  era 
of  emancipation  he  had  so  long  been  looking  for,  it  seemed  to  him, 
had  dawned  ;  and  he  returned  much  earlier  than  usual  to  Boston  to 
exchange  congratulations  with  the  friends  of  constitutional  liberty, 
and  to  pour  out  from  his  pulpit  the  bright  anticipations  with  which 
his  mind  was  crowded.  To  his  sorrow,  he  found  but  slight  response 
to  his  enthusiasm,  and  felt  more  deeply  than  ever  before  how  be- 
numbing to  high  honor  and  humanity  is  the  heav}'  pressure  of 
mercenariness.  With  some  of  his  intimate  friends,  indeed,  and 
especially  with  Charles  Follen,  he  held  earnest  communion  on  the 
magnificent  opportunity  opened  to  the  Continental  nations  ;  and  his 
aspirations  were  constant,  that  France  might  be  found  worth}'  of 
her  great  vocation.  The  Revolution  of  1830  appeared  to  him  to  be, 
in  its  principles,  methods,  aims,  and  especially  in  its  pervading 
spirit,  a  great  advance  upon  its  predecessor ;  and  he  looked  for- 
ward confidingly  to  the  redeeming  power  which  it  was  to  exert  upon 
Italy,  Germany,  and  Poland.     The  reappearance  of  Lafayette,  in 


THE  THREE  DAYS  IN  PARIS.  601 

so  commanding  a  position,  gratified  him  exceedingly ;  and  the 
mingled  firmness  and  calmness  of  the  French  people  showed,  he 
thought,  a  fine  development  of  moral  feeling  and  enlightened  judg- 
ment. That  the  freemen  of  America,  especiall}'  the  3-oung,  should 
be  so  moderate  in  their  expressions  of  joy,  astonished  him.  He 
went  back,  in  memor}-,  to  his  boyish  days,  when  the  Cambridge 
collegians  had  processions,  speeches,  and  bonfires.  Now,  all  was 
still.  One  evening,  during  this  period,  a  graduate  called  upon  him. 
"  Well,  Mr.  Ilillard,"  said  he,  with  an  accent  of  sarcasm,  which  few, 
probably,  ever  heard  from  his  lips,  "are  3'ou,  too,  so  old  and  so 
ivise,  like  the  j-oung  men  at  Harvard,  as  to  have  no  foolish  en- 
thusiasm to  throw  away  upon  the  heroes  of  the  Polytechnic  School?  " 
"  Sir,"  answered  Hillard,  "  you  seem  to  me  to  be  the  onlv  ^oung  man 
I  know."  "  Always  young  for  libert}-,  I  trust,"  replied  Dr.  Chan- 
ning,  with  a  bright  smile,  and  a  ringing  tone,  as  he  pressed  him 
warmly  by  the  hand. 

Dr.  Channing's  sermons,  at  this  period,  were  strongly  tinged, 
through  their  whole  course  of  thought,  with  fresh  hopes  for  the  ele- 
vation of  the  people.  He  sought  to  teach  his  hearers  how  to 
"  honor  all  men,"^  and  to  rouse  them  to  a  deeper  interest  in  man 
as  man.  People  complained  of  the  present  tameness  of  life,  he 
taught,  because  they  were  indolent  and  worldly  ;  but  now,  as  ever, 
existence  was  rich  with  romantic  interest,  and  heroes  might  to-day, 
as  in  past  ages,  renovate  their  race  by  embodying  great  principles 
in  great  actions.  The  age  of  chivahy  might  reappear  in  a  far  sub- 
limer  and  purer  form,  and  make  these  daj-s  splendid  by  a  manifes- 
tation of  loyalty,  courage,  energy,  self-sacrifice,  in  industry',  trade, 
and  social  intercourse.  In  a  word,  he  seized  the  occasion  to  bring 
home  to  his  fellow-men  the  possibility  of  conforming  internal  legis- 
lation, foreign  politics,  and  all  human  relations  to  the  heavenly- 
model  of  Christian  brotherhood. 

Extracts  from  letters  will  indicate  the  just  and  liberal  S3'mpathy 
with  which  he  watched  the  progress  of  the  Continental  nations  of 
Europe, 

"  Boston,  September  22,  1830.  I  am  ver}' much  interested  b}^  the 
news  from  France.  With  man}',  man}'  fears,  I  have  more  hopes, 
it  seems  to  me,  than  an3'bod3^" 

^'-August  1,  1831.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  the  Poles 
have  been  unsuccessful  in  a  battle  with  the  Russians.  Perhaps  the 
right  side  will  not  prevail  now,  but  it  will  b3'  and  b3-.     We  must 

1  Works,  Vol.  II.  pp.  299-314.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  96-116. 


602  POLITICS. 

never  despair.     I  am  waiting  with  great  solicitude  for  tlie  next 
news." 

1832.     "I  enclose some  money  for  the  Poles.     I  grieve 

that  I  can  do  no  more  at  present.     My  heart  aches  for  these  suffer- 
ing patriots.     We  will  try  to  aid  them  more  bj-  and  b}'." 

"  Boston,  December  8,  1832.^  In  regard  to  Poland,  our  distance 
from  her,  and  our  inability  to  render  her  any  physical  aid,  have 
checked  our  sympathies.  We  have,  however,  one  mode  of  aiding 
her,  if  we  understood  and  would  use  it.  The  public  opinion  of 
nations  is  growing  more  and  more  powerful,  and  a  general  expres- 
sion of  honor  from  the  civilized  and  Christian  world  would  be  heard 
and  respected  even  at  St.  Petersburg.  Is  not  the  time  coming  when 
governments  will  solemnl3-  protest  against  cruelt}'  and  oppression, 
wherever  practised,  and  will  feel  themselves  debtors  to  the  cause 
of  humanity  as  truly  as  individuals  ?  " 

'■'■April  22,  1837.^  Your  observations  on  society  in  German}- 
satisfied  me  that  the  good  work  of  improvement  is  going  on.  I 
should  infer  that  you  had  found  persons  of  rank  more  alive  to  their 
responsibilities,  more  disposed  to  sympathize  with  their  inferiors, 
than  I  have  imagined.  This  I  should  rejoice  in,  even  if  it  opposed 
my  republican  theories  ;  but  it  does  not.  I  cannot  doubt  that 
despotic  institutions  have  been  \qyj  much  mitigated  and  unproved 
by  the  existence  of  more  liberal  ones,  just  as  Protestantism  has 
reformed  Catholicism.  Nor  do  I  believe  that  absolute  princes  and 
nobles  are  doing  better  from  calculation  merely,  —  from  the  desire 
of  securing  their  power  by  showing  it  to  be  beneficial.  This,  no 
doubt,  has  its  influence  ;  but  from  better  principles  the}'  desire  also 
to  introduce  into  their  own  domains  the  improvements  which  are 
springing  up  elsewhere.  It  is  one  good  fruit  of  the  present  free 
communication  among  nations,  that  nothing  good  can  be  shut  up. 
I  shall  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  there  is  even  more  virtue  and 
happiness  in  some  parts  of  Europe  than  here 

"  Your  letter  delighted  me  b}'  the  accounts  you  gave  me  of  the 
condition  of  the  lowest  class  in  some  parts  of  German}',  and  of  the 
results  of  efforts  for  juvenile  reformation.  I  beg  you  to  keep  these 
objects  steadily  in  view.  Your  work  is  to  serve  your  country,  by 
spreading  among  us  a  knowledge  of  what  is  done  for  the  elevation 
of  men  elsewhere.  The  ignorance  here  on  such  matters  is  wonder- 
ful, and  confined  to  no  class  ;  there  are  philanthropic  spirits  pre- 
pared to  carry  out  any  great  ideas." 

1  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Iloscoe.  -  To  George  Ticknor,  Esq. 


THE   GERMAN  CHARACTER.  603 

^'•September  10,  1841.^  I  have  followed  one  rule  in  life,  —  to 
speak  for  1113  self,  to  avoid  identif^'ing  myself  with  others,  to  take 
on  myself  the  responsibility  of  my  own  views   alone.     Shall  I, 

by  publishing  in  the  ,  be   considered  as  fighting  under  any 

standard  but  my  own?  Unless  the  individual  be  made  exclusively 
responsible,  I  cannot,  indeed,  think  of  writing  ;  for  I  can  sa}-  noth- 
ing on  political  subjects  without  showing  ni}'  republican  heart.  I 
have  of  course  thouglit  much  of  the  French  Revolution.  I  look  at 
it,  I  will  not  say  in  peculiar  lights,  but  in  a  ditfcrent  Avay  from  the 
common  one,  and  I  think  I  should  like  to  give  in  an  article  some 
juster  views  of  it.  In  connection  with  this  subject,  my  ethical, 
religious,  —  not  sectarian,  —  as  well  as  political  views,  would  come 
out.  I  can  do  nothing  unless  I  am  free,  —  unless  I  can  sa}'  what  I 
think  and  feel  in  the  language  in  which  truth  naturally  clothes  itself 
in  my  mmd.  The  article,  then,  if  I  write  it,  will  aim  at  no  con- 
cealment, will  not  affect  the  style  of  a  different  country,  but  will  be 
a  simple,  frank  utterance  to  a  free  people  of  what  a  distant  freeman 
thinks  on  the  most  pregnant,  solemn  portion  of  history'. 

"  I  wish  to  give  the  impressions  of  a  man  who  has  lived  through 
the  Revohition^  and  to  show  how  far  our  views  and  hopes  of  society 
ought  to  be  modified  by  it.  The  enemies  of  reform  use  it  as  their 
chief  weapon,  and  I  think  wrongfull}'.  In  pursuing  the  subject,  I 
ma}'  find  myself  in  an  error,  and  shall,  I  trust,  cheerfuU}'  accept 
tlie  truth.  No  theory  will  blind  me  to  the  atrocities  of  the  Revolu- 
tion." 

"  March  1,  1842.^  I  beg  you  to  continue  3'our  sketches  of  Ger- 
man character.  I  have  much  love  for  this  people,  without  under- 
standing them  as  well  as  I  wish.  I  think  of  them  as  more  genial, 
kindh',  unconscious,  single-hearted,  and  confiding,  than  we  are. 
The  grandest  principle  of  our  nature,  the  sense  of  the  infinite, 
seems  to  be  more  developed  in  them,  and  their  writings  express  a.\ 
deeper  consciousness,  a  keener  perception  of  the  unity  of  the  uni- 
verse. We  in  this  country,  perhaps,  see  the  best  of  them,  that  is, 
we  see  men  who  have  been  obliged  to  leave  their  native  land  for 
their  devotion  to  freedom  and  impatience  of  wrong.  In  these  we 
see  notliing  of  what  is  thought  to  be  the  defect  of  their  country  ;  I 
mean,  want  of  decision,  of  energ}',  of  will,  the  energy  which  realizes 
one's  speculations  and  convictions  as  to  the  right,  true,  and  good. 
Dr.  FoUen  was  distinguished  b^^  the  heroic  luill.  It  is  not  easy  to 
reconcile  all  we  hear  about  the  Germans.  Most  accounts  make 
them  more  sensual  than  we  are,  and  mournfully  defective  in  purity. 

1  To  the  Rev.  James  Martineau.  ^  To  George  Combe,  Esq. 


604  POLITICS. 

I  hope  3'ou  will  continue  j'our  inquiries  as  to  the  last  particular. 
Licentiousness  seems  to  be  the  great  stain  on  our  civilization,  and 
there  can  be  nothing  worse." 

Looking  upon  Christendom  as  a  growing  whole,  where  the  vital- 
it}'  of  ever}-  part  reacts  upon  ever}-  other,  and  longing  for  tlie  era 
of  freedom  and  order  made  one  by  universal  justice  to  all  human 
interests  and  to  every  individual,  Dr.  Channing  was  anxious  that 
the  United  States  should  work  out  thoroughly  the  social  problem 
assigned  to  her,  and  thus  aid  her  sister  nations  upward  to  more 
friendly  and  honorable  institutions.  His  thoughts  in  regard  to  the 
reciprocal  influence  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New  are  thus  ex- 
pressed. 

"  October^  1839.^  You  speak  in  your  last  of  the  increased  con- 
nection between  Europe  and  America.  The  great  question  I  ask 
myself  is.  Which  of  the  two  continents  will  exert  the  greatest  influ- 
ence on  the  other?  I  suppose,  at  first,  there  will  be  an  increase  of 
the  aristocratic  spirit  and  feeling  in  our  cities,  which  are  already 
too  much  disposed  to  sympathize  with  the  exclusives  abroad.  Our 
literature,  too,  in  its  state  of  childhood,  may  for  a  time  be  more 
dependent  on  foreign  literature.  The  natural  development  of  our 
institutions  and  national  character  will  be  more  interfered  with. 
Spiritual  objects  will,  for  a  time,  be  more  lost  sight  of.  But  I  trust 
freedom  is  a  mightier  and  more  contagious  principle  than  the  oppo- 
site, and  that,  in  the  long  run,  its  iufluence  will  be  more  felt.  The 
present  stage  of  civilization  is  a  necessary  one,  and  will  follow  its 
own  course  ;  but  the  ver}^  fact  of  its  necessity  gives  me  hope.  I 
wish,  indeed,  to  see  some  nobler  aims,  a  higher  direction  of  this 
newly  developed  activity.  But  the  child  grows  strong  in  mind  as 
well  as  body  by  acting  on  matter  and  seeking  physical  good,  and 
the  race  may  need  the  same  discipline.  We  must  try,  that  the  Old 
World  may  hear  some  generous,  inspiring  tones  from  the  New." 

Enthusiastic  at  once  and  patient,  eager  for  progress,  yet  rev- 
erencing existing  good,  liberal  in  sympathy  and  cheering  words  to 
every  method  of  reform,  buoyant  in  hope  amid  all  vicissitudes, 
fearing  only  the  crippling  influence  of  fear,  trusting  Providence 
perfectly.  Dr.  Channing  looked  steadily  forward  to  the  brightening 
future.  The  following  letters  will  show  how  truly  he  described 
himself  as  "  always  young  for  liberty." 

"  Juhj  28,  1839.2  ^ly  ^^itij  i,-^  ^ijg  progress  of  ti-uth,  humanity, 
and  piet}-  is  in  no  degree  shaken ;  but  the  state  of  the  world  joins 

1  To  Dr.  Charles  Follen.  2  To  the  Rev.  Henry  Channing. 


REFORM  AND  CONSERVATISM.  605 

with  all  history  in  showing  me  that  the  great  designs  of  Providence 
unfold  slowly,  —  that  is,  slowly  to  us,  creatures  of  a  day,  —  and 
that  another,  perhaps  ver}'  distant,  age  is  to  witness  that  triumph 
of  the  spirit  of  Christianity  which  we  expect.  We  all  see  that  civil 
libert}'  has  not  produced  that  sudden  melioration  and  exaltation  of 
human  nature  which  was  confidently  hoped  ;  nor  has  religious  lib- 
erty borne  all  the  fruits  we  hoped.  Still,  a  good  work  is  going  on. 
Slavery  and  bigotr}'  and  worldliness  will  not  reign  forever." 

^^ Newport^  October  5,  1840.^  I  am  glad  when  our  good  and  wise 
men  go  abroad,  as  they  must  do  something  to  bring  on  that  blessed 
da}'  when  the  friends  of  humanity  and  religion  in  all  countries, 
forgetting  all  inferior  distinctions,  will  unite  in  the  work  of  recover- 
ing the  world  from  error,  misery,  and  sin." 

'•'•Boston^  October  24,  1840.^  Mr.  Robertson  gave  a  noble  char- 
acter to  the  Westminster.  What  gratified  me  particularly  in  that 
work  was  its  enlarged,  candid,  liberal  tone  of  thought.  It  was  just 
to  conservatism,  just  to  the  past,  —  rare  merits  among  us  liberals. 
Perhaps  we  have  been  as  bigoted  as  our  opponents  ;  nor  is  it  to  be 
wondered  at.  The  terrible  abuses  of  the  past,  contrasted  with  the 
bright  hues  which  the  imagination  throws  over  the  future,  have 
naturally  enough  put  us  out  of  patience.  But  our  faith  in  human 
nature  should  teach  us  that  it  cannot  have  existed  so  many  ages 
without  putting  forth  much  that  is  glorious  and  worthy  of  grateful 
commemoration,  and  the  law  of  progress  teaches  us  that  the  seeds 
of  something  better  are  to  be  looked  for  in  the  past.  I  confess  I 
need  these  lessons  myself.  I  am  so  accustomed  to  measure  what 
has  been,  and  is,  by  the  idea  of  the  good,  the  perfect,  which  Chris- 
tianity gives  me,  that  a  deep  discontent  gets  possession  of  me,  and 
I  find  no  peace  but  in  flying  to  brighter  coming  ages.  I  ought  to 
be  more  just,  and  some  articles  in  the  Westminster  have  helped 
me  in  this  particular.  I  do  not  mean  that  this  is  its  only  merit ; 
but  in  this  way  it  has  done  much  for  the  liberal  cause  ;  for  nothing 
serves  a  cause  more  than  to  give  a  large  wisdom  to  its  advocates. 

' '  I  desire  much  that  there  should  be  a  powerful  work  among 
you,  devoted  to  liberal  principles.  Are  they  not  to  pass  through  a 
severe  trial?  Are  they  not  suffering  the  natural  consequences  of 
having  promised  much  more  than  they  have  performed  ?  Are  they 
not  suffering  from  the  follies  and  vices  of  their  professed  friends? 
Is  not  conservatism  more  distrustful?  Is  there  not  a  point  at 
which  commerce  ceases  to  liberalize,  and  becomes  a  pillar  of  aris- 
tocracy ?     Is  not  the  worldliness  of  this  commercial  age  altogether 

1  To  Francis  Wayland,  D.  D.  ^  Ho  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


606  POLITICS. 

irreconcilable  with  religious  inquiry,  and  a  thirst  for  higher  truth? 
And  are  there  no  signs  of  a  wider  prevalence  of  the  principle  of 
authority?  ....  The  conclusion  is,  that  nothing  can  be  done  but 
by  spreading  large  views,  great  truths, — by  waking  up  in  men 
some  consciousness  of  what  they  were  made  for,  and  of  the  design 
of  their  union  in  societ}'.  How  to  lift  their  heads  above  the  mist 
they  now  live  in,  is  the  question.  Much  may  be  done  by  a  trul}^ 
good   review.      Amidst   all   apparent  reactions,   tliere  is   decided 

progress I  wish  I  could  promise  something,  but  I  am  tr}'- 

ing  to  give  m^'self  to  the  work  for  which  I  have  been  living  all  m}^ 
life.  Whether  I  shall  do  an3-thing  I  know  not,  for  all  efforts  ex- 
haust me  ;  but  I  must  cease  from  spending  my  strength  in  occa- 
sional labors.  There  are,  however,  one  or  two  topics  which  I  have 
long  wanted  to  discuss.  One  is,  the  position  of  the  present  age, 
what  place  it  holds  in  the  world's  histor}-,  what  are  its  relations  to 
the  past  and  future,  its  work,  its  prospects.  In  other  words,  I 
would  help  the  age  to  understand  itself." 

'''"September  26,  1841.^  I  suppose  I  should  pass  for  a  wiser  man, 
if  I  hoped  less  on  most  subjects.  Wisdom  is  thought  to  be  fear- 
ful, —  an  old  woman  with  wrinkled,  anxious  brow.  But  under  an 
empire  of  infinite  goodness,  it  seems  as  rational  to  trust  the  signs 
of  good  as  those  of  evil.  I  look  more  and  more  at  the  great  laws 
of  our  own  nature  and  of  universal  nature,  and  I  am  sure  these  are 
working  for  glorious  results.  The  present  dark  appearances  may 
be  traced  very  much  to  the  increased  activity  of  the  human  mind. 
Men  see,  think,  inquire,  want,  claim,  and  therefore  murmur  more. 
They  understand  more  their  rights  and  wrongs,  and  are  enlightened 
enough  to  trace  to  bad  institutions  what  the}'  used  to  refer  to  fixed 
laws  of  nature.  In  their  greater  activity,  they  run  against  one 
another.  In  such  a  state  of  things  there  must  be  much  partial 
development,  much  half-truth,  much  conflict  of  the  old  and  the 
new.  But  I  am  very  slow  to  believe  that  the  growth  of  men's 
powers  is  an  evil,  that  they  are  to  suffer  ultimately  from  looking 
farther  into  things,  from  comprehending  more  what  is  due  to  them, 
from  becoming  more  active  and  efficient." 

'■'■August  10,  1842.  Happily,  the  outward  striking  events  which 
alarm  us  are  of  little  importance,  comi)ared  with  the  silent  changes 
which  are  going  on  in  society,  in  its  modes  of  thought,  of  industry, 
of  education,  of  intercourse,  —  changes  which  often  escape  our 
observation,  but  which  determine  the  coming  ages.  How  little  we 
understand  our  own  times  or  their  tendencies  !  My  ignorance  be- 
comes hope  under  the  perfect  government  of  God." 

1  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


DR.  TUCKERMAN  AND  MR.  PHILLIPS.  607 


Chapter  VI. —FRIENDS. 

Friendship  reveals  its  perfect  form,  and  puts  forth  its  richest 
bloom  and  fruit,  only  where  universal  philanthropy  and  cordial 
private  attachments  blend  in  one  person.  This  rare  union  was 
beautifully  manifested  in  Dr.  Channing.  We  have  seen  how  diffu- 
sive was  his  humanity,  and  with  what  unmeasured  sympathy  he 
joined  hands  in  the  wide  circle  of  mankind,  interlinked  the  earth 
round  through  the  ages.  We  are  now  to  see  the  truth  and  tenderness 
of  his  affection  in  intimate  relations.  To  a  degree  which  is  uncom- 
mon in  days  so  anxious,  restless,  and  fluent  as  our  own,  he  kept 
firm  and  fresh  the  friendships  of  his  3'outh  and  early  manhood. 

Dr.  Tuckerman  was  once  asked  whether  he  knew  Dr.  Channing. 
"Know  him!"  he  replied;  "he,  Mr.  Phillips,  and  I  are  like 
three  spirits  in  one."  And  each  of  the  friends  referred  to  would 
have  described,  in  equally  strong  terras,  the  nearness  of  their  com- 
munion. Classmates  in  college,  and  in  the  opening  years  of  mature 
life  settled  in  one  neighborhood,  attraction  and  accident  had  most 
closely  intertwined  their  thoughts,  feelings,  and  actions.  In  their 
characters,  pursuits,  conditions,  there  was  just  that  proportion  of 
affinity  and  contrast  which  produces  full  accord.  Of  his  cordial 
reverence  for  each  of  those  chosen  companions,  Dr.  Channing  has 
fortunately  left  memorials  which  will  unite  their  names  and  images 
indissolubly.^  But  this  biography  would  be  imperfect  without 
bearing  on  its  pages  some  briglit  token  of  the  relation  which  did  so 
much  to  conth'm  and  fulfil  their  varied  virtues. 

Of  Mr.  PhiUips,  Dr.  Channing  once  wrote  to  an  acquaintance  : 
"He  is  one  of  the  intuitive  men,  whom  I  take  delight  in  much 
more  than  in  the  merely  logical.  In  truth,  he  is  a  remarkable 
man,  an  earnest  lover  of  his  fellow-creatures,  and  possessed  with 
an  invincible  trust  in  their  progress,  an  enlightened  and  fervent 
friend  of  liberty,  undiscouraged  by  the  dark  omens  which  are  the 
trials  of  human  faith,  and  deeply  interested  in  whatever  affects  the 
rights  and  improvement  of  the  great  body  of  the  people.  That  noble 
intellect  was  made  for  a  world  of  light,  that  noble  heart  for  a  society 
of  truth  and  honor,  in  which  it  might  expand  joyfully  and  freely." 

To  Dr.  Tuckerman,  Dr.  Channing  thus  expresses  his  warm 
affection:  "  Your  friendship  is  among  my  greatest  blessings,  —  I 
was  about  to  say  earthly  blessings ;  but  Christian  friendship  is  of 
heaven." 

1  Works,  Vol.  V.  pp.  101,  102;  Vol.  VI.  pp.  93-137.  One  Volume  Edition, 
pp.818,  819;  678-599. 


608  FRIENDS. 

The  hearts,  minds,  homes,  of  these  three  friends,  were  freely  open 
to  one  another ;  they  were,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  words,  each 
other's  father-confessors  ;  their  spiritual  wealth  was  in  common,  — 
the^'  were  truly  one. 

To  this  trio  was  added,  in  later  3'ears,  Charles  Follen,  —  dear  to 
each,  but  bound  to  Dr.  Channing  by  ties  of  peculiar  nearness.  Of 
this  honored  man,  also,  his  friend  has  left  an  imperishable  monu- 
ment.-^ But  a  record  of  his  regard  should  appear  here.  In  a  letter 
to  Dr.  Follen,  he  wrote  :  — 

"  There  are  few  with  whom  I  feel  myself  so  strongly  united,  and 
the  years  are  fast  flying  in  which  I  can  enjoy  such  friendships  on 
earth.  But  we  cannot  dispose  of  ourselves  here.  We  will  cherish 
unity  of  spirit ;  and  this  will  secure  a  meeting  at  last." 

And  immediatel}'  after  Dr.  Follen's  death,  he  thus  manifested  the 
sense  of  his  own  loss  :  — 

"  February  1,  1841.  My  sensibilities  have  been  drawn  on  a  good 
deal  of  late.  You  have  heard  of  the  death  of ,  an  almost  over- 
whelming blow  to  us  all,  which  I  was  summoned  to  mitigate  by 
sympathy  and  spiritual  counsels.  Then  came  the  burning  of  the 
Lexington ;  and  that  called  me  to  weep,  not  for  others  only,  but 
for  myself.  The  loss  of  Dr.  Follen  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  greatest 
bereavements  of  my  life.  In  his  case,  I  had  found  tluit  spiritual 
ties  may  be  as  strong  as  those  of  nature.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
men  who  won  my  heart  and  confidence  at  first.  I  saw  almost  intui- 
tively that  he  was  a  true  man,  —  that  he  had  an  unconquerable 
force  of  soul  joined  with  the  sweetest  affections,  — that  he  was  not 
the  slave  of  opinions  or  circumstances,  but  that  he  obeyed  freely  a 
divine  law  in  his  own  soul.     He  has  done  me  good." 

Finall}^  after  reading  the  beautiful  life,  in  which,  with  such 
transparent  truth  and  depth  and  delicacy  of  natural  feeling, 
the  magnanimous  character  of  Charles  Follen  is  revealed,  Dr. 
Channing  paid  this  tribute  of  unreserved  admiration  to  his 
memory :  — 

"  Germmitown,  May  11,  1842. ^  I  received  your  letter,  by  a  sin- 
gular coincidence,  just  as  I  was  finishing  the  reading  of  your  biog- 
raphy  It  brings  before  me,  in  the  colors  of  truth  and  nature, 

the  friend  whom  I  honored  and  loved  above  most  friends.  It  gives 
to  the  world  one  bright  proof  more  of  the  reality,  beauty,  and 
grandeur  of  disinterested  vutue.     Such  sweetness  and  such  noble- 

1  Works,  Vol.  v.,  pp.  248-259.     One  Volume  Edition,  pp.  613-618. 

2  To  Mrs.  Charles  Follen, 


ENLARGING   CIRCLE  OF  FRIENDS.  609 

ness   have   seldom   been  joined Such  a   history,   indeed, 

awakens  self-reproach.  I  feel  myself  in  the  presence  of  supreme 
virtue.  I  feel  how  little  I  have  sacrificed,  in  comparison,  to  truth, 
freedom,  the  cause  of  humanity.  But  I  rejoice  that  humanity  has 
fouud  more  fervent  friends,  and  the}'  speak  to  me  from  a  better 
world,  I  hope  not  in  vain." 

With  numerous  other  friends  among  his  peers  in  age,  and  among 
those  younger  as  well  as  older  than  himself,  Dr.  Channing  was 
united  by  cordial  confidence.  Absorbed  in  subjects  of  profound 
interest,  both  speculative  and  practical,  naturally  diflident,  refined 
even  to  fastidiousness  in  his  tastes,  quickl}-  appreciatiug  all  forms 
of  character,  and  keenly  sensitive  to  the  morbid  feeliugs  by  which 
untuned  spirits  communicate  their  discord  even  to  one  who  has 
attained  to  unit}',  he  was  yet  so  tender,  generous,  tolerant,  thought- 
ful, conscieutious,  and  full  of  respect  and  hope,  that,  though  by  no 
means  social,  he  yet  found  continually  enlarging  round  him  the  cir- 
cle of  those  to  whom  he  was  closely-  knit  by  honor,  mutual  trust,  and 
warm  afli'ection.  Many  whom  his  reserve  at  first  repelled  became 
the  most  devotedly  attached  to  him,  as  acquaintance  revealed  to 
their  observation  his  traits  of  justice,  magnanimity,  and  unwavering 
disiuterestedness.  Especially  with  women  of  high  and  eularged 
tempers,  whose  minds  were  trained  by  study  and  experience,  did  he 
joyfully  feel  himself  at  home.  To  them  he  could  freely  unveil  his 
native  enthusiasm,  his  fine  perceptions  of  order  and  fitness,  his  love 
of  beauty  in  nature  and  art,  his  romantic  longings  for  a  pure-toned 
society,  his  hopes  of  humanity  made  glorious  by  heavenly  virtue. 
And  his  profound  reverence  for  woman's  nature  and  function  gave 
that  charm  of  unaffected  courtesy  to  his  manner,  look,  and  tone, 
which  won  them  liberally  to  exchange  their  cherished  thoughts,  as 
with  an  equal.  It  was  in  these  friendships  with  women,  therefore, 
that  many  of  his  brightest  hours  were  passed.  Full  extracts  from 
his  correspondence  will  best  show  the  richness  of  his  sympathies. 
They  may  be  thus  suitably  introduced. 

"  I  send  a  line,  — only  a  line,  —  that  aou  may  have  a  visible  token 
of  remembrance.  Our  frail  nature,  I  know,  likes  this  ;  and  yet  3-011 
need  it  not.  You  mingle  much  with  our  thoughts,  and  still  more, 
wiien  not  thought  of,  you  are  with  us.  Do  you  not  know  what  it  is 
to  have  a  kind  of  latent  remembrance  of  friends,  even  when  they  are 
not  directly  present  to  the  mind?  We  have  a  secret  consciousness 
of  their  existence,  which  makes  the  world  a  brighter  spot  to  us.  A 
light  comes  from  them,  as  from  the  sun,  when  other  things  are 
thought  of." 

39 


610  FRIENDS. 

"  Boston^  July  7,  1824.^  Were  not  the  associations  so  serious, 
the  vanity  of  your  sex  might  be  gratified  113-  thinking  that  the  actual 
cleit}'  of  a  large  part  of  the  Catholic  world  is  a  woman,  '  the  blessed 
Marj^'  and  that  among  Protestants  no  human  being  receives  a  hom- 
age so  nearly  apjDroaching  worship  as  Mother  Anne  from  the  Shak- 
ers. Are  these  facts  to  be  explained  by  the  desire  which  our  weak, 
suffering  nature  has  for  a  parental  deity,  and  by  the  more  intense, 
lovely,  and  touching  exhibition  of  parental  love  in  woman  than  in 
man  ? " 

'''•July  19,  1824.  I  suppose  3'ou  have  heard  that  has  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  that  great  comfort  of  life,  a  good  house,  sufficiently 
spacious,  and  pleasantly'  situated.  I  alwa3-s  think  that  a  woman 
looks  on  such  a  house  with  something  of  the  feeling  with  which 
a  sovereign  survey's  his  empire,  and  not  without  some  reason,  for 
within  that  little  province,  home,  her  power  is  as  absolute,  and  its 
order  and  happiness  are  even  more  dependent  on  her  wisdom  and 
virtue.  A  house  is  a  mirror  of  a  woman's  mind,  and  it  is  natural 
that  she  should  desire  one  in  which  the  presiding  genius  may  be  seen 
to  some  advantage." 

''Boston,  October  28,  1825. ^  May  it  not  be  one  of  the  recom- 
penses and  joys  of  good  men  after  death,  to  know  the  influence  of 
their  characters  and  lives  on  those  whom  they  left  behind  ?  And  if 
so,  I  am  sure  the  benevolent  spirit,  of  whicli  you  have  given  us  an 
affecting  record,  must  derive  from  this  world  a  happiness  not  un- 
worthy of  heaven.  It  is  rare  to  meet  with  the  union  of  so  much 
sensibility  with  such  innocence  and  freedom  from  all  excess,  as  in 
Mr.  Goodier.  He  belonged  to  that  small  class  which  we  call  fault- 
less ;  and  his  blamelessness  was  not  owing  to  a  want  of  ardor  or 
a  natural  moderation  of  desire  which  supplied  the  place  of  self- 
government.  There  is  a  character  of  truth  and  reaHty  in  his 
expressions  of  religious  feeling,  of  which  we  feel  the  need  in  those 
forced  and  feverish  '  experiences'  which  form  the  staple  of  religious 
biography." 

''Boston,  November  30,  1828.^  I  had  heard,  before  receiving 
your  letter,  of  your  f;ither's  indisposition,  and  have  received  frequent 
accounts  of  his  state  of  health.  Do  assure  him  of  my  atfcctionate 
and  respectful  remembrances.  I  can  well  understand  the  greatness 
of  his  literary  privations.  But  philanthropy  sustained  by  religion 
is  a  more  durable  and  a  nobler  excitement  than  literature,  and  fur- 
nishes the  mind  and  heart  with  more  unfailing  objects  of  interest ; 
and  I  know  that  your  father  has  this  spring  of  consolation  and  joy. 

1  To  the  Misses  Roscoe.  -'  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe. 


STRENGTH  AMIDST   SUFFERING.  "  611 

He  lias  not,  indeed,  succeeded  in  some  plans  of  reform  veiy  dear  to 
him.  But  his  labors  will  not  be  lost.  It  is  no  small  thing  to  set 
minds  to  work  on  great  subjects  ;  and  of  one  thing  I  am  more  and 
more  satisfied,  that  liberal  and  philanthropic  principles  are  not 
advancing  less  surely  because  they  make  their  wa}'  slowl}-.  At 
least,  I  see  them  often  suffering  by  men's  acting  upon  them  precipi- 
tately, or  without  a  sufficient  comprehension  of  their  nature  and 
bearings." 

"  September  9,  1829.^  I  was  very  much  gratified  by  3'our  account 
of  3'our  father's  pursuits,  and  of  the  serenity  of  his  mind  under  so 
much  infirmity  of  bod^'.  What  a  delightful  and  encouraging  exam- 
ple of  the  power  of  moral  and  intellectual  culture,  of  piet}',  philan- 
throp3',  and  of  sensibility  to  the  good  and  beautiful,  over  wliat  are 
called  the  evils  of  life  !  I  rejoice  with  him  in  the  recent  triumphs 
of  tolerant  and  liberal  principles.  Assure  him  of  mj^  affectionate 
respect." 

'•'•  January  22,  1830.  The  office  to  which  your  letter  calls  me, 
of  ministering  to  a  mind  diseased,  is,  you  well  know,  one  of  the 
most  difficult,  because  physical  maladies  almost  alwa3-s  have  a  large 
share  ni  mental  ones,  and  because  inward  suffering  so  often  springs 
from  an  indi\idualit3',  a  peculiarit3'  of  mind,  which  another  cannot 
easil3'  comprehend.  I  think,  however,  that  tlie  desolateness,  the 
sinking  of  soul,  which  you  describe,  is  sufficiently  common  to  be  in 
some  sense  understood.  Shall  I  tell  3-ou  that  I  have  felt  it,  that  I 
have  walked  through  thicker  darkness,  that  I  have  known  what 
loneliness  of  heart  is?  I  sa3'  this  that  I  ma3'  not  be  thought  a 
stranger  to  the  hidden  woe  which  I  desire  to  assuage.  I  believe,  in 
this  desolation  which  you  so  aff'ectingl3'  reveal,  a  self-sustaining, 
self-resisting  power  must  spring  up  in  our  own  breasts.  No  foreign 
agency  can  do  for  us  what  we  need.  S3'mpath3',  tenderness,  unless 
singularly  wise,  may  only  debilitate  us.  An  energy  must  be  put 
forth  within.     We  must  rel3'  on  our  own  resources 

"  If  I  were  called  to  give  counsel  to  a  susceptible  and  highly 
gifted  woman,  wounded  in  her  tenderest  affection  and  read3-  to  de- 
spond, I  should  say.  Understand  and  honor  30urself.  Feel  that  you 
have  within  you  a  spirit  too  divine  ever  to  be  given  up  in  despair, 
or  to  be  sacrificed  to  an3'  earthl3'  disappointment.  Feel  how  unjust 
3'ou  are  to  yourself  in  suffering  any  human  being  to  arrest  in  its 
progress  such  a  mind  as  yours.  Remember  that  3'ou  were  made  to 
love  infinitely  and  to  love  forever,  and  let  no  ill-requited  afl^ection 
shut  up  this  unfathomed  fountain. 

1  To  Miss  Jane  E.  Roscoe. 


612  "  FRIENDS. 

"  It  ma}-  be  3'our  lot  to  suffer  through  your  whole  present  behig ; 
but  be  conscientiously  faithful  to  the  duties  of  a  suffering  state,  and 
you  will  every  moment  strengthen  the  ties  which  bind  you  to  the 
Infinite  Parent,  to  his  glorious  spiritual  family,  and  will  hasten  the 
period  in  which  purer  love,  happier  friendship,  than  we  can  know 
here  will  be  yours.  I  would  not  repress  your  desire  of  death.  I 
know  no  privilege  so  great  as  that  of  dying  ;  but  it  is  a  privilege  to 
those  in  whom  evil  is  more  and  more  sulidued,  and  who  go  more 
and  more  beyond  themselves.  This  disinterested,  self-sacrificing 
philanthropy  I  should  rejoice  to  awaken  in  you  and  in  myself,  a 
deeper  consciousness  of  our  own  spiritual  nature,  more  self-subsist- 
ence, a  trust  in  the  godlike  principle  within  us  which  forms  the  very 
essence  of  our  being,  and  in  the  infinite  love  of  God  to  this  ray  of 
Divinity  in  his  creatures.  Nothing  can  injure  us  but  unfaithfulness 
to  ourselves,  but  the  want  of  a  just  awe  of  our  own  minds.  Through 
the  want  of  this,  we  become  slaves  to  circumstances  and  to  fellow- 
beings.     In  cherishing  it,  I  find  m3'self  strong  and  free." 

"  St.  Croix,  March  12,   1831.^     Your  accounts  of are  the 

saddest  I  have  received.  I  feel  as  if  she  were  one  of  m}'  family. 
And  is  one  so  blameless,  so  disinterested,  so  useful,  so  lovely,  to  be 
taken  from  us?  I  do  hope  that  she  is  to  be  spared.  I  can  slowly 
give  up  the  excellent.  What  a  loss  she  will  be  !  It  is  a  great  hap- 
piness to  me  to  believe  that  I  have  contributed  something  to  the 
excellence  of  her  character.  She  had  a  conversation  with  me,  in 
which  she  was  solicitous  to  express  how  much  she  felt  herself  in- 
debted to  me  for  whatever  improvement  she  had  made,  and  espe- 
cially for  her  first  deep  impressions  of  religion.  I  doubt  not  her 
grateful  spirit  exaggerated  the  obligation  ;  but  to  have  done  any- 
thing to  fit  such  a  spirit  for  heaven  is  an  inexpressible  privilege. 
I  did  not  imagine,  till  she  told  me,  that  my  influence  had  been  so 
happy. 

"Ma}'  I  not  hope,  that,  in  other  cases,  I  have  done  unknown 
good?  This  is  one  of  the  consolations  of  the  Christian  minister, 
when  no  striking  visible  effects  follow  his  labors.  He  may  have 
comforted  sorrow  of  which  he  never  dreamed,  touched  strings  in 
the  heart  which  have  vibrated  unheard,  and  pierced  the  conscience 
with  salutary  but  unuttered  pangs.  In  truth,  all  the  friends  of  hu- 
manit}'  and  religion  are  probably  instruments  of  greater  good  than 
they  see,  and  the  rewards  of  a  future  world  ma}'  be  the  discovery  of 
a  beneficent  influence  which  they  exerted  without  suspecting  it." 

'■'•December  25,   1831.     May  I  here  be  allowed  to  refer  to  two 
1  To  Mrs.  C.  Codman. 


MISS  HANNAH  ADAMS.  613 

highly  vahied  and  honored  friends,  who  within  a  few  daj's  have 
been  taken  from  ns,  and  whose  characters  have  helped  to  confirm 
to  me  these  cheering  views  of  the  influence  of  Christ.  These  excel- 
lent women  bore  strongly  on  their  characters  the  impress  of  Jesus. 
The}'  became  what  they  were  under  the  influence  of  his  spirit  and 
virtue,  and  may  therefore  properh'  find  a  place  in  a  discourse  dedi- 
cated to  the  commemoration  of  his  birth. 

"The  name  of  Miss  Hannah  Adams  is  familiar  to  j'ou  all,  for 
her  literary  claims  have  been  recognized  abroad  as  well  as  at  home. 
She  worshipped  with  us  until  infirmity  obliged  her  to  deny  herself 
the  privilege  of  visiting  the  house  of  God,  and  considered  herself 
to  tlie  last  as  connected  with  this  congregation.  Her  heart  was 
early  touched  by  the  religion  of  Christ,  and  it  was  her  interest  in 
this  subject  which  guided  all  her  literary  labors.  Her  first  work 
w^as  '  A  View  or  History  of  Religions ' ;  and  in  conducting  the  diflS- 
cult  task  of  recording  the  variety'  of  opinions  and  denominations  to 
which  Christianity  has  given  birth,  she  showed  how  strongl}^  the 
spirit  of  its  great  Founder  had  taken  possession  of  her  mind.  In 
no  instance  has  she  breathed  the  slightest  scorn  or  unkindness 
towards  those  who  differed  from  her  most  widely,  nor  has  any  class 
of  Christians  complained  of  the  least  want  of  candor  and  upright- 
ness in  expounding  their  views. 

"  Her  character  was  marked  b}'  the  spirit  of  love.  It  was  this 
which  gave  to  her  friends  the  chief  interest  in  her  character.  Un- 
der the  power  of  this  principle,  she  looked  on  the  creation  of  God 
with  a  delight  almost  peculiar  to  herself.  I  have  never  heard  from 
human  lips  such  sincere,  unaffected,  overfloAving  joy  in  the  beauti- 
ful and  beneficent  works  of  God,  as  has  broken  from  hers.  This 
same  love  bound  her  by  strong,  indestructible  bonds  to  those  in 
whose  character  she  saw  tlie  proofs  of  true  goodness.  Her  admi- 
ration of  virtue  rose  to  enthusiasm.  She  had  been  distinguished  b}- 
the  kindness  and  friendsliip  of  one  whom  none  can  forget  that  ever 
saw  him,  —  the  late  Mr.  Buckminster,  —  and  the  tender,  reveren- 
tial feeling  with  which  she  clung  to  his  memor^^  was  a  delightful 
proof  of  the  constancy  of  human  affection.  I  believe  that  in  no 
breast,  beyond  his  immediate  relatives,  was  his  image  so  sacredly 
cherished  as  in  hers. 

"  She  was  too  sensible  even  to  kindness,  especiall}'  from  those 
whom  she  honored.  Her  gratitude  rushed  forth  as  an  overflowing 
stream,  and  could  often  find  no  utterance  but  in  tears.  The  friends 
who  visited  her  in  her  old  age,  and  amidst  her  infirmities,  especially 
her  youthful  friends,  seemed  to  her  ministering  angels ;  and  she 
would  speak  of  their  kindness  to  her  with  a  brightness  of  counte- 


614  FRIENDS. 

nance  not  unworthy  of  an  angel.  I  doubt  not  that  her  nature  was 
singularl}'  susceptible  ;  but  it  was  the  character  of  Christ  which 
brought  out  this  fine  nature,  and  which  aided  her,  in  narrow  cir- 
cumstances, with  poor  liealth,  with  an  irritable  constitution,  and  a 
diffidence  singularly  trembling  and  shrinking,  to  maintain  to  the 
last  hour  this  strength  of  love,  and  to  devote  herself  to  labors  so 
useful  to  mankind. 

"  I  pass  now  to  another  friend,  who  this  last  week  has  been  taken 
from  us ;  and,  though  I  am  not  accustomed  to  spealc  in  this  place 
of  m}"^  deceased  parishioners  who  have  lived  and  died  in  private 
walks,  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak  one  word  of  Mrs.  Catherine 
Codman.  When  I  look  round  in  this  congregation,  how  few  do  I 
see  of  those  among  whom  I  was  first  established  as  a  minister ! 
And  now  that  friend  is  gone  by  whom  for  so  man}^  years  my  labors 
have  been  cheered,  and  requited  by  an  aflfection  which  could  not 
have  been  surpassed.  She,  too,  bore  the  impress  of  her  Saviour. 
She,  too,  was  filled  with  his  spirit  of  love.  Her  benevolence  had 
no  bound.  Its  error  was,  that  it  was  prone  to  overflow  the  limits 
which  Providence  had  assigned.  To  the  sick,  suflTering,  and  poor, 
she  was  as  a  mother  and  friend.  Her  wealth  she  regarded  as  a 
trust  for  the  destitute,  her  life  was  a  ministry  of  kindness  and 
mercy. 

"■  But  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  view  of  her  character  was  the 
fulness  with  which  her  affection  and  love  flowed  forth  towards  all 
the  diversities  of  sect,  partj",  and  denomination  in  the  Christian 
world.  She  was  of  no  sect.  Her  personal  friends,  her  intimate 
friends,  were  found  among  all  denominations.  Goodness,  wher- 
ever and  in  whatever  form  it  was  manifested,  was  an  attraction  she 
could  not  resist,  and  much  of  the  happiness  of  her  life  was  found  in 
the  quick  and  strong  sympathy  with  the  spirit  and  virtue  of  Christ 
manifested  in  those  who  widely  difl'ered  on  the  disputable  points  of 
theolog}'.  Clouds  of  human  infirmity  ma}^  have  passed  over  her 
pure  and  benevolent  spirit,  but  they  could  dim  only  for  a  moment 
the  brightness  of  her  Christian  virtue.  That  was  an  enduring  light, 
and  I  trust  it  is  shining  now  in  its  true  home  with  unquenchable 
splendor." 

^'- Boston^  November  11,  1832.^  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  received  3-our 
letter  b^'  Dr.  Spurzheim  last  summer.  I  am  sony  that  I  must  send 
you  so  sad  a  reply.  Last  night  he  died.  The  event  can  hardly 
shock  3'ou  more  than  it  has  done  us.  His  death  has  spread  a  gen- 
eral sorrow.     Perhaps  it  is  to  be  ascribed  in  part  to  the  interest  he 

1  To  William  Rathbone,  Esq. 


DR.   SPURZHEIM.  615 

awakened  here.  The  kind  reception  which  he  and  his  lectures  met 
with  led  him  to  overtask  himself;  he  labored  when  he  ought  to 
have  kept  his  room,  and  when  at  last  he  was  confined,  he  unhappily 
chose  to  be  his  own  physician,  and  refused  to  apply  the  remedies 
which  his  disease  required.  His  disease  was  fever,  which  very 
soon  produced  wandering  of  mind.  It  must  be  consoling  to  his 
friends  to  know  that  he  received  ever}^  attention  and  enjoyed  every 
accommodation.  In  truth,  he  could  not  have  closed  his  days 
among  a  people  more  sensible  of  his  worth.  He  had  not  only 
secured  respect  as  a  man  of  science,  but  endeared  himself  by  his 
amiable  manners,  his  philanthropj',  and  singleness  of  heart.  The 
funeral  discourse  will  be  pronounced  by  his  countryman,  Dr.  Follen, 
and  the  religious  services  are  assigned  to  my  friend,  Dr.  Tuckerman, 
in  whom  Dr.  Spurzheim  took  great  pleasure. 

"  Unfortunately-,  I  saw  little  of  your  friend.  On  his  arrival,  I 
was  at  my  country  residence,  where  I  became  seriousl}'  ill.  On 
my  return  to  this  cit}',  four  weeks  ago,  I  had  an  interview  with  him 
as  soon  as  I  was  strong  enough  to  see  him,  and  before  I  was  able 
to  repeat  it  he  was  too  ill  to  visit  me.  The  good  man  was  taken 
away  in  the  midst  of  his  hopes.  His  success  among  us  had  led 
him  to  look  on  this  country  as  the  finest  field  for  his  labors,  and  he 
thought  of  devoting  several  years  to  the  diffusion  of  his  doctrines 
in  the  New  World.  When  I  speak  of  his  success,  I  do  not  mean 
that  he  made  many  converts,  but  he  found  in  many  a  disposition  to 
inquire  candidl}'  into  his  system,  whilst  very  many  professed  to 
receive  important  aid  and  instruction  from  his  analysis  and  views 
of  human  nature.  Our  consolation  under  his  loss  is,  that  the  world 
is  not  the  only  state  for  benevolent  exertion. 

"  Your  friend." 

^'■Boston^  January  7,  1834.     has  passed  through  the  school 

of  suffering,  and  his  piety  manifests  itself  in  nothing  more  than  in 
his  entire  submission  to  the  will  of  God.  He  has  helped  you  and 
your  husband,  I  trust,  to  look  up  to  that  Infinite  Being  as  your 
Father,  and  as  the  Father  of  your  dear  children.  Yes,  they  were, 
and,  still  more,  are,  his  children.  Your  love  to  them,  deep,  in- 
tense, as  it  was,  he  inspired.  It  came  to  you  from  the  Fountain 
of  all  love,  and  it  is  but  a  faint  image  of  the  unbounded  parental 
goodness  with  which  he  regarded  and  still  regards  j'our  children. 
How  much  stronger  must  his  interest  in  them  be  than  yours  !  Can 
the  creature's  love  approach  the  Creator's,  —  the  stream  equal  the 
inexhaustible  source  ?  He  gave  these  children  to  you,  in  kindness 
both  to  you  and  them,  and  in  the  same  kindness  he  has  taken  them 


616  FRIENDS. 

away.  They  were  born  into  this  world  to  accomphsh  a  great  jDiir- 
pose,  the  unfolding  of  an  immortal  nature  ;  the\^  are  born  into 
another  to  accomplish  it  more  fully.  The}-  have  not  lived  in  vain, 
though  their  lives  were  so  short,  nor  is  the  care  you  have  spent  on 
them  lost.  The  faculties  which  you  helped  to  open  endure,  and 
will  endure  forever,  and  you  must  be  grateful  for  having  com- 
menced a  glorious  Avork  which  is  to  go  on  forever.  They  arc 
safe  in  the  arms  of  a  better  Parent.  Leave  them  there  with  holy 
trust. 

"Let  it  be  your  care  to  carry  on  in  yourself  the  work  which  is 
now  advancing  in  them.  They  are  making  progress ;  so  must 
you.  This  is  the  true  way  to  unite  yourself  to  them.  Their  best 
powers  and  affections  are  expanding,  as  you  believe,  under  the 
care  of  God.  Let  yours  expand  too,  for  you  are  the  object  of  the 
same  care.  You  are  to  join  them  again,  not  by  an  ineffectual 
sorrow,  but  by  a  sorrow  which  shall  soften  and  refine  the  heart, 
and  which  shall  seek  consolation  in  greater  faithfulness  to  God  and 
your  fellow-creatures.     I  would  that  I  could  comfort  you,  my  dear 

;  but  I  should  rejoice  still  more,  could  I  aid  you  in  making 

affliction  the  instrument  of  a  new  virtue,  of  a  firmer  faith  in  Christ, 
of  a  deeper  sympathy  with  your  fellow-creatures,  of  a  more  eflicient 
benevolence,  and  of  a  more  confiding  love  of  God.  I  pray  God 
that  you  and  your  husband  may  derive  precious  fruits  from  suffer- 
ing, —  that  you  maj-  enter  with  a  holier  resolution  on  the  warfare 
against  all  evil  in  your  hearts  and  lives,  — that  you  may  glow  with 
the  love  of  a  higher,  purer  virtue.  Our  deepest  misery  is  in  our- 
selves, in  our  unfaithfulness  to  the  inward  monitor  and  to  our 
Divine  Teacher ;  and  affliction  is  meant  to  reprove  and  purify. 
Let  it  do  its  work,  and  it  will  bind  us  to  the  departed  more  closely 
than  when  the}-  lived." 

'■'■Newport,  June  15,  1834.  I  write  yon  from  the  Island.  A  few 
warm  days  in  Boston  made  me  feel  that  I  should  be  better  here. 
The  heat  of  other  places  withers  me.  Here  it  is  blended  with 
sometliing  reviving.  I  am  alone.  Some  seasons  of  entire  seclu- 
sion I  think  do  us  good,  and  though  I  do  not  seek  them,  I  welcome 
them,  when  they  come,  as  aids  to  Christian  virtue. 

"  Solitude  here  naturally  brings  to  my  mind  the  changes  I  have 
passed  through  since  I  grew  up  on  this  island.     Yesterday  I  went 

into  town  to  see  ,  and  change  seemed  written  on  all  I   saw. 

The  old  inansion  where  we  used  to  meet  my  mother  Gibbs's  smile 
and  kindness  in  our  childhood,  and  which  the  family  parted  with 
last  year,  was  so  transformed,  that  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was 
the  same  house.     1  talked  with about  grandfather  and  mother. 


LIFE'S  CHxVNGES.  617 

What  lessons  of  frailty,  separation,  and  death !  These  thonghts, 
however,  produce  in  my  mind  no  lasting  depression.  I  feel  that  it 
is  only  the  outward,  the  material,  which  is  transitory,  and  that 
notliing  good,  lovely,  pure,  which  I  delighted  in,  has  perished. 

"  1  am  struck,  amidst  these  clianges,  with  the  continuance  of  the 
order  and  beauty  of  the  natural  world,  and  see  in  this  a  manifesta- 
tion of  the  immutableness  of  God,  and  a  pledge  of  the  duration  of 
that  principle  which  is  nobler  than  nature,  the  human  soul.  The 
island  is  now  to  me  what  it  was  half  a  century  ago,  only  more 
beautiful.  Years  have  only  strengthened  my  enjoyment  of  the 
universe,  and  of  this  dear  spot  in  the  boundless  creation  ;  and  this 
enjoyment  is  to  me  one  sign  that  I  was  made  to  be  an  everlasting 
inhabitant  of  the  universe.  Such  proofs  of  immortality  are  faint, 
indeed,  in  comparison  with  the  flood  of  light  shed  on  this  great 
trnth  by  Jesus  Christ.  Still,  I  delight  to  meet  traces  of  it  every- 
where, to  see  it  written  on  nature,  and  revealed  in  all  the  higher 
principles  of  the  soul.  This  thought  of  an  endless  being,  of  ever 
enlarging  knowledge  and  love,  of  never  ceasing  approach  to  God, 
of  continually  exte^nding  connections  with  his  works  and  with  the 
good  and  excellent,  —  how  should  it  inspire  and  exalt  us  !  I  wish 
I  could  fix  it  more  deeply  and  habitually  in  my  mind.  It  does 
not  interfere  with  our  most  common  occupations  and  pleasures  ; 
for,  to  a  reflecting  mind,  our  whole  being  — including  the  past, 
present,  and  future  —  has  a  unity  and  most  intimate  dependence  ; 
and  ever}'  right  use  of  our  powers,  no  matter  how  or  where,  is 
carrying  us  forward  to  our  perfection. 

"It  is  Sunday,  a  day  which  always  favors  such  thoughts  ;  but  in 
the  country,  wiiere  it  produces  more  than  the  usual  stillness  of 
rural  life,  and  in  my  loneliness,  you  will  not  wonder  that  my  mind 
rises  to  the  pure,  peaceful  mansions  which  were  brought  near  this 

day  by  the  resurrection  of  Christ.     There,  I  trust,  dear  L , 

we  shall  meet,  and  be  joined  to  the  good  who  have  gone  before 
us." 

''July,  1836.1  You  say  my  letters  have  not  pained  you  by 
praise.  To  me  it  requires  more  courage  to  praise  than  to  reprove. 
The  meanness  of  flattery  is  so  great,  that  I  am  anxious  to  avoid 
not  only  the  thing  itself,  but  its  appearance.  A  letter  of  compli- 
ment, which  I  feel  to  be  due,  is  to  me  the  most  dhficult  composi- 
tion. I  often  err  in  this  respect.  I  know  from  my  own  experience 
that  there  are  those  who  need  the  encouragement  of  praise.  There 
are  more  than  is  thouglit,  who  feel  the  burden  of  human  imperfec- 

1  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


618  FRIENDS. 

tion  too  sorel}',  who  receive  strength  from  approbation.  I  shrink 
from  saving  to  these  even  all  that  I  think.  Happ}'  thej',  who, 
from  just  confidence  in  right  action,  and  from  the  habit  of  carrjing 
out  their  convictions,  need  little  foreign  support ! 

"And  now,  m}'  friend,  must  I  sa}'  farewell?  Am  I  to  see  and 
hear  you  no  more?  This  I  will  not  believe.  If  the  steam  naviga- 
tion shall  be  established  across  the  Atlantic,  I  ma}'  one  day  see 
England,  and  I  shall  delight  to  renew  our  intercourse.  If  not,  we 
shall  be  joined,  I  hope,  in  spirit,  joined  in  devotion  to  the  same 
great  cause  of  humanit}',  joined  in  sympathy'  with  our  race, 
joined  in  the  uncompromising  association  of  the  great  truths 
by  which  men  are  to  be  made  free  and  regenerated,  now  and  for- 
ever. 

"May  the  best  of  Heaven's  blessings  descend  on  3'ou !  May 
your  as^jirations  after  truth  and  goodness  never  cease  to  be  more 
and  more  fulfilled  !  It  will  rejoice  me  to  learn  that  3'our  visit 
among  us  has  increased  3'our  resources  for  wise  and  loft}-  action  on 
other  minds. 

"When  3'ou  can  write  to  me  from  a  prompting  of  jour  own 
spirit,  do  write.  I  shall  be  happy  to  learn  that  I  have  not  faded 
from  your  memorj'  and  heart. 

"Once  more,  m}'  dear  friend,  farewell.  May  prosperous  winds 
carry  3'ou  to  30 ur  loved  home  ! 

"Your  sincere  friend." 

"/w/y  29,  1836.^  My  dear  Friend, —I  thought  I  had  spoken 
m3'  last  word  to  you  on  this  side  the  Atlantic  ;  but  I  have  this 
moment  received  your  letter,  and  must  write  a  line  of  acknowledg- 
ment. I  thank  you  for  this  expression  of  3'Our  heart.  Without 
the  least  tendency  to  distrust,  without  the  least  dejection  at  the 
idea  of  neglect,  with  entire  gratitude  for  my  lot,  I  still  feel  that  I 
have  not  the  power  which  so  man3'  others  have  of  awakening  love, 
except  in  a  very  narrow  circle.  I  knew  that  I  enjoyed  3-our 
esteem,  but  I  expected  to  fade  with  my  native  land,  not  from  3-our 
thoughts,  but  from  j-onr  heart.     Your  letter  satisfies  me  that  I 

shall  have  one  more  friend  in  England I  shall  not  feel  far 

from  you  ;  for  what  a  nearness  is  there  in  the  consciousness  of 
working  in  the  same  spirit !  and  then  how  near  is  our  common 
home  !  Deep  as  m3^  feeling  of  imperfection  is,  I  do  hope  to  meet 
the  good  in  our  Father's  house.  In  this  hope  let  us  work  with  him 
and  for  him,  and  for  his  children,  for  the  poor  and  miserable,  for 
the  outwardly  enslaved,  and  them  that  wear  heavier  chains  within. 

^  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


GRATITUDE  IN  BEREAVEMENT.  619 

If  it  should  ever  seem  to  me  that  I  can  aid  you  in  3'our  work,  be 
assured  I  will  write.     Farewell." 

'•'-January  23,  1837.  We  know  how  deeply  you  and  yours  are 
wounded  by  your  late  bereavement.  The  lovely  boy  was  a  centre 
to  all  your  hearts,  binding  you  all  more  closely  together.  Could 
affection  have  been  a  shield,  he  would  still  be  with  ^-ou.  But  he 
needed  no  shield.  A  greater  love  than  yours  watched  over  him, 
and  has  taken  him  away.  Why  he  was  taken  in  the  dawn  of  his 
being,  we  cannot  tell.  The  secrets  of  that  world  into  which  he  has 
entered  can  alone  explain  it.  Our  world  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  intended  for  the  education  of  all.  To  many  it  is  only  a 
birthplace.  They  are  born  to  be  translated,  to  receive  their-  educa- 
tion elsewhere.  Can  we  not  trust  our  loving  Father  to  choose  the 
place  where  his  children  shall  be  trained?  Is  it  not  enough  to 
know  tliat  they  are  in  his  hands?  What!  shall  we  with  our  faint 
love  distrust  Him  who  has  inspired  us  with  all  the  affection  which 
we  bear  our  children,  and  whose  goodness  is  shadowed-  forth  dimly 
by  the  strongest  human  love  ? 

"  W^e  sometimes  speak  as  if  the  child,  dying  so  earl}',  had  ac- 
complished no  purpose  ;  but  we  err.  The  child  does  much.  How 
much  has  this  little  boy  done  for  you  all !  How  much  warmth  he 
has  slied  througli  your  hearts  !  How  many  holy  feelings  he  has 
awakened  !  How  much  happiness  he  has  given  !  What  a  lovely 
image  he  has  left  behind  !  And  what  a  new  bond  has  he  formed 
between  30U  and  the  future  world !  Is  all  this  nothing?  Have  we 
no  cause  to  thank  God  for  every  pure  being  he  has  revealed  and 
endeared  to  us?  Let  us  weep  for  the  departed,  but  let  not  the 
sense  of  loss  make  us  forget  how  much  has  been  given,  and  what 
a  precious  hope  is  left.  So  unwise  and  unthankful  a  grief  would 
show  that  we  needed  it.  If  we  have  not  faith  enough  to  strengthen 
and  comfort  us  under  the  loss  of  a  friend,  then  it  is  time  that  the 
friend  was  taken.  AVe  have  not  learned  wisdom  from  the  gift. 
We  need  another  school,  that  of  its  loss. 

"  Give  my  love  to .     They  must  feel  that  this  affliction  has 

not  come  without  its  purpose.  Death  is  a  solemn  teaclier ;  but 
who  of  us  can  dispense  with  its  lessons?  What  other  teacher  can 
so  disenchant  the  world,  so  expand  our  views,  give  such  convic- 
tions of  immortality,  so  spiritualize  our  minds,  so  prostrate  us  with 
a  sense  of  dependence  and  unworthiness  before  God?  Such  an 
event  is  an  era  in  the  history  of  parents,  and  it  has  often  stamped 
a  new  character  on  the  whole  following  life.  I  wish  them  every 
consolation,  and,  still  more,  I  hope  that  they  may  find  a  blessed, 
sanctifying  influence  in  affliction." 


620  FRIENDS. 

'■'■Boston^  February  21,  1837,  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  have  this  mo- 
ment heard  of  tlie  death  of  my  dear,  very  dear  friend,  your  daugli- 
ter,  and  I  cannot  forbear  writing  to  3'ou  immediately,  to  express  my 
sympatliy  with  you  on  this  sad  occasion,  and  my  liope  tliat  you  will 
be  sustained  under  this  severe  trial.  When  I  look  back  to  the  life 
and  character  of  this  dear  friend,  I  see  one  of  the  loveliest  exempli- 
fications of  the  spirit  of  Christianity  which  it  has  been  my  happiness 
to  meet.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  opening  her  mind  to  me  with 
great  freedom,  and  I  valued  highly  the  privilege  of  access  to  a 
spirit  so  pure,  so  gentle,  so  overflowing  with  love,  so  strict  in  its 
demands  on  itself,  so  generous  and  indulgent  to  others.  After  her 
free  communications,  I  felt  how  far  she  had  outstripped  me  in  the 
Christian  faith.  Her  piet}'  was  singularl3'  filial,  though  her  deli- 
cate, sensitive  nature  was  often  pained  by  the  consciousness  of 
unworthiness.  Her  sympathy  with  Christian  goodness  and  holi- 
ness, wherever  manifested,  was  such  as  I  have  seldom  witnessed. 
She  trul}'  loved  Christ  in  all  who  bore  his  image.  I  can  speak  of 
Uer  as  I  can  of  few  others,  for  she  spoke  to  me  almost  with  the 
confidence  of  a  child.  I  think  of  her  now  as  a  blessed  saint ;  and 
wei'e  the  heavens  opened  to  me,  and  were  I  to  see  her  among  the 
just  made  perfect,  I  could  hardly  have  a  stronger  confidence  in  her 
happiness  than  I  have. 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  must  labor  to  penetrate  be3'ond  the  outward 
appearances  and  circumstances  of  death  to  her  spirit.  That  was  a 
region  of  light.  How  she  loved  3'ou  I  well  know.  Her  expres- 
sions of  filial  love  were  touching.  To  have  had  such  a  daughter  is 
a  blessing  for  which  there  cannot  be  too  fervent  gratitude.  AVill 
3'ou  express  to  your  afflicted  daughters  m}'  sincere  sympathy ? 

"I  remain,  respectfulh',  your  friend." 

'■'■May  17,  1837.^  I  am  not  only  cheered,  but  edified,  by  the 
sight  of  one  so  advanced  in  3'ears,  and  so  burdened  with  i)h\sical 
infirmit3',  3'et  enjoying  so  fully  the  powers  and  the  i)leasures  of  the 
intellect,  so  strong  in  faith,  so  calm,  and  bearing  such  practical 
testimony  to  the  power  of  religion.  It  is  my  earnest  desire  that  a 
life  so  happ3'  and  useful  in  its  decline  may  be  continued. 

"  With  great  respect,  your  friend." 

"  Boston.  November 'd,  1837.^  Age?  retaining  the  freshness  of  youth, 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  spectacles  on  earth.  Within  a  few  days 
I  have  lost  a  much  revered  friend,  sevent3'-cight  3'ears  old,  who,  after 
his  seventieth  year,  wrote  two  valuable  books  on  theology,  and  who, 
to  the  last,  delighted  in  the  stud3'  of  nature,  and  entered  into  all 

1  To  Noiih  Worcester,  D.  1).  2  Xo  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


J.  BLANCO    WHITE.  621 

the  great  movements  of  the  age  with  an  earnestness  distinguished 
front  the  fervor  of  youth  only  by  greater  calmness  and  a  firmer 
trust.  I  never  saw  him  without  feeling  that  I  had  gained  a  wisdom 
which  books  could  not  teach.  May  you,  my  dear  madam,  continue 
to  strengthen  our  hope  of  immortality  by  showing  us  how  the  spirit 
can  retain  its  beauty  in  life,  even  to  the  moment  when  it  is  with- 
drawn from  human  intercourse. 

"  With  great  respect  and  sincere  affection." 

''•August  24,   1838.^     My  dear  Sir,  — I  received,   a   few  days 
ao-o,  your  last  letter,  written  with  a  trembling  hand  ;  and  whilst  I 
wlis' touched  and  gratified  by  tliis  proof  of  your  regard,  I  could  not 
but  regret  that  I  had  subjected  you  to  so  exhausting  a  labor.     You 
must  console  yourself  by  thinking  that  you  did  good.    I  trust  I  shall 
be  the  better  for  this  testimony  to  your  principles,  this  breathing  of 
your  spirit,  this  expression  of  calm  reliance  on  God's  perpetual  in- 
spiration and  fatherly  love.     I  hope  it  is  not  to  be  the  last  testi- 
mony.    Should  Providence   renew  in  any  measure  your  strength, 
you  must  give  me  a  few  lines,  for  you  have  not  many  friends  more 
interested  in  you  than  myself.     The  conflicts  of  a  mind,  seeking, 
struggling  for  truth  amidst  peculiar  obstructions,  and  sacrificing  to 
it,  not  merely  outward  good,   but  friendship,  confidence,  love,  are 
to  me  more  aff'ecting  than  all  outward  warfare.     1  trust  you  have 
received  my  late  letter,  written  on  hearing  of  your  great  debility, 
in  which  I  begged  you  to  forget,  or  not  to  think  of  answering, 
the  preceding  Vne.     That  will  show  you  how  little  importance  I 
attach  to  my  criticisms  on  your  communications  to  Mr.  Ripley. 
I  sometimes   think   of  visiting   England,    and   one   of  the   great 
pleasures  I  have  promised  myself  has  been  that  of  seeing  j'ou ; 
but  a  higher  will  disposes  of  us,   and  who  would  reverse  it?     I 
thank   God   that    he    continues    to  you,    amidst   your   trials,    the 
strength  of  your  faculties.     So  long  as  we  can  think  clearly,  we 
can  carry  on  the  great  work  of  life,  we  can  turn  suflTering  to  a 
glorious  account,  we  can  gather  from   triumphs  over  the  body  a 
new  consciousness  of  the  divinity  of  the  spirit.     1  have  sometimes 
thought   that   ray  gratitude   to  God  was   never  more  lively  than 
in  iUncss  ;    and   how  many  under  this   trial  have  had  a  new  rev- 
elation of  his  presence!     May  he  grant   j^ou  these  consolations! 
You  feel,  undoubtedly,  as  we  all  do  on  approaching  our  end  here, 
as  if  you  might  have  done  more  for  the  great  cause  to  which  your 
life  had  been  devoted.     To  a  friend  of  his  race,  who  looks  round 
on  the  amount  of  guilt  and  error  in  the  world,  how  little  he  seems 

1  To  J.  Blanco  White. 


622  FRIENDS. 

to  have  achieved  !  But  let  us  thank  God,  if  in  anything  we  have 
served  our  brethren  ;  and  ma}'  we  not  sa}^  in  the  disproi)ortlon  of 
our  desires  to  our  doings,  that  we  are  destined  to  a  higher  eHicienc}-, 
—  to  a  world  where  our  powers,  now  so  imprisoned,  will  expand 
freely  and  jo3'full3'?  But  I  will  not  wear}'  with  reflections  with 
which  you  are  so  familiar.  I  commend  you  affectionately  to  God, 
the  never-failing  Fountain  of  light,  truth,  peace,  love,  and  blessed- 
ness. 

"  Ver}'  truly  and  respectfuU}',  your  friend." 

"  November^  1839.  You  are  wrong  in  thinking  of  peace  as  some- 
thing which  is  to  come  only  in  the  future  life.  There  is  no  reason 
for  expecting  it  hereafter  but  its  having  begun  now.  Every  true 
surrender  of  selfish  principles  to  God  and  the  inward  monitor  is 
the  beginning  of  heaven  and  heaven's  peace.  The  best  proof  of  a 
heaven  to  come  is  its  dawning  within  us  now.  We  are  blinded  by 
common  errors  to  the  degree  of  celestial  good  which  is  to  be  found 
on  earth.  I  do  not  tell  3'ou  to  labor  for  it ;  for  a  selfish  impatience 
may  remove  it  from  us.  I  would  say,  accept  your  inward  and  out- 
ward trials  as  appointed  by  the  Friend  of  your  soul  for  its  progress 
and  perfection,  and  use  them  for  this  end,  not  doubtingly  or  im- 
petuously, but  confidingly ;  and  just  as  fast  as  the  power  of  Chris- 
tian virtue  grows  within  3'ou,  peace  and  heaven  will  come,  unless, 
for  some  greater  good,  present  happiness  be  ol)structed  by  physical 
causes.  Be  of  good  cheer.  Be  not  weary  in  well-doing.  Be  not 
anxious." 

"  Boston^  Januarrj  21,  1840.  Your  faith  has  met  unusual  trials, 
and  has  not  failed.  I  know  few  things  which  so  darken  our  views 
of  the  moral  government  of  God  as  the  experience  of  baseness  and 
treachery  in  people  who  have  won  our  confidence.  We  are  tempted 
to  question  the  realit}-  of  human  virtue,  to  suspect  the  hollowness 
of  all  appearances  of  truth  and  piet}-,  and  it  is  but  a  step  to  call  in 
question  the  moral  purpose  for  which  we  are  placed  on  earth.  But 
you  have  been  saved  from  this  rock  ;  and  in  proportion  as  man  has 
failed  you,  you  have  clung  more  earnestly  to  God.  I  have  felt  the 
power  of  this  temptation.  AV^hen  I  see  how  many  of  my  race  are 
debased,  false,  earthly,  living  without  God,  the  question  comes  to 
me,  '  Is  God  indeed  the  friend  and  lover  of  all  human  souls,  and  is 
he  working  for  their  salvation  ? '  But  I  trust.  One  of  the  most 
blessed  influences  of  Christianit}'  is,  that  it  assures  us  of  the  Divine 
grace  towards  the  most  fallen  ;  and  just  as  far  as  we  can  realize 
this,  our  love  flows  out  towards  the  most  guilty. 

"  You  ask  me  for  thoughts  which  may  strengthen  you.     Your 


DR.  CHARLES  FOLLEN.  623 

experience  of  life  and  of  God's  goodness  is  a  far  better  teacher  than 
any  suggestions  of  a  fellow-being.  The  thought  on  which  I  delight 
to  dwell,  as  I  advance  in  life,  is,  that  God  is  within  me,  —  always 
present  to  my  soul,  to  teach,  to  relnike,  to  aid,  to  bless, — that  he 
truly  desires  my  salvation  from  all  inward  evils,  that  he  is  ever 
ready  to  give  his  spirit,  that  there  is  no  part  of  my  lot  which  may 
not  carry  me  forward  to  perfection,  and  that  outward  things  are  of 
little  or  no  moment,  provided  this  great  work  of  God  goes  on 
witliin.  The  body  and  the  world  vanish  more  and  more,  and  the 
soul,  the  immortal  principle,  made  to  bear  God's  image,  to  partake 
of  his  truth,  goodness,  purity,  and  happiness,  comes  out  to  my  con- 
sciousness more  and  more  distinctly  ;  and  in  feeling  God's  inti- 
mate presence  with  this,  to  enlighten,  quicken,  and  save,  I  find 
strength,  and  hope,  and  peace.  That  Christians  aim  at  too  little, 
and  hope  too  little  from  God  and  from  their  own  souls,  I  feel  more 
and  more.  Another  reformation,  I  believe,  is  to  come,  though  you 
and  I  may  not  live  to  see  it." 

"  Boston,  April  13,  1840.^  My  dear  Sir,  —I  wrote  to  you  some 
time  ago,  and,  though  I  have  received  no  answer,  write  again,  as  you 
have  given  me  reason  to  think  that  a  letter  from  a  friend  is  some 
alleviation  of  j-our  sufferings 

"  I  sent  you  a  discourse,  which  I  hope  3-ou  received,  occasioned 
by  the  death  of  Dr.  Follen.  He  was  one  of  ray  dearest  friends, 
and  I  cannot  hope  to  replace  him.  Perhaps  I  have  never  known  so 
true  a  friend  of  freedom,  of  the  Right.  He  took  part  in  the  ill- 
advised  revolutionary  movements  of  Germany,  —  after  Napoleon's 
fjvll,  —  occasioned  by  the  refusal  of  the  sovereigns  to  redeem  their 
pledge  of  new  constitutions  to  the  people  who  had  restored  them. 
Though  little  more  tlian  twenty  years  old,  his  disinterestedness, 
courage,  abilit}',  placed  him  among  the  principal  leaders.  He  was 
compelled  to  take  refuge  in  Switzerland,  where  he  was  again  and 
again  demanded  by  the  Holy  Alliance.  He  at  length  found  safety 
here,  but  not  the  reward  due  to  his  loyalty  to  freedom.  In  obedi- 
ence to  his  highest  convictions  of  duty  he  joined  the  Antislavery 
Society,  which  you  know  has  been  persecuted  in  the  Free  States, 
because  of  the  irritation  excited  by  it  in  the  Slave  States,  and  by 
this  act  made  himself  unpopular,  and  obstructed  his  success  in  life. 
We  were  not  w^orthy  of  such  a  man.  He  lived,  not  prosperous,  yet 
greatly  blessed  in  domestic  life,  and  cheered  by  his  own  magnani- 
mous spirit,  —  and  died  to  receive  acknowledgments  of  his  worth, 
which  should  have  been  granted  in  life.     He  suffered  for  his  prin- 

1  To  J.  Blanco  White. 


624  FRIENDS. 

ciples,  and  yet  in  his  case  I  can  see  that  virtue  was  its  own  great 

reward 

''  I  have  written  a  long  letter,  not  for  an  answer,  but  in  the  hope 
of  administering  a  moment's  pleasure. 

"  With  sincere  respect,  your  friend." 

"  July  4,  1840.-^  Your  father  is  associated  in  ni}'  mind  with  the 
great  movements  of  our  times,  with  the  struggles  for  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty  and  for  a  purer  Christianity,  and  with  the  most  im- 
portant institutions  for  human  improvement.  I  think  of  him  as  full 
of  aniniation  and  hope,  as  alive  to  whatever  touched  the  interests 
of  his  race,  and  as  capable  of  great  exertion.  His  family  must 
be  grateful  that  he  was  spared  to  them  so  long,  and  that  Provi- 
dence opened  to  him  spheres  of  action  so  congenial  with  his  holiest 
and  best  affections.  The  manner  of  his  death  gave,  at  first,  a 
shock  to  us  all ;  but  may  it  not  be  the  design  of  God,  in  surround- 
ing those  who  are  dear  to  us  with  outward  painful  circumstances, 
to  drive  us,  as  it  were,  to  that  which  is  inward,  spiritual,  endear- 
ing, over  which  waves  and  storms  and  the  accidents  of  time  and 
place  have  no  power?" 

'•'•July  21,  1840.^  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  was  grateful  to  you  for 
j^our  letter  of  Ma}-,  received  a  short  time  since,  and  yet  I  could  not 
but  regret  that  you  had  made  a  painful  effort.  I  write  3011,  not  to 
lay  you  under  the  least  obligation  to  reply,  but  because  \o\x  have 
expressed  an  interest  in  my  letters.  I  feel  that  3'ou  have  a  right  to 
an}'  alleviation  of  3'our  sufferings  I  can  give.  Your  experience  dif- 
fers from  mine,  for  I  have  had  little  acute  pain.  I  do  not  know 
that  I  ever  suggested  to  3'ou  a  fanc}'  which  has  sometimes  come 
into  my  head.  I  have  thought  that,  b}-  analyzing  a  pain,  I  have 
been  able  to  find  an  element  of  pleasure  in  it.  I  have  thought, 
too,  that  by  looking  a  pain  fully  in  the  face  and  compre- 
hending it,  I  have  diminished  its  intensity.  Distinct  percepfion, 
instead  of  aggravating,  decreases  evil.  This  I  have  found  when 
reading  accounts  of  terrible  accidents,  which  have,  at  first,  made 
me  shudder.  B}-  taking  them  to  pieces,  and  conceiving  each  part 
distinctl}',  I  have  been  able  to  think  of  them  calmly,  and  to  feel 
that  I,  too,  could  pass  through  them.  Sympathy  increases  by  the 
process,  but  not  fear.  The  sympathy  weakens  the  personal  fear ; 
but  this  is  not  the  whole  explanation.  The  soul,  by  resisting  the 
first  shudder,  and  by  placing  itself  near  the  terrible  through  an  act 
of  the  will,  puts  forth  energies  which  reveal  it  to  itself,  and  make 
it  conscious  of  something  within,  mightier  than  suffering.      The 

1  To  Miss  Carpenter.  2  Xo  J.  Blanco  Wliite. 


POWER   OF   MUSIC.  (325 

power  of  distinct  knowledge  in  giving  courage,  I  have  never  seen 
insisted  on,  and  3-et  it  is  a  part  of  ni}'  experience.     The  unknown, 

the  vague,  the  dark,  what  imagination  invests  with  infinity, this 

terrifies  ;  and  the  remark  applies  not  to  physical  evils,  but  to  all 
others. 

"  You  speak  in  your  letter  of  the  relief  you  have  found  in  music. 
Have  you  met  with  a  very  curious  book,  '  The  Correspondence  of 
Goethe  with  a  Child  '  ?  Her  name  was  Bettina.  I  fell  in  with  the 
work  on  a  journey,  and  ran  through  it,  omitting  a  good  deal.  It 
interested  me  as  a  psychologist,  for  it  gives  quite  a  new  specimen 
of  mind.     A  good  deal  in  it  relates  to  music,  much  of  which  I  could 

not  understand,  and  much  of  which  sounded  like  extravagance, 

but  I  felt  that  there  was  a  truth  at  bottom,  and  I  wanted  to  under- 
stand more.  I  am  no  musician,  and  want  a  good  ear,  and  yet  I  am 
conscious  of  a  power  in  music  which  I  want  words  to  describe.  It 
touches  chords,  reaches  depths  in  the  soul,  which  lie  beyond  all 
other  influences,  —  extends  my  consciousness,  and  has  sometimes 
given  me  a  pleasure  which  I  may  have  found  in  nothing  else. 
Nothing  in  my  experience  is  more  m3'sterious,  more  inexplicable. 
An  instinct  has  always  led  men  to  transfer  it  to  heaven,  and  I  sus- 
pect the  Christian,  under  its  power,  has  often  attained  to  a  singular 
consciousness  of  his  immortality.  Facts  of  this  nature  make  me  feel 
what  an  infinite  mystery  our  nature  is,  and  how  little  our  books  of 
science  reveal  it  to  us. 

"I  was  gratified  in  reading,  in  the  Christian  Teacher,  an  article 
on  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  from  your  pen.  You  there 
speak  of  Don  Quixote.  That  work  has  never  produced  its  full 
effect  on  me,  on  account  of  my  deep  interest  in  the  hero,  which 
makes  me  indignant  at  the  contumelious  treatment  he  receives.  I 
sympathize  with  and  venerate  the  knight  too  much  to  laugh  at  him, 
and  wish  to  join  him  in  discomfiting  his  assailants.  Was  the  author 
aware  of  his  Avork  at  the  moment  of  beginning  it?  His  first  delin-  ' 
eation  of  Quixote  is  that  of  a  madman  ;  you  are  not  at  all  prepared 
for  his  loftiness  of  mind.  Did  not  Cervantes  start  with  the  first 
conception,  and  lay  out  the  adventures  of  his  hero  in  correspond- 
ence with  it?  Did  not  the  nobler  conception  steal  on  him  after- 
wards? Whether  this  suggestion  has  been  made,  I  do  not  know; 
but  the  parts  do  not  cohere  in  my  mind.  I  love  the  Don  too  much 
to  enjoy  his  historj-. 

"  I  still  hope  to  bear  that  you  have  found  relief.  As  I  have  told 
you,  it  gives  me  much  pleasure  to  hear  from  3'ou  ;  but  you  must 
write  only  when  you  can  find  some  pleasure  in  the  exercise. 

"  With  respect,  your  sincere  friend." 
40 


626  FRIENDS. 

'■'■Boston^  Jane  20,  1841.^  My  dear  Sir, — Your  letter  of  May 
24,  just  received,  has  given  me  pain,  tliough  it  was  expected.  Your 
previous  letter  had  prepared  me  to  hear  of  Mr.  White's  departure. 
I  ouglit  not  to  feel  pain  at  an  event  which  has  terminated  such 
severe  sufferings,  and  converted  his  faith  into  fruition.  But  we 
cannot  dismiss  a  friend  from  our  home,  much  more  from  the  world, 
without  some  sadness.  I  confess  I  have  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment at  this  event.  I  have  for  3-ears  cherished  the  hope  of  seeing 
Mr.  White.  When  I  have  thought  of  crossing  the  ocean,  the  pleas- 
ure of  intercourse  with  him  has  risen  to  m}'  mind,  among  the  chief 
I  should  find  in  P^ngland.  Perhaps  there  was  not  a  man  in  your 
country  whom  I  wanted  so  much  to  see.  I  felt  that  no  mind  could 
open  to  me  so  interesting  and  instructive  a  history.  I  know  by  ex- 
perience some  of  the  conflicts  of  spirit  through  which  he  passed,  and 
I  longed  to  put  a  thousand  questions  to  him  about  the  processes 
througli  which  he  arrived  at  tliis  and  another  conviction.  I  vener- 
ated the  rare  heroism  with  which  he  sought  truth.  But  he  is  gone, 
and  I  am  to  know  him  only  in  another  world.  The  account  you 
give  me  of  his  trust  and  patience  has  done  me  good.  I  am  little 
moved  by  passionate  pietv  in  death  ;  but  how  grand  is  the  entire 
submission  of  so  calm,  reflecting  a  man,  in  such  deep  suffering! 
M3'  own  trust  seems  to  have  gained  strength.  I  rejoice  that  lie  has 
committed  his  manuscripts  to  yon^  for  j'ou  understand  him  better 
than  anybody.  I  shall  wait  impatiently'  for  his  autobiography.  I 
besought  him  again  and  again  to  leave  some  record  of  his  inward 
history  ;  and  I  expect  from  it  singular  benefits.  Not  that  I  shall 
agree  with  him  in  all  his  speculations :  I  diffei'ed  from  him  a  good 
deal ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  read  anything  from  liis  pen 
which  I  did  not  find  instructive.  He  understood  the  controversy 
between  Romanism  and  Protestantism  as  few  do.  Ver^'  few  of  us 
get  to  the  heart  of  this  quarrel.  Most  Protestants  fight  Romanism 
under  its  own  standard. 

"  1  have  sometimes  observed  on  the  beach,  which  I  am  in  the 
habit  of  visiting,  a  solemn,  unceasing  undertone,  quite  distinct  from 
the  dashings  of  the  separate,  successive  waves  ;  and  so,  in  certain 
minds,  I  observe  a  deep  undertone  of  truth,  even  when  they  ex- 
press particular  views  which  seem  to  me  discordant  or  lalse.  I  had 
always  this  feeling  about  Mr.  White.  I  could  not  always  agree 
with  him,  but  I  felt  that  he  never  lost  his  grasp  of  the  greatest 
truths. 

"  I  S3'mpathize  sincerely  with  3'ou  in  your  loss.  IIow  much  have 
you  lost !     The  daih'  privilege  of  communion  with  a  great  and  good 

i  To  the  Rev.  J.  H.  Thorn. 


DEATH  OF  J.  BLANCO  WHITE.  627 

mind  is  a  daily  light  shed  over  our  path.  I  know  something  of 
your  affliction,  for  in  tlie  short  space  of  two  3-ears  God  has  taken 
from  me  two  friends,  Dr.  Follen  and  Dr.  Tuckerman,  who  were 
knit  to  me  in  true  Christian  brotherhood.  But  we  will  not  say  we 
have  lost  such  friends.  They  live  within  us  in  sweet  and  tender 
remembrances.  They  live  around  us  in  the  fruits  of  their  holy 
labors.  They  live  above  us,  and  call  us,  in  the  tones  of  a  friend- 
ship which  Heaven  has  refined,  to  strengthen  our  union  with  them 
b}'  sharing  their  progress  in  truth  and  virtue.  I  shall  write  a  line 
to  Mrs.  Rathbone,  to  whom  I  feel  myself  a  debtor,  for  her  kindness 
to  our  common  friend.  When  30U  have  leisure,  1  shall  be  glad  to 
know  more  particularly^  what  writings  Mr.  White  left. 

"  Ver}'  sincerely,  your  friend." 

'■''June  21,  1841.^  You  gave  me  great  comfort  by  your  account 
of  Mr.  White.  Perhaps  you  hardly  knew  hoAV  dear  he  was  to  me. 
I  had  never  seen  him,  but  the  imagination  and  heart  had  wo^en  a 
tie  as  strong  as  real  intercourse  produces.  I  read,  many  years  ago, 
Mr.  White's  letters  on  Spain,  and  when  I  was  told  that  the  inward 
history  of  a  Catholic  priest,  given  in  that  book,  had  been  drawn  in 
part  from  the  author's  exi)erience,  I  felt  a  strong  interest  in  him, 
and  the  sentiment  has  received  strength  in  his  successive  writings, 
from  accounts  of  his  friends,  and  especially  from  his  correspond- 
ence. I  wished  to  see  him,  perhaps,  more  than  any  man  in  your 
country.  The  struggles  of  his  mind  for  truth,  which  were  continued 
for  so  many  years,  tlie  vast  tracts  of  opinion  over  which  ho  had 
passed,  and  the  infinite  variety  of  thought  and  emotion  which  his 
experience  must  have  embraced,  made  me  look  on  him  as  a  man 
who  had  crowded  many  lives  into  one,  or  who  had  traversed  all 
lands  and  seas,  and  been  driven  by  all  their  storms,  who  had  en- 
joyed or  suffered  all  climates,  and,  after  his  long,  perilous  voyage, 
had  found  a  quiet  haven.  I  felt  that  he  could  answer  questions 
which  no  other  man  could.  Then  the  reports  brought  me  of  his 
sweet,  mild  spirit,  which  had  withstood  a  life  of  controvers}-,  shed 
over  him  a  peculiar  moral  beauty.  His  writings,  too,  had  prepared 
me  to  expect  a  rich,  fresh  intellect.  He  always  rose  to  my  mind 
when  I  thought  of  a  visit  to  your  country',  and  now  he  has  vanished, 
and  it  is  well  that  he  has  gone. 

"  I  rejoice  to  think  that  he  found  such  a  shelter  in  his  last  hours. 
All  England,  I  am  sure,  could  not  have  furnished  him  a  more 
loving  home  to  live  and  die  in,  more  ftxithful  friends,  more  Christian 
sympathy.     He  was  privileged,  and  so  were  you.     To  minister  to 

1  To  Mrs.  William  Rathbone. 


628  FRIENDS. 

the  last  sufferings  of  a  good  great  man,  to  witness  the  triumph  of 
faith,  patience,  love,  over  the  last  agonies,  to  be  looked  on  with 
affection  by  the  dying  whom  we  revere,  to  feel  that  we  have  formed 
a  close,  tender  union  with  an  immortal  spirit,  —  these  are  privileges 
indeed.  Were  I  authorized,  I  would  thank  j'ou,  your  husband, 
your  children,  for  3'our  offices  of  love  to  our  departed  friend. 

"  The  passage  which  he  dictated  to  you  for  me  showed  the  vigor 
and  originality  of  his  intellect.  I  prize  it  as  a  testimony  of  per- 
sonal regard,  as  well  as  for  its  own  sake." 

"What  strangely  various  forms  love  takes!  In  most  people, 
affection  is  a  chief  ground  of  faith  in  immortality.  The  loss  of 
friends  carries  them  into  the  future  world.  Love  cannot  let  the 
departed  go.  It  clings  to  them  in  a  better  world,  seizes  on  every 
proof  of  that  world,  and  sighs  for  reunion.  Some  of  ni}-  Jewish 
friends,  of  singularl}'  strong  affections,  speak  of  their  departed  as 
of  their  living  friends,  and  seem  to  have  no  more  doubts  of  their 
blessedness  than  of  their  own  existence.  But  in  you  affection 
takes  the  form  of  anxiety  and  fear,  just  as  some  tender  parents 
think  only  of  the  perils  of  children  who  are  separated  from  them, 
I  cannot  enter  into  jour  state  of  mind,  for  ni}-  own  experience  has 
been  wholl}'  different. 

"  My  faith  in  immortalit3^  rests  very  little  on  mere  affection,  but 
very  much  on  the  fact  of  human  excellence.  The  sight  of  emi- 
nent virtue  carries  me  up  to  heaven  at  once.  Indeed,  virtue  and 
heaven  are  ver}'  much  one  in  my  sight.  It  seems  to  me  as  natural 
for  virtue  to  live  as  for  the  animal  to  breathe,  and  much  more. 
Virtue  is  the  only  thing  in  the  universe  of  the  continuance  of  which 
I  am  sure,  for  it  is  of  the  very  essence  of  God,  E\erything  else 
may  pass  away  ;  this  cannot," 

'•'-  Ncuiport^  Jane  27,  1841.^  There  is  presumption  in  attempting 
to  explain  particular  dispensations  of  God.  He  is  to  be  judged  by 
his  vast  universal  laws,  not  by  this  or  that  fact.  A¥e  sometimes, 
however,  seem  to  catch  glimpses  of  particular  fitness  in  a  trial  to 

the  sufferer Perhaps  the  greatness  of  mental  suffering  is  of 

itself  proof  of  its  being  needed,  A  nature  ca[)able  of  sufl'ering  is 
capable  of  proportionate  doing,  while  at  the  same  time  this  nature 
ma}'  carry  within  itself  obstructions  to  its  high  destiny. 

"  I  am,  however,  less  and  less  disposed  to  undertake  the  interpre- 
tation of  particular  events.  I  have  been  reading  Nichol's  Archi- 
tecture of  the  Heavens,  which  you  named  to  me,  and  it  has  filled 
me  with  adoration,  humility,  and  hope.    It  reveals  a  stupendousness 

1  To  Mrs.  E.  L.  FoUen. 


v^ 


THE   EVILS   OF  LIFE. 


629 


in  God's  works,  a  silent,  slow,  solemn  unfolding  of  his  purposes, 
before  which  I  bow  in  a  kindred  silence.  I  cease  to  wonder  that  six 
thousand  years  have  not  done  more  for  the  race,  when  I  see  so 
clearly  that  a  thousand  years  are  but  a  day  to  the  Eternal.  The 
connections  of  human  life  stretch  before  us,  and  are  lost  in  the  end- 
less aoes  which  are  needed  to  accomplish  God's  designs.  And  yet 
I  do  not  feel  myself  sinking  into  insignificance  under  the  weight  of 
these  thouohts.  I  am  amazed  by  the  grandeur  of  the  human  spunt, 
which  out'of  a  few  signs  detected  by  the  telescope  can  construct 
the  universe.  My  joy  and  reverence  assure  me  that  this  universe  is 
my  school  and  everlasting  home 

".Since  I  saw  you,  I  have  made  a  long  visit  to  Philadelphia  and 
New  York,  and  I  return  with  an  unchiUcd  faith,  I  trust  with  a  brighter 
hope.  Everywhere  there  are  spirits  kindled  by  great  thoughts,  by 
generous  svmpathies.  The  mass,  indeed,  are  of  the  world  ;  but 
the  good  are  of  a  higher  order  than  formerly.  This  is  the  grand, 
cheering  fact.  Tremendous  evils  are  to  be  contended  with ;  but 
there  are  men  and  women  who  can  look  them  in  the  face  and  not 
fear,  who  have  within  them  a  consciousness  of  something  mightier 
than  all  the  evil.  How  it  refreshes  me  to  meet  with  a  strong,  hope- 
ful soul !   .   .   .   . 

"I  am  glad  you  are  approaching  the  end  of  your  interesting, 
holy  task. "  Be  not  troubled  at  the  thought  of  the  book  passiug  into 
unworthy  hands.  Remember  the  Great  Teacher  knew  that  his  seed 
was  to  be  sown  on  rocks,  and  among  thorns  ;  still  he  rejoiced  to 
scatter  it,  for  some  was  to  fall  on  the  good  and  honest  heart. 
Besides,  the  seed  on  the  rock  is  not  always  lost.  It  finds,  some- 
times, a  little  chasm  into  which  to  strike  its  root.  Let  us  not  dis- 
trust. Let  us  not  despise  even  the  worldly.  They  have  in  them 
all  that  we  have,  sometimes  more  ;  and  who  knows  but  that  your 
book  is  to  reach  the  unknown  divinity  within  them  ?  " 

''August  2,  1841.^  In  regard  to  the  evils  of  life,  they  trouble 
me  less  and  less.  I  see  pain  and  death  everywhere.  All  animated 
nature  suffers  and  dies.  Life  begins  and  ends  in  pain.  Then  pain 
has  a  great  work  to  do.  Then  there  is  a  vast  good  before  us,  to 
outweigh  and  annihilate  it.  Its  universality  reconciles  me  to  it.  I 
do  not  ask  to  be  exempted  from  the  common  lot.  In  this,  as  in  all 
things,  I  wish  to  go  with  my  race.  I  pretend  not  to  explain  events, 
but  I  do  see  glorious  issues  of  suffering,  and  these  are  enough. 
Once,  had  I  been  called  upon  to  create  the  earth,  I  should  have 
done  as   the   many  would   now,  —  I  should   have   laid   it   out  in 


1  To  Mrs.  E.  L.  FoUen. 


630  FRIENDS. 

pleasure-grounds,  and  given  man  Milton's  occupation  of  tending 

/flowers,  &c.,  &c.  But  I  am  now  satisfied  with  this  wild  earth,  its 
awful  mountains  and  depths,  steeps  and  torrents.  I  am  not  sorry 
to  learn  that  God's  end  is  a  virtue  far  higher  than  I  should  have 
prescribed." 

"  Boston,  December  21,  1841.^  I  became  a  subscriber  to  the 
Antislavery  Standard  soon  after  I  learned  that  it  had  passed  into 
your  hands,  and  perhaps  the  occasion  will  allow  me  to  express  the 
strong  interest  I  take  in  30U  and  3'our  labors.  You  have  suffered 
much  for  a  great  cause  ;  but  3'ou  have  not  suffered  without  the 
sympathy,  respect,  and  affection  of  some,  I  hope  not  a  few,  whose 
feelings  have  not  been  expressed.  Among  these  I  may  number 
myself.  1  now  regret,  that,  when  you  were  so  near  me,  I  saAV  so 
little  of  you.  I  know  that  you  have  higher  supports  and  consola- 
tions than  the  sympathy  of  your  fellow-creatures,  nor  do  I  offer 
mine  because  I  attach  any  great  value  to  it ;  but  it  is  a  relief  to  my 
own  mind  to  thank  30U  for  what  30U  have  done  for  the  oppressed, 
and  to  express  the  pleasure,  I  hope  profit,  which  I  have  received 
from  the  various  efforts  of  your  mind. 

"  I  have  been  delighted  to  see  in  your  'Letters'  in  the  Standard 
such  sure  marks  of  a  fresh,  living,  hopeful  spirit,  —  to  see  that  the 
flow  of  genial,  noble  feeling  has  been  in  no  degree  checked  by  the 
outward  discouragements  of  life.     The  world's  frowns  can  do  us 

■"/"tit'fte  Tiarm,  if  they  do  not  blight  our  spirits;    and   we  are  under 
/     obligations  to  all  who  teach  us,  not  in  words,  but  in  life,  that  there 

^  is  an  inward  power  which  can  withstand  all  the  adverse  forces  of 
the  w^orld.  With  the  best  wishes  for  your  health  and  success,  I 
remain  your  sincere  friend." 

''March  12,  1842."^  My  dear  Friend, — You  see  I  reciprocate 
your  'fiuiiiliar  and  affectionate  phrase';  and  I  do  it  heartily. 
There  are,  indeed,  few  people  whom  I  address  in  this  way,  for  I 
fear  to  use  language  stronger  than  my  feelings  ;  and  I  shrink  so 
much  from  the  appearance  of  flattering  words,  that  I  not  seldom 
smother  affections  which  struggle  for  utterance.  But  I  grow  freer 
as  I  grow  older.  Age  has  no  freezing  influence,  and  the  inward 
fountain  gushes  out  more  naturally.  To  you  I  ought  to  open  m3^ 
heart,  after  what  you  have  told  me  of  the  good  which  a  loving, 
cheering  word  does  you.  I  confess  I  had  thought  of  you  as  raised 
more  than  most  of  us  above  the  need  of  sympathy.  I  had  heard 
so  often  of  your  brave  endurance  of  adversity,  and  was  conscious 
of  having  suffered  so  little  myself  for  truth  and  humanif3-,  that  I 

1  To  Mrs.  L.  M.  CliilJ.  -  To  the  same. 


THE   SPIRIT  AND  THE   WOKLD.  631 

almost  questioned  my  right  to  send  you  encouraging  words,  and 
certainly  did  not  expect  so  affectionate  a  response.  I  thank  you 
for  your  gratitude.  It  shows  me  that  I  can  do  more  than  I  believed 
by  expressions  of  esteem  and  admiration.  If  I  can  lift  up  and 
strengthen  such  a  spirit,  how  can  I  keep  silence?" 

"  Lenox,  August  18,  1842.  I  would  not  make  you  '  of  the  world,' 
if  I  could,  that  you  might  escape  all  dissatisfaction  with  thnigs  as 
they  are,  and  might  plunge  unrepiningly  into  the  current  which  is 
hurrying  on  the  multitude  they  know  not  where.  Never  lose  your 
faith  in°the  high  purpose  of  your  being,  in  man's  infinite  destiny. 
But  I  desire  to  carry  your  faith  farther.  I  wish  you  to  confide  in 
tlie  wisdom  and  goodness  of  that  Providence  which  has  seen  fit  to 
connect  the  spirit  with  the  body,  to  place  the  heir  of  heaven  for  a 
time  on  earth,  to  subject  us  to  necessities,  toils,  outward  cares,  and 
numberless  details,  and  which  has  ordained  these  as  a  part  of  the 
processes  by  which  we  may  be  carried  forward  and  upward.  To 
you  the  outward  worid  and  the  inward  are  in  hostility.  Believe 
that  they  may  be  made  friends.  Believe  that  persevering  effort  in 
a  vocation,  that  the  exercise  of  judgment  and  invention,  and  the 
practice  of  forbearance  and  kindness,  in  common  affairs,  may  be 
so  united  with  the  highest  speculation,  so  hallowed  by  pure  aims, 
that  they  may  bring  about  a  more  complete  and  harmonious  devel- 
opment of  your  nature  than  what  you  would  call  a  purely  spiritual 
mode  of  life.     We  are  to  bend  circumstances,  common  relations, 

to  our  great  end,  and  it  may  be  done To  become  interested 

in  men,  we  must  act  with  them  from  pure  motives,  must  mix  with 
them,  now  to  co-operate  with,  now  to  resist  them.  You  need  not 
fear.  You  will  find  courage  and  strength,  if  you  will  commit  your- 
self to  a  good  course.  We  should  all  shrink  from  our  vocation, 
could  we  at  the  beginning  foresee  the  difficulties  in  our  path.  But 
trial  brings  strength.  Unexpected  resources  spring  up  by  the  side 
of  unexpected  obstacles." 

^^  Lenox,  August,  1842.1  Qur  letters  have  informed  us  of  the 
removal  of  your  venerated  mother.  We  feel  that  the  change  was 
a  blessing ;  that  it  was  time  for  the  weary  traveller  to  rest,  —  for 
the  discipUne  of  life,  so  unusually  protracted,  to  end,— for  the 
spirit  to  leave  the  body  which  had  so  long  hung  on  it  as  a  weight. 
What  a  change  is  death  to  one  who  has  approached  it  through  ex- 
treme old  age !  How  hard  it  is  to  conceive  of  a  friend,  on  whom 
the  furrows"  have  been  deepening  and  the  head  whitening  for  so 
many  years,  laying  aside  all  debiUty,  all  the  infirmities  of  age,  and 
1  To  Mrs.  George  Lee. 


632  FRIENDS. 

entering  a  new  existence  of  perpetual  health,  freshness,  and,  may 
we  not  sa}',  ^-outh  !  I  remember,  when  my  grandfather  died,  at 
about  ninety-four  years  old,  the  thouglit  darted  through  ni}'  mind, 
'  How  shall  I  know  him  without  that  gra}'  head,  those  deep  lines 
of  time  on  his  countenance  ? '  These  seemed  to  enter  almost  into 
his  identity.  Yet  our  new  senses  will  recognize  our  old  friends 
with  a  quickness  little  comprehended  now.  To  you  this  event,  so 
iTiUcli  to  be  desired,  is  an  affliction,  a  bereavement.  How  peculiar 
the  relation  of  a  mother !  She  was  our  first  friend,  and  from  tlie 
hour  of  our  birth,  amidst  all  life's  changes,  and  the  inconstancy  of 
other  loves,  that  faithful,  tender  heart  never  forsook  us,  to  its  last 
throb.  A  parent's  love  is  the  best  t^'pe  of  the  immutableness  of 
the  Divine." 

"  Lenox^  August^  1842.  I  am  as  well  as  usual,  and  enjo}'  what 
I  call  health,  the  more  for  its  interruption.  You  speak  of  yourself 
as  au  '  automaton.'  It  is  thus  that  the  heart  rests  after  painful 
excitement  and  deep  sorrow.  It  is  well  for  us  that  none  of  our 
emotions  can  retain  uninterrupted  vividness,  and,  especially,  that 
the  more  vehement  exhaust  themselves.  By  this  kind  provision 
we  are  saved  from  being  absorbed  in  a  particular  feeling,  from 
shutting  up  the  soul  in  a  particular  event.  Our  whole  nature  is 
brought  into  action.  A  false,  sad  notion  has  injured  man}',  that 
we  owe  it  to  departed  friends  to  die  to  those  who  remain,  to  die  to 
our  race,  to  feed  on  dark  pictures  of  life,  to  reject  the  blessings 
which  our  kind  Father  has  strewed  in  our  path,  because  some  have 
been  taken  from  us.  It  ought  to  be  the  influence  of  bereavement, 
of  the  vanishing  of  loved  ones  from  our  sight,  to  give  us  more  rev- 
erent and  quickening  conceptions  of  the  spiritual  nature  of  the 
undying  soul,  of  that  vast  futurity  through  which  our  faculties  and 
affections  are  to  expand  into  a  divine  life  and  felicit}- ;  and  under 
this  hope,  we  should  desire  to  enter  on  a  nobler  field  of  action  now. 
The  departed  have  gone  to  see,  to  love,  and  serve  the  Infinite 
Father  with  a  new  fervor  and  elevation  of  spirit,  and  we  should 
strive  to  sympathize  with  them,  to  be  joined  with  them  by  partici- 
pation of  their  progress.  We  are  apt  to  feel  as  if  nothing  we  could 
do  on  earth  bears  a  relation  to  what  the  good  are  doing  in  a  higher 
world  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  Heaven  and  earth  are  not  so  for  apnrt. 
Every  disinterested  act,  every  sacrifice  to  duty,  ever}-  exertion  for 
the  good  of  '  one  of  the  least  of  Christ's  brethren,'  every  new  in- 
sight into  God's  works,  every  new  impulse  given  to  the  love  of 
truth  and  goodness,  associates  us  with  the  departed,  brings  us 
nearer  to  them,  and  is  as  truly  heavenly  as  if  we  were  acting,  not 
on  earth,  but  in  heaven.     These  are  common  truths,  but  we  do 


SELF-REBUKE.  633 

not  feel  them.  The  spiritual  tie  between  us  and  the  departed  is 
not  felt  as  it  should  be.  Our  union  with  them  daily  grows  stronger, 
if  we  daily  make  progress  in  what  thej^  are  growmg  in." 

"I  am  never  surprised  to  hear  of  misgivings,  doubts,  or  self- 
distrust,  the  great  trial  of  life  to  man}^ ;  and  at  the  same  time,  one 
of  the  grand  signs  of  our  destin}*  is,  that  our  conception  of  vu-tue, 
holiness,  outstrips  our  powers  of  immediate  attainment.  The  very 
improvement  of  our  moral  sense  becomes  a  source  of  fear ;  our 
ver}'  progress  in  goodness,  by  opening  new  spheres  of  duty,  may 
sometimes  discourage  us.  Humility  alwaj's  grows  witli  virtue, 
with  increasing  knowledge  of  God.  I  have  but  one  great  trial  of 
life,  and  tliat  is,  the  disproportion  between  my  idea  of  duty  and  my 
practice.  Our  fear  from  tiiis  source  is  in  part  unreasonable.  Our 
idea  of  the  perfect,  the  holy,  is  not  to  be  our  standard  of  self-judg- 
ment any  farther  than  we  have  power  to  realize  it.  Perfection  is 
revealed  to  us,  not  to  torture  us  from  our  falling  short  of  it,  but  to 
be  a  kindling,  imposing  object,  to  be  seized  by  faith  as  our  certain 
destiny,  if  we  are  faithful  to  the  light  and  strength  now  given. 

"  We  are  not  to  repine  or  fear,  because  in  our  childhood  we  want 
maturity  of  wisdom  or  strength,  —  but  we  are  to  be  animated  by 
the  thought  of  what  we  may  become.  Still,  after  making  all  allow- 
ances, we  must  suffer  from  self-rebuke.  Our  own  hearts  often  con- 
demn us.  Our  pure,  spiritual  resolves,  how  often  they  fail  us  ! 
But  we  must  never  despair.  The  consciousness  of  error  is  encour- 
aging, —  it  shows  a  measure  of  moral  life  in  us. 

"  Self-rebuke  is  God's  voice,  his  call  to  new  effort,  his  promise  of 
aid.  It  is  to  me  a  most  sustaining  idea,  that  I  am  always  guarded 
by  God,  and  shall  receive  more  and  more  aid  in  proportion  as  I  am 
receptive  of  it.  When  the  sight  or  voice  of  a  friend  stirs  up  my 
spirit,  when  nature  touches  and  elevates  my  heart,  when  a  word 
from  some  inspired  author  reaches  the  depth  of  my  moral  nature, 
when  disappointment  corrects  and  purifies  my  views  of  life,  &e.,  — 
on  all  these  occasions,  I  feel  that  God  speaks  to  me.  I  see  in' 
them  pledges  of  his  earnest  parental  desire  for  my  redemption.  I 
see  in  them  the  workings  of  Omnipotence  for  ni}'  good,  the  breath- 
ings of  his  spirit,  confirmation  of  its  precious  promises,  that  heavenly 
aid  is  most  freely  given  to  human  weakness.  I  am  strong  only  in 
my  consciousness  of  union  with  God."^ 

1  To  Mrs.  George  Lee. 


634  HOME  LIFE. 


Chapter  VII.  —  HOME  LIFE. 

And  now  let  us  enter  the  home  cu'cle,  and  look  upon  the  daily 
life  of  a  man  thus  aspiring  to  oneness  with  God  b^'  reception  of  his 
influence  and  co-operation  with  his  plans,  thus  longing  for  full  illu- 
mination, thus  universal  in  humanity,  thus  earnest  for  tlie  emancipa- 
tion of  ever^'  brotlier,  thus  firm  while  liberal  in  justice,  thus  gener- 
ous, compassionate,  elate  with  hope,  unchangingly  faithful.  In  the 
following  letter  to  his  sister.  Dr.  Channing  manifests  the  affection- 
ateness  which  was  the  undertone  of  his  harmonious  character. 

"As  I  advance  in  years,  though  I  form  new  ties  and  am  enlar- 
ging my  interests  in  others,  I  turn  to  my  early,  and  especially  my 
domestic,  friends  with  increasing  tenderness.  I  find  more  to  love  in 
those  I  have  longest  known.  This  is  a  good  sign.  In  truth,  when 
I  look  on  my  own  famil}^,  and  make  them  a  standard  of  the  race, 
I  feel  that  the  accounts  of  human  depravity  must  be  exaggerated." 

In  the  spring  of  ever}'  year,  exhausted  by  his  winter's  work,  and 
pierced  bv  the  raw  east  winds  of  the  Massachusetts  seaboard.  Dr. 
Channing  found  himself  compelled  to  revisit  Rliode  Island.  In 
April,  he  writes  to  a  friend  :  — 

"This  season  is  one  in  which  I  always  lose  strength,  and  am 
obHged  to  give  up  for  a  time  m^'  common  duties.  As  soon  as 
the  warmth  of  the  weather  will  admit,  I  shall  retreat  to  the  countr}', 
and  there  give  mj'self  three  or  four  months'  repose,  that  I  may  be 
prepared  for  a  new  campaign." 

Another  languid  month  has  gone,  and  then  he  can  thus  pour 
out  his  grateful  satisfaction  in  the  sense  of  returning  health  and 
spirits :  — 

"I  write  3'ou  from  our  dear  native  island,  —  a  spot  which  be- 
comes more  and  more  dear  to  me.  Whilst  the  generation  with 
which  I  grew  up  has  disappeared,  nature  is  the  same  ;  and  even 
when  a  bo}-,  it  seems  to  me  that  m}'  chief  interest  clung  to  the 
fields,  the  ocean,  the  beach.  What  I  want  at  tliis  season  of  the 
year  is  repose,  and  I  know  no  part  of  our  country  which  has  more 
of  tranquil  beauty  than  this." 

And  again  :  — 

"  August,  1832.^  I  am  spending  this,  as  I  do  all  my  summers, 
about  sixty  or  seventy'  miles  from  Boston,  on  my  native  island, 

1  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


PHYSICAL  DEPRESSION. 


635 


called  Rhode  Island,  a  spot  of  which  I  suppose  yo     ^^^^  "  J^J 
heard,  but  which  is  to  me  the  most  interesting  on  ear  h      I  believe 
it  is  vmiversuUy  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  beautitul  p  ace  on  onr 
whole  range  of  sea-coast.     It  has  one  of  the  finest  harbors  in  the 
world,  and  is  situated  in  a  broad  bay,  which  embosoms  many  isl- 
ands, of  which  this  is  the  queen.     Its  surface  reminds  me  more  of 
^e  o'entle,  graceful  slopes  of  your  country,  than  any  scene  I  have 
'sit^d  in  Imerica;  and  its  climate  is  more  English,  being  quite 
n^d,  though  affording  us  often  those  bright  skies  f  which  j^u 
see  so  few  in  England.     No  spot  in  our  country  which  I  know  has 
-so  equal  a  temperature.      These  advantages,   together  with  fine 
beaches  for  batling,   make  it  quite  a  resort  for  invalids  and  the 

'^fuftiaeuoe  is  in  the  very  centre  of  this  beautiful  ^land,  five 
miles  from  the  town;  and  when  I  tell  you  that  a  son  of  your  Gil- 
pin, the  celebrated  writer  on  the  picturesque  gave  us  some  its 
towards  lavin-  out  our  garden,  and  that  it  has  been  cultivated  by 
SCO  1  and  Idsh  gardeners,  you  will  easily  conceive  that  though 
we  ave  so  remote  from  you,  our  outward  world  does  not  gi-eatly 
differ  In  natural  beauty,  my  island  does  not  seem  to  me  inferior 
to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  In  cultivation,  it  will  bear  no  comparison. 
Our  farmers  are  slovenly,  spreading  their  labor  over  large  forms, 
satisfied  to  live  well,  and  caring  little  for  posterity  or  for  improve- 
ment Here  I  spend  four  or  five  months  annually,  enjoying  my 
tranquillity  almost  too  much,  almost  reproaching  myselt  for  being 
so  happy,'when  I  am  doing  so  little  for  the  happiness  of  others. 

It  was  extreme  refinement  of  conscience  only  that  could  have 
made  Dr.  Channing  feel  even  a  transient  pang  of  self-reproach  for 
These   periods   of  Involuntary  retirement.      The   alternative   each 
.e^was  death  or  long  repose.     The  thought  constantly  suggeste^^ 
by  intimate  acquaintance  with  him  was,  "  How  is  the  f  ail  body 
of  this  man  kept  living  by  his  desire  to  finish  his  woik!        The 
finest  fibre  only  united  the  spiritual  force  and  the  materia   frame, 
and  he  felt  no  hberty  to  snap  the  tie  till  his  mission  was  discharged. 
Dut^-  governed  him  in  the  care  of  health  as  in  all  relations.     I  eel- 
ino'that  early  imprudence  had  made  him  an  invalid,  he  husbanded 
conscientiously   his   scanty  store  of  strength,   though  every  year 
compelled  to  pay  in  weeks  and  months  of  inaction  the  penalty  for 
ex"?ions  beyU  his  power,  but  which  he  felt  no  freedom  to   oi-ego 
The  robust  might  have  thought  him  a  valetudinarian     but  close 
observers  could'not  but  revere  the  touching  patience  and  quiet  reso- 
hit  on  with  which  he  daily,  hourly,  sacrificed  desire  to  judgment, 
a'^  curbed  an  aspiring,  bounding  temper  to  keep  a  gentle  pace. 


636  HOME   LIFE. 

Critics  have  blamed  him  that  he  left  no  large  finished  works.  But 
they  who  were  near  him  felt  shamed  by  an  energy  that,  amidst 
such  constant  hindrances,  accomplished  so  much.  It  is  onl}'  bj- 
incidental  allusions  scattered  along  his  correspondence  for  years, 
that  one  can  form  an  adequate  conception  of  the  clog  which  hung 
upon  him  throughout  his  manhood.  But  justice  to  the  noble  spirit, 
who  so  uncomplainingly  bore  the  load  of  mortality',  demands  that 
this  fact  of  his  unremitted  physical  depression  should  be  fully 
understood.  A  few  extracts  from  his  letters  will  show  the  nature 
of  his  malady,  and  the  gentle  firmness  with  which  he  wore  his 
fetters. 

'■'■  July,  1825.  The  pulse,  habitually  languid,  begins  to  fly  under 
the  exertion  of  preaching,  and  fever  and  increased  indigestion 
follow." 

'■'■  Broohline,  September  16,  1825.  Last  night  I  found  my  usual 
sleep  restored  to  me,  which  I  esteem  a  great  blessing.  The  tran- 
quillity of  the  mind  hy  day  is  certainly-  aided  by  its  repose  at  night, 
and  could  I  bring  back  the  slumbers  of  childhood,  I  should  not 
despair  of  getting  something  of  a  childlike  lightness  of  spirit  in  my 
waking  hours." 

"  November,  1825.  I  resume  m}^  public  labors,  though  not  with- 
out some  cause  of  apprehension.  The  effect  of  my  interesting 
engagements  is  to  take  away  sleep  almost  wholly  for  nights.  This 
has  been  one  of  the  symptoms  of  my  failing  health." 

"  October,  1827.  I  have  borne  so  long  the  burden  of  that  half- 
health,  which  makes  a  man  una^)le  to  say  whether  he  is  sick  or 
well,  and  which  restrains  all  the  soarings  and  continued  efforts  of 
the  mind,  that  I  earnestl}-  desire  some  release  from  it." 

1828.     "M}'  health  continues  to  form  no  small  part  of  the  disci-' 
pline  to  which  Providence  sees  fit  to  subject  me.     I  have  bright 
days  in  which  I  form  plans  of  extensive  exertion,  and  perhaps  my 
very  ardor  suddenl}'  reduces  me  to  a  state  of  debility  in  which  I 
hardh'  dare  to  expect  ever  again  to  accomplish  anything." 

"  St.  Croix,  April  6,  1831.  I  believe  I  must  make  up  mv  mind 
to  carry  with  me  this  feeble  bod3'  to  the  grave.  Sometimes,  when 
I  am  obliged  to  stop  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  subject,  I  wish  I 
had  more  health.  But  if  we  are  to  live  forever,  we  need  not  be 
impatient.  That  word /o/vi-er.'  Does  it  never  break  upon  you 
with  something  of  the  power  of  sudden  thunder,  and  startle  you 
into  a  strange  awe?  O  how  wonderful  that  immortality  does  not 
move  us  more  !  " 


WRITING  UNDER  LANGUOR.  637 

"  Odoher    1831.1     j  have  experienced  during  this  depression  of 
the  body,  what  I  have  sometimes  known  before,  a  singular  clear- 
ness and  brightness  of  mind  on   the  most   interestu.g   subjects. 
Without  the  least  enthusiasm,  or  indulgence  of  imaguiation,  I  have 
thouoht  of  human  immortality  with  a  calm  elevation  and  happu.es 
.^^ioh  I  think  cannot  be  common.     There  was  a  jealousy-  and  dread 
of  a  dreamy,  visionary  state  of  mind,  and  a  deep  consciousness 
hat  all  emotions  in  view  of  futurity  which  could  not  }^^^ 
min-le  with  and  bear  on  common  life  were  useless.     Ihe  physiolo- 
gists tell  us,  that,  in  cases  of  this  kind,  the  nervous  sj'stem,  or 
iratever  part  of  the  body  ministers  to  thought,  is  under  some 
p mdiar  excitement.     May  it  not  be,  that,  in  this  depression  ot  the 
an  mal  life,  the  mind  is  more  free  fi'om  the  influence  of  matter^  is 
Zr itself  and  gives  us  some  earnest  of  what  it  is  to  be?     One 
7Z.  rowever,  f  learn.     If  a  change  of  the  present  animal  system 
c^i  give  us  suJh  glimpses  and  enjoyments,  what  may  we  not  hope 
from  the  spiritual  body,  the  more  refined  organization  of  which 
Paul  speaks  ?  " 

"  December  28,  1833.  In  truth,  I  have  not,  for  a  long  time,  had 
such  health.  I  dare  not  draw  upon  it  largely,  and  spend  much  of 
the  day  in  exercise.  Still,  my  progress,  though  turned  to  so  little 
account  is  a  oreat  good  to  me.  To  be  able  to  move  without  a 
rsdolness  of  etfoft  in  every  step,  and  to  study  a  Uttle  without 
entire  exhaustion,  is  so  much  of  a  novelty,  that  I  enjoy  it  more 
than  the  healthy  do  their  perfect  strength." 

-  Philadelphia,  May  27,  1835.  At  this  moment  I  am  somewhat 
worn  down  by  preaching  two  sermons  two  successive  Sunday  s. 
There  seemed  a  call  for  effort,  and  I  do  not  regret  that  I  made  it ; 
but  I  must  sutfer." 

^^  Boston,  May,  1838.  I  have  been  taken  from  my  labors  for 
neariy  two  months,  and  am  good  for  little,  though  slowly  rising. 
I  look  forward  to  my  retreat  on  the  island  with  increased  joy.  In 
that  quiet,  I  can  use  my  powers  with  less  injury  than  amidst  the 
excitements  of  the  city." 

1841  "  The  tract  has  been  better  received  by  the  public  than  I 
had  reason  to  expect,  for  I  wrote  under  great  languor,  with  a  con- 
tinual consciousness  of  inabihty  to  give  sufficient  force  and  expres- 
sion to  my  thoughts.  This  is  a  cross  I  have  often  to  beai^  and  3et 
some  of  my  productions,  which  have  been  wrung  fo^/^^ J^/ 
painful  effort  in  hours  of  feebleness,  have  done  good.     M)  tliree 

1  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D. 


638  HOME  LIFE. 

Lectures  for  the  Laboring  Classes  were  written  with  the  feeling  of 
a  feeble  man  carrying  a  load  up  hill ;  and  yet  I  have  testimonies 
from  the  mechanics  of  England  to  their  usefulness." 

Pains  have  been  taken  thus  to  exhibit  Dr.  Channing's  constant 
feebleness  of  body,  because,  unless  his  physical  condition  is  con- 
ceived, his  character  cannot  be  rightly  apprehended.  His  seem- 
ingh'  inactive  life  was  not  a  chosen,  but  an  imposed,  form  of 
existence.  Essentially,  he  was  a  person  of  strong  will,  keenly 
sensitive,  large  in  affection,  earnest  in  purpose,  brave,  though 
prudent,  and  indomitable  in  cheerful  trust.  Fluent  in  enthusiasm, 
guided  on  by  a  bright  ideal,  sympathizing  profoundly  with  his  race 
in  their  trials  and  struggles,  refreshed  in  faith  from  on  high,  he  was 
designed,  apparently,  to  have  poured  abroad  a  vWqv  of  good  in- 
fluence in  varied  action.  But  the  accidents  of  birth  in  an  age 
of  unsettled  opinions,  and  still  more  of  a  shattered  constitution, 
diverted  his  energies  into  a  broad,  deep  lake  of  contemplation. 
Regarding  his  life  as  a  whole,  and  considering  how  he  was  hemmed 
in  at  once  b}'. speculative  difficulties  and  bodily  infirmity,  it  is  in- 
deed remarkable  that  he  should  have  so  identified  himself  with  his 
fellow-men  in  all  lands  and  conditions,  and  have  made  his  power  so 
widel}'  felt.  But  to  no  one  as  to  himself  did  his  success  seem  par- 
tial ;  for  he  measured  it  by  his  grand  designs.  He  knew  only, 
that,  under  his  circumstances,  he  had  done  his  best,  and  humbly 
deferred  to  the  ever-widening  future  the  accomplishment  of  his 
hopes.  This  view  of  Dr.  Channing  is  so  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive, that  it  may  be  well  to  illustrate  its  truth  bj-  quite  full  extracts 
from  his  correspondence.  In  nothing  did  his  real  greatness  shine 
forth  more  purely  than  in  his  submission  to  the  necessity  of  a  com- 
parativel}'  passive  life. 

"  Boston,  June  28,  1824,  Yesterday  I  preached  without  sparing 
mj'self,  letting  a  great  subject  bear  me  where  it  would,  and  the  ex- 
haustion was  only  temporary.  Can  it  be  that  I  am  to  be  spared  to 
accomplish  some  of  the  labors  on  which  I  have  set  my  heart  ?  " 

"  November  12,  1824.  Yesterday'  I  delivered  a  short  sermon 
without  suffering.  This  I  esteem  among  the  very  hnppy  events  of 
my  life.  It  is  true  that  infirmity  and  inaction,  when  a[)[)ointed  by 
God,  are  to  be  received  as  good,  and  I  am  persuaded  that  some  of 
us  are  more  deeply  instructed  in  heavenly  wisdom  by  being  laid 
aside  as  useless,  than  by  being  left  to  successful  and  honored  labors  ; 
but  when  our  Master  recalls  us  to  his  work,  is  it  not  right  to  rejoice?  " 

"  October  10,  1825.  I  have  resolved  on  any  sacrifice  but  that  of 
duty,  which  health  may  require.     I  have  hope  that  I  ma}-  do  some- 


RELIGION  OF  MEDITATION.  639 

thino- ;  but  my  thirst  for  study  and  exertion,  wlaicli  sometimes  rises 
to  a'passion,  must  be  indulged  very  moderately,  if  at  all.  It  is  all 
rjo-ht,  however.  The  Great  Disposer  knows  our  whole  nature,  and 
looks  through  our  whole  duration.  I  doubt  not,  that,  if  the  present 
trial  yields  its  proper  fruits,  I  shall  be  ultimately  a  wiser  and  more 
efficient  being  than  if  I  were  to  follow  my  own  course  now." 

"  November,  1825.  Repose,  repose,  is  becoming  almost  too  favor- 
ite a  word  with  me.  It  is  to  me  food  and  medicine.  I  do  not  mean 
inaction,  but  a  calm  exercise  of  my  powers  and  affections.  Ihe 
affections  are  about  as  exhausting  as  the  intellect,  and  a  little  more 
so  when  strongly  excited.  I  trust  that  I  am  not  only  to  gam 
wisdom  in  this  respect,  but  to  put  it  in  practice.  I  fear  that  a  less 
animated  mode  of  preaching  may  be  less  impressive.  But  the  ques- 
tion is,  if  continued  labor  of  a  less  impressive  kind  may  not  do  more 
o-ood  than  a  few  efforts,  destroying  the  power  of  exertion,  and 
followed  by  long  intervals  of  relaxation.  You  see  I  am  grown 
rational." 

"  Rhode  Island,  August  17,  1827.^  I  almost  envy  you  the  happi- 
ness of  continued  activity,  and  of  such  exertions  as  show  their  fruits. 
Most  of  us  hope  we  do  good ;  but  we  live  by  faith  rather  than  by 
sioht.  Now  and  then  we  have  affecting  proof  that  what  seemed  to 
us"  lost  seed  has  struck  root,  and  that  our  words  have  found  then- 
way  far  into  men's  minds.  You,  from  the  nature  of  the  materials 
you  work  upon,— to  say  nothing  of  your  mode  of  working,  — see 

striking  changes 

''  I  am  still  at  this  paradise, —  for  such  Rhode  Island  is  to  me. 
I  mean  paradise  externally,  rather  than  internally.  I  do  not  find 
refuge  here  from  the  great  conflict  of  human  nature,  from  the  war 
of  '"the  spirit  against  the  flesh.'  But  to  some  minds  quiet  retreat 
brings  advantages  for  that  struggle.  The  Divine  principle  within 
us  seems  to  be  called  forth  by  the  marks  of  the  Divinity  in  the 
creation,  and  the  religion  of  meditation  —  not  the  highest  religion, 
indeed,  but  still  not  worthless  —  is  nourished.  I  am  aware  that 
a  virtue  which  leans  so  much  on  outward  condition  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  that  which  wins  its  crown  on  the  field  of  battle,  and 
grows  stronger  by  exposure.  But  we  must  make  our  way  as  we 
ean  ;  and  I  trust  that  a  temporary  shelter  does  not  disgrace  a  soldier 
of  Jesus  Christ.  The  eff-ect  of  tlie  quiet  thought  to  which  I  give 
myself  here  is  to  make  me  more  sensible  to  the  thick  darkness 
which  overspreads  the  Christian  world.  I  seem  to  discover  as  many 
errors  in  practical  as  in  dogmatic  religion.     The  false  theology, 

1  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D. 


640  HOME  LIFE. 

which  has  prevailed  for  ages,  is  burying  us  still  in  night.  But  the 
corruptions  which  we  are  trying  to  expose  in  the  popular  sj'stem  are 
perhaps  but  superficial,  compared  with  those  Avhich  remain  unrecog- 
nized, and  which  we  all  inherit.  Tiie  true  reformation,  I  apprehend, 
is  yet  to  come.     But  enougli." 

"  St.  Croix,  February  12,  1831.^  Hardly  a  day  passes  without 
spreading  and  strengtliening  my  sympathies  with  the  mass  of  men, 
the  poor,  the  forsalcen.  The  sights  which  are  most  familiar  here 
turn  my  thoughts  continually'  on  the  need  of  great  revolutions  in  our 
present  social  order.  The  selfish,  all-grasping  sjDirit,  which  every- 
where sacrifices  the  many  to  the  few,  or  leaves  the  many  to  suffer 
without  pity,  or  the  means  of  improving  their  lot,  must  be  resisted 
as  it  has  not  been. 

"  You  are  right  in  not  being  willing  to  exchange  ^'our  daily  walks 
for  my  luxuries  and  ease,  though  I  was  half  angry  and  half  amused 
at  the  manner  in  which  3-ou  speak  of  my  present  situation.  You 
seem  to  think  I  am  acting  the  part  of  Corydon  ;  but  I  never  had  any 
great  relish  for  Arcadia.  Man's  business  is  among  men  ;  and  if  I 
have  gone  to  solitudes,  it  was  not  to  sigh  among  shades,  but  to  use 
my  little  power  as  well  as  I  could.  To  me  the  country  is  the  best 
article  in  the  materia  medica.  Its  quiet  is  to  me  what  sleep  is  to  3'ou. 
In  society,  I  soon  become  exhausted.  Earnest  conversation  makes 
me  fevered,  and  so  does  breathing  the  close  air  of  a  heated,  crowded 
room.    I  am  obliged,  too,  to  live  more  at  home  from  the  necessity  of 

observing  a  regimen To  one  who  finds  so  man}-  little  trials 

in  society  which  he  can  hardly  speak  of,  it  is  well  to  walk  in  a  quiet, 
retii'cd  path.  I  have  never  found  that  my  lonel}-  way  of  life  has 
alienated  me  from  my  race.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that,  to  me, 
it  has  been  the  spring  or  nutriment  of  philanthrop}'.  It  has  kept  me 
from  factitious  tastes,  and  from  attaching  importance  to  the  artifi- 
cial distinctions  of  life 

"  You  will  ask  me,  I  know,  what  I  do  in  my  retirement.  I  wish 
I  could  give  a  better  report.  I  am  not  idle,  but  my  mind  is  not  in 
one  of  its  productive  moods.  I  am  folloAving  out  some  great  views. 
Do  not  smile  or  scold  because  I  am  only  accumulating.  Suppose  I 
leave  tlie  world  before  communicating  more.  Think  you  that  in  the 
future  w(jild  there  will  bo  no  room  for  wliat  we  now  learn  ?  A  mind 
which  is  toiling  in  solitude,  if  it  gain  trutli,  is  preparing  itself  for 
larger  reception  of  truth  hereafter,  and  will  be  perpetually-  exalted 
and  useful." 

^'■February.,  1834.'^     In  truth,  who  can  sympathize  with  an  intel- 

1  To  Joseph  Tuckerman,  D.  D.  ^  To  Orville  Dewey,  D.  D. 


MATURITY  OF  MIND.  641 

lectual  laborer,  disappointed  in  his  dearest  hopes,  as  I  can?  .... 
Unhappily,  the  care  of  the  bod}-  does  not  allow  any  systematic  ex- 
ertion of  mind  ;  and  3'et  I  do  not  complain.  To  mj'self,  the  mind 
seems  to  be  making  progress.  I  trnst  this  is  not  one  of  the  delu- 
sions of  age.  I  am  hardly  old  enough  to  be  cheated  in  this 
particular." 

^^  June  G,  1835.  I  made  a  great  effort  at  Philadelphia,  and 
preached  three  Sundays  in  succession,  which  I  have  not  dune  for  a 
long  time.  The  people  were  anxious  to  hear,  and  I  willing  to 
take  the  hazard  of  unusual  exertion  ;  and,  though  I  was  much  ex- 
hausted, I  believe  I  did  not  suffer  essentially.  On  these  Qccasions 
1  long  for  greater  strength.  Knowing,  as  I  do,  that  I  have  great 
and  life-giving  truths  to  deliver,  1  want  to  toil  as  I  have  never  done. 
I  can  tell  30U  from  my  own  experience,  that  a  good  constitution  is 
the  best  estate  ;  and  3'ou  must  do  what  3'ou  can  to  earn  it.  How- 
ever, it  is  a  comfort  to  know,  that,  where  there  is  a  fervent  heart 
and  a  strong  purpose,  much  may  be  done  with  a  weak  body." 

'•'•  Oakland^  June  22,  1840.^  I  have  long  learned  to  estimate  life 
by  the  capacity  of  action  it  affords.  To  me  there  has  been  but  one 
serious  drawback  on  the  enjoyments  of  a  very  privileged  lot,  and 
tliat  has  been  the  inability  to  work  without  an  almost  constant  feel- 
ing of  exhaustion  ;  the  inabilit}'  to  reahze,  as  yet,  any  of  my  great 
purposes.  When  I  see  one  who  can  work  with  spirit  and  joy,  I 
could  almost  envy  him  ;  and  yet  I  have  never  questioned  that  Prov- 
idence which  has  laid  on  me  m}-  burden." 

"  January  1,  1842.^  Since  I  wrote  to  you,  I  have  had  an  illness, 
from  which  I  have  been  creeping  up  slowl}-  these  two  months.  My 
suffering  was  nothing,  compared  with  yours.  Still,  I  take  pleasure 
in  remembering  what  a  privilege  it  seemed  to  me  to  live,  to  think, 
to  feel,  to  lift  up  my  heart  under  much  pain.  It  seems  you  cannot 
continue  writing ;  but  this  will  not  make  life  useless.  There  is 
often  a  mysterious  growth  of  the  mind,  which  we  can  trace  to  no 
particular  efforts  or  studies,  which  we  can  hardly  define,  though  we 
are  conscious  of  it.  We  understand  ourselves  and  the  past,  and 
our  friends  and  the  world  better.  I  have  sometimes  been  tempted 
to  think  that  the  most  profitable  portions  of  mj-  life  were  those  when 
I  seemed  to  do  the  least.  There  is  a  certain  maturity  of  mind,  dis- 
tinct from  acquisitions  of  knowledge,  which  is  worth  all  the  fruits 
of  study,  and  which  comes  we  hardly  know  how.  Perhaps  I  give 
an  individual  experience  ;  but  I  state  it  because  it  has  helped  to 
reconcile  me  to  inaction." 

1  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau.  2  To  the  same. 

41 


642  HOME   LIFE. 

"  Lenox^  Juhj  13,  1842.  I  like  much  the  Transcendental  tenden- 
cies of  our  family.  I  do  not  wish  tliat  we  were  more  like  the  world. 
At  the  same  time  I  wish  we  may  be  working  men,  bringing  some- 
thing to  pass,  lovers  of  our  race  not  in  word  and  feeling  only,  but 
in  act,  and  useful  in  the  plain,  homely  walks  of  life,  whilst  we  soar 
into  higher  regions.  To  unite  noble  speculation  with  wise  and 
noble  action,  this  is  the  idea  of  a  great  and  good  man  ;  let  us  try 
to  realize  it.  The  old  adage,  that  sails  profit  nothing  without  bal- 
last, we  must  remember.  Unhappily,  some  are  all  l)allast,  and  go 
to  the  bottom  ;  some  of  us  are  all  sails,  and  run  adrift." 

'•'■  Lenox ^  August^  1842.  You  are  in  danger  of  suffering  from 
high  aims.  Because  they  are  not  to  be  accomplished  instantly,  be- 
cause the  power  of  doing  the  whole  work  of  life  is  not  unfolded  at 
once,  you  droop.  You  shrink  from  the  toil  and  conflict  by  which 
this  power  is  to  be  won.  I  understand  what  you  mean  b}'  want  of 
energy,  for  I  have  felt  it  all  my  life.  The  difficulty  in  both  of  us  is 
physical,  to  a  great  degree.  I  hardly  know  what  it  is  to  do  any- 
thing without  a  sense  of  exhaustion.  The  light,  buojant  spirit 
with  which  many  men  do  their  work,  I  have  experienced  just 
enough  to  make  me  comprehend  it,  and  to  be  conscious  of  m^'  want 
of  it.  What  then?  I  have  felt  it  a  privilege  to  work,  even  under 
exhaustion  ;  and  power  has  grown  b^-  such  work." 

The  expression  used  in  one  of  the  preceding  letters,  —  "  the  re- 
ligion of  meditation,  —  not  the  highest  religion  indeed,  but  still 
not  worthless,"  —  gives  us  the  clue  to  Dr.  Channing's  life.  Cut 
off  from  the  large  range  of  study  and  action,  which  in  early  years 
had  opened  such  glorious  prospects,  he  meekl}-  turned  his  powers 
upon  the  inward  toils  of  self-purification.  If  not  in  tins  life,  then 
in  another  Avould  he.  Heaven  willing,  be  prepared  for  the  widest 
services  of  love.  In  a  letter  to  Ur.  Tuckerman,  he  says  with  all'ect- 
ing  humility  :  — 

'-'- June  17,  1828.  I  am  now  at  my  pleasant  retreat,  hoping  for 
strength  to  do  something,  but  not  anxious.  I  feel  that  religion  is 
obscured  by  much  error,  and  I  would  do  what  I  can  in  the  cause  of 
reformation.  But  a  deep  feeling  of  deficiency  and  un worthiness 
checks  the  hope  that  God  will  employ  me  for  the  communication  of 
any  great  light.  It  is  sometiiing,  however,  to  sec  the  darkness, 
and  to  awaken  others  to  seek  a  better  future." 

Calmly,  trustfully,  he  consecrated  himself  to  attain  pei'fection, 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  grew  more  intense,  the  more  it  was  con- 
centrated. Neither  restless  nor  sluggish,  unantici[)ating,  yet 
watchful,  he  trained  himself   to  faultless  practice  of  the  scale  of 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH.  643 

moral  liarmou}',  and  serenity  kept  liis  faculties  in  tune.     In  the  fol- 
lowing words  he  but  describes  his  own  experience. 

"  Tliere  is  a  thirst  for  something  better.  This  is  the  first  step. 
The  next  is  far  harder,  —  I  mean  the  resolution  to  mali;e  the  sacri- 
fices which  progress  demands.  There  is  an  immense  space  between 
desire  and  self-denial." 

He  obe3-ed  in  its  strict  sense  the  law,  "Renounce  and  be 
blessed,"  and  enjoyed  in  fullest  measure  the  liberty  of  self-com- 
mand. 

A  remarkable  person,  in  a  state  of  mystic  illumination,  while 
passing  penetrating  judgments  on  a  number  of  distinguished  men, 
once  said  of  Dr.  Channing,  that  "  he  was  kept  from  the  highest 
goodness  by  his  love  of  rectitude."  Very  probably  he  would  him- 
self have  verified  the  correctness  of  this  criticism.  There  certainly 
had  been  periods  of  life  when  he  had  restrained  himself,  as  he  was 
aware,  too  stitfly,  though  every  year  of  maturing  virtue  rendered 
him  more  free.  But  in  his  company  the  tliought  would  constantly 
occur,  "  How  much  richer  is  the  latent  nature  of  this  man  than  the 
manifestations  of  it  which  he  allows  to  appear,  or  than  he  is  liim- 
self  aware  of!  "  An  earnestness,  a  susceptibility  to  profound  emo- 
tion, an  exuberance  of  sanguine  cheerfulness,  a  chivalrous  daring, 
a  stern  yet  smiling  heroism,  a  poetic  glow,  flashed  out  at  times 
through  his  guarded  evenness  of  deportment,  giving  promise  of  a 
higher  style  of  greatness  than  that  which  he  revealed.  And  yet, 
when  one  beheld  his  composed  consistency,  his  attempered  strength, 
most  self-relying  when  least  outwardly  sustained,  his  presence  of 
mind  and  foresight,  his  calm  contentment,  and,  above  all,  his 
steady  growth,  the  question  rose,  whether  his  energy  of  will  and 
wisdom  were  not  most  displayed  in  this  willingness  to  wait.  Too 
early  buds  are  blighted.  His  summer  had  not  come.  Seemingly 
he  had  sacrificed  impulse  to  method,  fulness  of  force  to  order ;  but 
had  he  not  thereby  attained  to  peace,  "that  highest  and  most 
strenuous  action  of  the  soul,  in  which  all  the  powers  and  affections 
are  blended  in  beautiful  proportion,  and  sustain  and  perfect  one 
another"?^ 

It  was  Dr.  Channing's  desire  and  purpose  to  write  a  book  on  the 
growth  of  a  religious  spirit,  in  which,  in  a  partly  biographical, 
partly  didactic  form,  he  would  have  illustrated  his  own  experience 
in  regard  to  the  true  function  of  conscience.  He  had  discovered 
that  the  monarchical  principle  in  human  nature  becomes  desi)otic, 
when  not  checked  by  the  representative   element  of  the  natural 

1  Works,  Vol.  I.  p.  205.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  574 


644  HOME  LIFE. 

affections,  and  the  constitutional  law  of  enlightened  reason.  He 
had  learned  thoroughly  the  benefits  of  moral  gymnastics  in  solitary 
self-discipline  ;  but  he  had  learned  also  that  the  useful  exertion  of  all 
faculties  combined,  in  pursuit  of  worthy  ends  amidst  our  fellows,  is 
the  highest  training  for  symmetric  goodness.  A  few  hints  from  his 
private  papers  will  show  this  tendency  of  his  thoughts  in  later  years. 

"The  idea  of  improvement,  progress,  perfection,  must  become 
plain,  palpable,  all-animating.  It  must  inspire  and  quicken  our 
desires.  The  whole  force  of  the  soul  must  be  reserved  for  Love. 
This  idea  of  celestial  virtue,  lofty,  venerable,  must  fix  the  purpose 
of  universal  goodness,  and  sustain  the  firm  resistance  to  all  sin. 
The  consciousness  of  being  appointed  for  this  sublime  end  is  to  give 
a  tone  to  the  whole  mind,  to  protect  us  from  the  debasing  influ- 
ences of  selfishness,  to  communicate  worth  and  beauty  to  the  hum- 
blest duties,  to  kindle  and  elevate  all  our  affections,  to  surround  us 
with  a  sense  of  the  charm,  dignity,  glory,  of  life,  to  lift  us  up,  to 
carry  us  forward.  We  must  devote  the  whole  body  of  sin  to  death, 
and  choose  perfect  goodness  as  our  supreme  end.  The  promotion 
of  that  virtue  which  is  central  and  universal,  that  is,  love  in  its 
purest  form,  secures  most  fall  and  rapid  advancement,  and  mingles 
joy  with  every  effort  of  self-control  and  of  progress.  The  passions 
are  never  so  easily  subdued  as  when  checked  by  a  generous,  disin- 
terested, sublime  purpose,  with  which  the  soul  is  filled." 

"  There  is  a  mystery  in  the  growth  of  the  spirit,  as  of  the  body  ; 
and  if  we  supply  the  needed  nutriment,  the  process  in  each  goes  on 
without  our  consciousness.  The  moral  nature  is  fed  by  right  action 
amidst  present  duties,  rather  than  by  direct  efforts  put  forth  on  the 
character.  Improvement  is  less  promoted  by  constant  self-watch- 
ing, than  by  a  generous  pouring  forth  of  our  minds  and  hearts  on 
grand  objects.  Great  men  are  produced  by  great  ends.  There  is 
a  danger  of  selfish  sensitiveness  to  our  own  imperfections.  The 
best  remedy  for  habitual  self-indulgence  is  to  i)lunge  ourselves  un- 
reservedly into  some  work  of  well-doing  which  involves  hardships 
and  demands  self-sacrifice.  We  improve  without  intending,  with- 
out knowing  it,  by  mere  intercourse  with  great  minds.  Perhaps 
direct  effort  is  chiefly  important  as  preparing  us  for  these  more 
gently  pervading  influences.  The  best  growth  is  that  which  we  do 
not  rigidly  determine.  Accordingly,  there  is  to  be  a  wise  abandon- 
ment of  ourselves  to  good  influences.  We  must  not  too  anxiously 
seek  self- formation.  This  may  prevent  free,  natural  development. 
There  may  be  nervousness  about  spiritual,  as  well  as  physical 
health,  a  killing  of  our  strength  of  will  by  medicines,  a  want  of 


DEVOUTNESS. 


645 


trust  in  wholesome  aliment,  air,  exercise,  and  liglit.  Nature 
society,  events,  beautiful  examples,  all  carry  forward  the  mind 
open  to  good  impressions.  A  latent  consciousness  of  then-  benefits 
makes  our  surrender  to  their  charm  an  act  of  virtue.  A\  e  grow 
wise  every  moment  without  intending  it,  if  our  hearts  are  set  upon 
perfection,  as  taste  grows  in  the  artist  by  communion  with  beautiful 
objects.  A  purpose  may  guide  us  witliout  perpetual  thought  of  it. 
We  must  put  forth  our  full  energy,  we  must  seek  a  right  direction 
of  all  our  powers.  But  the  great  means  of  improvement  is  to  pre- 
pare ourselves  for  the  celestial  light  forever  shed  abroad,  for  deeper 
insioht  into  virtues,  wherever  manifested,  for  higher  aspirations, 
ho\A^ever  suggested,  for  the  inward  monitions  which  carry  us  on- 
ward, for  inspirations,  for  Divine  impulses." 

"  Reverie,"  said  Dr.  Channing  to  a  friend,  "  was  once  the  hectic 
of  my  soul,  —meditation  has  been  its  Ufe."     In  these  constrained 
seasons  of  rest  and  retirement,  when  he  was  seeking  to  put  away 
every  motive,  association,  habit,  that  obscured  with  earthly  fumes 
the  firmament  of  the  spirit,  when  amid  inaction  he  was  training 
himself  to  eneroy,  resolution,  self-sacrifice,  courage,  and  in  solitude 
was  longing  to" extend  and  multiply  his  ties  of  spiritual  intercourse 
with  mankind,  he  was  brought  ever  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  living 
God.     His  trains  of  meditation,  like  ascending  and  descending  an- 
gels, linked  earth  with  heaven.     Without  mysticism,  rapture,  or 
any  Vorm  of  extravagant  emotion,  he  felt  that  he  was  daily  walking 
in 'closest  intimacy   with  "a  Being  worthy  of  the  heart's  whole 
treasure  of  love,  to  whom  he  might  consecrate  his  whole  existence, 
in  approaching  whom  Ave  enter  an  atmosphere  of  purity  and  bright- 
ness, in  sympathizing  with  whom  we  cherish  only  noble  sentiments, 
in  devoting  ourselves  to  whom  we  espouse  great  and  enduring  in- 
terests, in  whose  character  we  find  the  spring  of  an  ever-enlarging 
philanthropy,  and  by  attachment  to  whom  all  our  other  attachments 
are  hallowed,  protected,  and  supplied  with  tender  and  sublime  con- 
solations under  bereavement  and  blighted  hope."^ 

Dr.  Channing's  private  papers,  as  well  as  his  published  writings, 
are  so  pervaded  by  piety,  that  to  select  particular  illustrations 
seems  like  attempting  to  condense  from  a  single  flower  the  ray  that 
calls  out  its  tints  and  perfume,  while  the  earth  and  air  are  radiant 
with  sunshine.  Yet  the  picture  of  his  life  would  be  imperfect  with- 
out giving  one  or  two  extracts  as  indications  of  this  central  trait  of 
his  charattter.  It  may  be  said,  in  a  word,  however,  that  with  him 
devoutness  was  no  fitful,  intermitted  state,  a  sudden  summer  be- 

1  Works,  Vol.  I.  p.  204.    One  Volume  Edition,  p.  573. 


646  HOME  LIFE. 

tween  polar  nights  of  apathy  ;  his  thoughts  anrl  deeds,  conversation 
and  social  pleasures,  as  well  as  his  solitary  hours,  were  made  peren- 
niall}'  fruitful  by  a  glowing  consciousness  of  tlie  Divine  presence, 

"  I  must  be  alive  to  God  ;  I  must  feel  the  infinitel}'  near  connec- 
tion that  binds  the  spirit  to  the  Heavenly  Father.  I  must  tliirst 
for  him,  as  the  Perfect  Goodness,  —  as  the  centre,  fulness,  foun- 
tain, of  all  that  is  great  and  lovel}".  Tlie  explanation  of  the  habit- 
ual insensibility  to  God,  in  which  multitudes  live,  is,  that  the  state 
of  mind  into  which  the}'  are  forced  by  the  present  condition  of  man- 
kind is  hostile  to  the  religious  feeling.  Amidst  prevalent  selfish- 
ness, we  do  not  feel  the  generosity  of  the  Divine  love.  But  we  can 
even  now  gain  glimpses  of  the  Perfection  of  which  the  law  of  right 
is  the  essence.  God  is  the  Infinite  Moral  Will,  —  pure,  unmixed 
Goodness,  —  pure  Reason  and  Love,  abiding  in  the  peace  of  calm, 
unchanging,  eternal  rectitude.  We  are  to  enter  into  the  depths  of 
his  love  to  every  liviug  creature.  To  conceive  vagueh'  of  goodness 
is  not  enough.  The  Divine  love  is  the  love  of  a  God,  infinite  love, 
infinite  in  its  energy,  intenseness,  variety,  extent,  duration,  its  all- 
vivifying,  all-recreating  power.  This  love  embraces,  pervades, 
every  beiug.  It  is  universal,  impartial,  immutalile.  Doss  not  such 
a  love  imply  that  every  spirit  is  to  be  unfolded  everlastingly? 
Should  not  every  intelligent  being  be  looked  upon  with  infinite 
faith?  Are  we  not  surrounded  by  manifestations  of  the  unlimited 
disinterestedness  of  God,  which  should  fill  our  hearts  with  gratitude 
and  devotedness?  Let  every  being  remind  us  of  perfect  good,  of 
the  interminable,  glorious  future,  in  which  the  light  of  the  Divine 
love  is  to  be  shed  abroad  forever  more  brightly  throughout  the  uni- 
verse. We  can  never  form  even  a  faint  conception  of  the  Heavenly 
Father,  until  we  rise  to  the  idea  of  perfect  goodness  as  the  fountain 
of  a  love  that  pours  forth  forever  rich,  free,  unbounded  connnuni- 
cations  of  its  own  blessedness,  that  warms,  embraces,  quickens, 
exalts  all  creatures.  God  is  the  ever-living,  ever-animating  centre 
of  this  glorious  universe,  from  which  we  cannot  in  thought  for  a 
moment  separate  him.  To  strive  towards  this  Sovereign  IMoral 
Will,  to  commune  with  him,  is  our  highest  good,  our  supreme  end, 
our  immortal  life." 

"  Is  the  all-sacrificing  love  of  Jesus  Christ  the  manifestation  of 
Divine  goodness  most  suited  to  move  us,  most  within  reach  of  our 
hearts?  Is  it  by  living  in  this,  and  conforming  ourselves  to  this 
hi  daily  life,  that  the  glory  of  the  All-loving  Father  most  fully 
beams  on  us?  Is  sympathy  with  this  love  of  Christ  a  revelation 
of  God  to  our  hearts?  Is  it  through  a  like  sacrifice  that  the  true 
sense  of  the  All-Good  is  to  be  unfolded  within  us  ?     We  must  have 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD.  647 

the  faith  of  Jesus  in  the  divinity  of  duty.     This  spiritual  act  of  faith, 
carried  out  in  the  performance  of  duty,  will  open  to  us  a  heavenly 
glory  in  goodness.     God's  will  must  be  trusted  and  obeyed ;  then 
does  he  ^come  forth  to  us,  manifest  himself  to   us.     Do  we  love 
him  by  feeling  his  presence,  or  feel  his  presence  by  loving  him? 
The  love  of  God  must  be  sought  from  love,  from  a  conscious  union 
with  him,  that  thirsts  for  its  own  increase.     His  goodness  calls  us 
to  goodness,  to  all  that  is  lovely,  generous,  great,  self-sacrificing ; 
and  goodness  exercised  creates   new  capacities  for  goodness ;  we 
grow  by  beneficence.     God  hides  himself  from  us,  that  our  love  to 
him  may  be  moral,  rather  than  instinctive,  selfish,  personal.     He 
reveals  himself  as  the  inspirer  of  conscience,  as  the  fulness  and 
fountain  of  virtue  ;  and  he  cannot  be  loved,  except  as  virtue,  good- 
ness, moral  perfection,  is  loved.     Is  not  the  very  spirit  of  piety 
the  devotion  of  the  soul  to  moral  good?     Our  Father,  the  Father 
in  whom  Christ  dwelt,  is  not  so  much  to  be  thought  of  as  the  Crea- 
tor acting  abroad,  but  as  acting  within,  the  life  of  our  spirits,  the 
awakener  of  love.     In  the  immensity  of  the  universe,  and  its  count- 
less, endless  blessings,  we  are  to  see  emblems  of  his  spiritual  in- 
terest in  his  spiritual  children.     All  his  perfections  bring  him  into 
nearest  union  with  every  soul.     Moral  consciousness  only  can  help 
us  to  comprehend  the  infinite  interest  of  tlie  Father  in  every  indi- 
vidual spirit,  his  desire  for  its  unbounded  glory,  progress,  felicity. 
His  love  can  be  conceived  of  only  when  we  feel  that  the  soul  by  its 
moral  endowments  is  fitted  to  bear  God's  image  in  goodness,  and 
to  ascend  for  ever  and  ever  in  immortal  love." 

"  To  see  God,  to  know  him,  is  not  to  see  anything  outward,  but 
to  recognize  him  as  a  spirit  in  all  his  acts,  as  the  designer  in  all 
his  designs;  in  every  thing  and  event  to  perceive  the  present,  living 
energy  of  the  Heavenly  Father.  The  universality,  infinity,  impar- 
tiality, perfect  justice,  perfect  love  of  God  is  to  be  acknowledged 
tlu-oughout  all  processes  of  nature  and  humanity.  He  is  Light ;  we 
are  tcT  behold  his  bright  revelation  of  himself  in  his  use  of  all  crea- 
tures. It  is  by  viewing  all  things  as  coming  from  the  spirit  of  God, 
that  we  are  to  learn  his  boundless  knowledge  and  inexhaustible 
love.  The  infinite  connections  which  unite  all  creatures  are  the 
sign  of  God's  all-pervading  energy.  The  animalcule  lives  by  the 
operation  of  infinite  laws.  Until  we  combine  all  finite  particulars 
in  the  idea  of  the  infinite  unity,  — until  we  look  at  the  design  of  the 
Heavenly  Father,  in  the  whole  creation,  to  awaken  the  infinite  prin- 
ciple in  man,  to  train  up  his  spiritual  children  to  immortal  goodness, 

until  we  see  in  all  his  laws  a  welcome  summons  to  universal, 

disinterested  love,  — we  cannot  know  God.     To  see  God  in  the 


648  HOME   LIFE. 

universe  is  to  see  in  it  the  unity  of  one  infinite  thought,  purpose, 
spirit,  pervading  it,  —  a  glor^-  of  goodness  brighter  than  all  suns, 

—  a  harmon}' of  power  more  majestic  than  all  the  combined  forces 
of  creation,  —  a  happiness  richer  than  all  means  of  happiness,  —  a 
love  which  in  itself  is  J03'.  To  know  God,  we  must  consider  his 
great  end,  which  is  to  unite  all  beings  b}' universal  justice  and  love, 

—  to  bring  all  spirits  into  harmony'  by  moral  bonds,  —  to  reconcile 
all  that  is  partial,  narrow,  selfish,  separate,  —  to  make  all  spirits 
one  b}-  love." 

"  Prayer  gives  intensity  to  the  consciousness  of  our  connection 
with  God,  —  lifts  us  out  of  our  narrowness  into  communion  with  the 
Infinite, — teaches  us  to  regard  our  interests  as  embraced  within 
the  immense  designs  of  Providence, — opens  to  us  a  view  of  our 
relations  to  the  universe  and  all  spirits.  We  come  to  Ilirn  who  has 
the  well-being  of  all  creatures  in  his  control,  in  whom  the  whole 
good  of  the  universe  is  concentrated.  Can  we  approach  him  ab- 
sorbed in  selfish  wants?  We  come  to  the  Spiritual  Father,  who 
desires  our  perfection,  whose  law  of  rectitude  is  immutable,  whose 
will  of  goodness  is  supreme,  who  abhors  evil.  Must  not  ever}' 
desire  become  purified  in  such  a  presence  ?  God  always  regards  us 
in  our  connections  with  other  beings  ;  every  gift  l)estowed  upon  us, 
or  withheld  from  us,  will  aflfect  them  as  well  as  us.  Should  not 
our  petition  be,  then,  to  receive  onl}'  what  the  Universal  Father 
sees  to  be  best  for  all  as  for  ourselves  ?  The  true  spirit  of  prayer 
is  a  submission  of  ourselves  to  the  good  of  the  whole,  to  the  pur- 
poses of  Infinite  Love." 

These  fragments,  from  manuscripts  which  might  fill  volumes, 
must  suffice  here  to  show  how  truly  —  to  use  his  own  words  —  Dr. 
Channing  had  attained,  ''in  the  universal  action  of  the  soul,  to 
conscious  harmony  with  God  and  the  creation,  an  alliance  of  love 
with  all  beings,  a  sympathy  with  all  that  is  pure  and  happy,  a  sur- 
render of  every  separate  will  and  interest,  a  participation  of  the 
spirit  and  life  of  the  universe,  an  entire  concoid  of  purpose  with 
the  Infinite  Original."'  It  was  from  the  centre  of  all-creating,  all- 
redeeming,  all-sanctifying  goodness,  that  he  sought  habitually  to 
regard  events  and  persons.  He  longed  to  be  made  wise  with  the 
science  of  Divine  order  in  its  progressive  developments.  He  trained 
himself  to  be,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  wore].  Just,  to  escape  from 
partiality  and  prejudice  into  the  open  air  of  truth,  to  see  the  relative 
worth  of  objects  and  occasions,  to  measure  accidents  by  i)rinciples, 
to  divine  the  future  from  the  confluent  tendencies  of  the  past,  to 

1  Works,  Vol.  I.  p.  205.     One  Volume  Edition,  p.  574. 


LOVE   OF  NATURE.  649   "f 

watch  the  ongoings  of  Providence.  Through  the  still  hours  of  his 
meditative  summers,  in  untiring  contemplation,  he  passed  in  review 
men  and  measures  at  Iiome  and  abroad  ;  and  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  liis  own  failures  and  triumphs,  learned  patience  and  hope 
for  his  race. 

In  this  effort  to  become  "  a  follower  of  God,  like  a  dear  child," 
Dr.  Channing  found  constant  refreshment  in  communion  with  nat- 
ural beauty.  His  letters  overflow  with  allusions  like  these  to  his 
delioht  in  outward  scenes  :  — 


"  I  have  been  walking  amidst  our  trees  and  flowers,  admiring 
the  perfection  of  God's  works,  and  seeing  his  glory  in  all  that  he 
has  made.  O  could  his  rational  offspring  fulfll  their  pui'pose  and 
reach  their  perfection,  as  do  these  humbler  productions  of  his  wis- 
dom and  love  !  But  are  we  to  despair?  The  plant  is  short-lived 
and  not  free.  Can  we  expect  a  free,  immortal  being  to  develop 
himself  as  early  and  regularly  as  the  material,  finite  germ?" 

"  I  am  now  enjoying  the  great  luxury  of  my  life,  — quiet  in  the 
midst  of  nature.  I  am  debarred  b}'  my  health  from  man^'  of  the 
pleasures  of  life,  but  this  is  a  balance  for  all.  It  grows  dearer 
the  older  I  grow,  and  I  am  old  enough  to  know  the  value  of  a 
happiness  over  which  time  has  no  power.  Here  I  feel  m}'  own 
spiritual  nature,  feel  myself  one  with  the  universe.  I  suppose  there 
is  no  great  virtue  in  the  sentiments  of  love  to  God  and  to  man 
which  spring  up  almost  involuntarilv  in  such  scenes.  But  the}' 
help  to  reveal  us  to  ourselves,  and  are  prophecies  which  concur 
wonderfully  with  the  promises  of  Christianity." 

"I  sometimes  think  that  I  have  a  peculiar  enjovment  of  a  fine 
atmosphei-e.  It  is  to  me  a  spiritual  pleasure,  rather  than  physical, 
and  seems  to  me  not  unworthy  our  future  existence.  Did  you  ever 
read  the  life  of  that  noble  Platonist,  Henry  More  ?  He  seemed  to 
consider  the  breathing  of  the  air  on  him  as  something  more  than  an 
emblem  of  the  H0I3'  Spirit ;  and  I  can  understand  how  he  was  led 
to  associate  with  it  some  peculiar  influence  from  above." 

"  You  hope  much  aid  to  your  intellect  from  the  beautiful  prospect 
3'our  new  house  is  to  give  you.  Do  not  be  too  confident.  The 
intellect,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word,  may  be  less  aided  than 
the  imagination  and  the  heart.  I  am  now  spending  the  summer  in 
the  country,  and  I  find  myself  lured  perpetually  from  my  books  and 
papers  to  saunter  among  the  shrubbery,  to  listen  to  the  wind  among 
the  branches,  to  eye  flowers  whose  names  I  cannot  remember,  to 
let  the  affections  rise  or  expand  at  will.  I  begin  to  think  there  is 
more  wisdom  in  these  aflTections  than  in  much  that  people  call  phi- 


v^  ^ 


650  HOME   LIFE. 

losophy ;  but  perhaps  you  have  not  lived  long  enough  to  learn  this, 
and  may  blame  your  beautiful  prospect  for  troubling  the  intellect." 

"I  hope  you  enjoy  this  beautiful  September  as  much  as  I  do. 
What  a  blessing  such  a  day  as  this  is  !  So  much  a  creature  of  the 
senses  am  I  still,  that  I  find  on  such  a  morning  that  it  is  easier  to 
hope  in  God,  and  to  anticipate  a  boundless  good  for  m}-  race." 

"You  want  to  hear  our  news,  but  the  best  and  happiest  life  is 
that  which  gives  nothing  to  speak  of.  My  life  is  more  and  more 
inward,  and  this  cannot  be  thrown  into  the  shape  of  news.  How 
can  I  convey  to  you  the  music  of  the  trees  this  moment  in  mj- 
ear,  made  l)y  a  fresh  south  wind  after  a  shower  last  night?  And 
3-et  this  is  one  of  my  events.  .  Do  you  understand  me,  when  I  say 
that  this  solid  earth  and  all  that  it  contains  seem  to  me  more  and 
more  evanescent,  at  the  very  moment  that  the}'  reveal  to  me  the 
Everlasting?" 

"  I  hope  you  carry  jour  spiritualit}'^  into  nature,  that  3'ou  feel 
the  sacredness  of  nature,  that  you  see  in  it  the  infinity  of  its 
Author,  that  its  vast  laws  expand  and  elevate  you,  that  3'ou  recog- 
nize in  these  the  expressions  of  the  highest  truth." 

"The  return  of  spring  is  more  interesting  and  touching  to  me 
than  in  former  years.  I  certainlj'  do  not  love  nature  less,  but 
more,  as  the  time  approaches  for  leaving  it.  Is  not  this  a  sign 
that  I  shall  not  leave  it,  that  I  am  preparing  to  enjoy  it  in  higher 
forms?" 

Thus  inwardly  and  outwardly  at  peace,  life  continually  opened 
before  Dr.  Channing  more  rich  in  beauty.  He  surprised  one  by 
his  expansiveness.  Each  year,  in  look,  movement,  tone,  manner, 
he  seemed  younger.  His  interests  grew  fresher  and  more  varied  ; 
his  sympathies  more  quick  and  pliant.  He  learned  to  trust  good 
impulses,  threw  the  reins  loose  on  the  necks  of  his  tamed  atlec- 
tions,  and  allowed  himself  freer  enjoyment.  By  increasing  purity 
and  harmony,  he  became  ever  more  at  home  in  the  universe. 
This  bright  youthfulness  of  spirit  thus  manifests  itself :  — 

'■'■March  5,  182G.  To  me  the  season  has  been  a  golden  one,  for 
I  have  been  able  to  work  a  little,  to  preach  more  than  I  have  done 
for  years,  and  to  resume  ])artially  my  old  habits  of  ai^plication.  I 
ought  to  say,  that  I  find  life  a  gift  increasing  in  value.  1  have  not 
found  it  a  cup  foaming  and  sparkling  at  the  top,  and  growing  vapid 
as  I  have  drunk.  In  truth,  I  dislike  altogether  this  old-fashioned 
simile.  Life  is  not  a  little  cup  dipped  from  the  stream  of  time. 
It  is  itself  a  stream ;  and  though  at  its  birth  it  may  dance  and  send 


LIGHT   AMID   DARKNESS.  651 

forth  cheerful  murmurs  as  it  does  not  afterwards,  still  it  is  intended 
to  flow,  as  it  advances,  through  more  beautiful  regions,  and  to 
adorn  its  shores  with  richer  verdure  and  more  abundant  harvests. 
Do  not  sa}'  that  this  end  is  frustrated.  I  do  believe  there  are 
multitudes  who  have  not  found  infancj'  and  youth  as  happy  as  later 
3'ears." 

'•'Oakland,  September^  1828.  I  look  back  on  ni}'  summer  with 
much  pleasure.  To  me  it  has  been  a  bright  one.  I  have  seldom 
had  my  powers  more  at  command  ;  and  the  health  and  cheerfulness 
of  my  family,  and  the  enjoyments  of  solitude  on  the  sea-shore  or  in 
the  lields  have  given  almost  a  perpetual  succession  of  agreeable 
emotions.  I  welcome  and  am  grateful  for  such  pleasures ;  per- 
haps the  more  because  I  do  not  look  forward  to  them.  I  live  as  in 
the  midst  of  death,  expecting  to  stay  here  but  a  short  time,  and 
knowing  that  suffering  may  till  up  this  short  space.  There  is  not 
quite  the  joy  of  surprise,  but  something  unexpected,  in  this  calm 
and  blessed  flow  of  life." 

'•''Oaldand^  Jane  20,  1834.  Our  cup  runneth  over.  Life  is  truly 
a  blessing  to  us.  Could  I  but  see  others  as  happy,  what  a  world 
this  would  be  !  But  it  is  a  good  world,  notwithstanding  the  dark- 
ness hanging  over  it.  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  1  see  the  light 
breaking  through  the  clouds.     I  am  sure  the  sun  is  above  them." 

'•'•  Boston,  November  16,  1834.  M}'  children  are  growing  so  fast, 
that  they  are  constant  remembrancers  to  me  of  my  having  made 
progress  towards  another  world ;  and  yet  I  cannot  feel  old.  It  is 
by  reason,  not  sensation,  that  I  am  reminded  of  m}-  age.  I  never 
felt  less  like  leaving  the  world,  and  3-et  I  cannot  continue  long. 
Happily,  the  future  opens  on  me  still  more  brightly.  Immortality 
seems  to  me  yet  more  real ;  and,  whilst  I  have  much  to  attach  me 
here,  I  desire  a  better  life.  Without  being  discouraged  as  to  the 
prospects  of  society,  I  feel  that  neither  of  us  can  hope  to  see  so 
much  of  heaven  on  earth,  as  to  make  us  wish  to  live  always  here. 
What  infinite  thanks  we  owe  to  Him  who  has  brought  life  and 
immortality  to  light !  " 

'■'■Boston,  1837.  There  are  clouds  not  a  few  in  our  sky.  But  I 
have  lived  too  long  to  be  surprised,  or  to  repine  at  this.  It  seems 
to  me  that  existence  continues  to  be  an  increasing  good,  —  that  the 
longer  I  live,  the  more  I  enjo}' ;  and  I  incline  to  believe  that  this  is 
better  than  a  life  of  unvaried  gratification  would  have  been.  The 
spring  is  just  opening  upon  us,  and  this  season  has  long  awakened 
in  me  most  delightful  sensations.     I  sometimes  look  around  and 


^ 


652  HOME  LIFE. 

feci  as  if  the  mere  privilege  of  viewing  the  heavens  and  the  earth 
were  enough  to  constitute  existence  a  blessing." 

'■'•  Oakland,  1839.  Indeed,  life  has  been  an  improving  gift  from 
my  3'outh  ;  and  one  reason  I  believe  to  be,  that  my  youth  was  not 
a  happy  one.  I  look  back  to  no  bright  dawn  of  life  which  grad- 
ually '  faded  into  common  da}-.'  The  light  which  I  now  live  in  rose 
at  a  later  period.  A  rigid  domestic  discipHne,  sanctioned  by  the 
times,  gloomy  views  of  religion,  the  sellish  passions,  collisions 
with  companions  perhaps  worse  than  myself,  —  these,  and  other 
things,  darkened  my  boyhood.  Then  came  altered  circumstances, 
dependence,  unwise  and  excessive  labors  for  independence,  and  the 
symptoms  of  the  weakness  and  disease  which  have  followed  me 
through  life.  Amidst  this  darkness,  it  pleased  God  that  the  light 
should  rise.  The  work  of  spiritual  regeneration,  the  discovery  of 
the  supreme  good,  of  the  great  and  glorious  end  of  life,  aspirations 
after  truth  and  virtue,  which  are  pledges  and  beginnings  of  immor- 
tality, the  consciousness  of  something  divine  within  me,  then 
began,  faintly  indeed,  and  through  manj'  struggles  and  sulferings 
have  gone  on. 

"  Since  beginning  this  letter,  I  have  visited  a  beach,  the  favorite 
haunt  of  m\'  boyhood.  There  I  saw  the  same  unchanged  beauty 
and  grandeur  which  moved  my  youthful  soul ;  but  I  could  look 
back  onl3'  to  be  conscious  of  beholding  them  now  with  a  deeper, 
purer  joy.  So  much  for  what  would  be  called  an  unhappy  youth  ! 
Perhaps  I  owe  to  it  much  of  my  present  happiness.  1  know  not 
that  in  indulgence,  prosperity',  and  buoyant  health,  I  should  have 
heeded  the  inward  revelations  or  engaged  in  the  inward  conflicts  to 
which  I  owe  so  much." 

'•'■Oakland^  1839.  There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  consciousness  of 
progress,  however  slow.  To  see  something  growing  under  our 
hands  is  a  solace,  even  in  great  weakness.  During  this  summer,  I 
have  been  able  to  give  little  more  than  an  hour  a  day  to  my  work  ; 
but  I  have  been  all  the  happier  for  m^'  pains. 

"I  love  life,  perhaps,  too  much  ;  perhaps  I  cling  to  it  too  strongl}- 
for  a  Christian  and  a  philosoi)her.  I  Avelcoine  every  new  day  with 
new  gratitude.  I  almost  wonder  at  myself,  when  I  think  of  the 
pleasure  which  the  dawn  gives  me,  after  having  witnessed  it  so 
many  years.  This  blessed  light  of  heaven,  how  dear  it  is  to  me  ! 
and  this  earth  which  I  have  trodden  so  long,  with  what  affection  I 
look  on  it !  I  have  but  a  moment  ago  cast  my  eyes  on  the  lawn  in 
front  of  my  house,  and  the  sight  of  it,  gemmed  with  dew  and 
heightening  by  its  brilliancy  the  shadows  of  the  trees  which  fall 


SUMMERS   AT   OAKLAND.  653 

upon  it,  awakened  emotions  more  vivid,  perliaps,  than  I  experienced 
in  3"0uth.  I  do  not  like  the  ancients  calling  the  earth  vwther.  She 
is  so  fresh,  j-outhful,  livuig,  and  rejoicing  !  I  do,  indeed,  antici- 
pate a  more  glorious  world  than  this  ;  but  still  my  first  familiar 
home  is  very  precious  to  me,  nor  can  I  think  of  lea\ang  its  sun  and 
sky,  and  fields  and  ocean,  without  regret.  Mj'  interest,  not  in 
outward  nature  oiil_y,  but  in  human  nature,  in  its  destinies,  in  the 
progress  of  science,  in  the  struggles  of  freedom  and  religion,  has 
increased  up  to  this  moment,  and  I  am  now  in  my  sixtieth  year." 

'■'■Oakland^  Sepfeinb?r,  1840.  I  am  growing  old,  as  1  hear, 
though  I  cannot  acknowledge  it  to  ra3-self.  But  I  have  so  little 
time  to  spend  on  eartli,  that  I  wish  to  see  more  of  my  friends.  I 
should  rejoice  to  leave  recollections  which  will  cheer  them,  and 
which  especially  will  aid  them  to  prepare  for  the  close  of  their  own 
journey." 

'■'■June,  1841.  We  old  folks  seem  to  have  the  advantage  of  the 
j^oung.  AVe  can  enjoy  with  less  excitement.  I  find,  too,  a  great 
increase  of  satisfaction,  as  I  advance,  in  the  clearer  sight  of  things 
which  time  and  refiection  have  brought.  In  my  earlier  years,  I 
see  that  I  walked  in  a  mist.  Shall  we  make  this  discovery  perpet- 
ually as  we  ascend?" 

'■''OaUand,  Juhj  31,  1841.  I  incline  to  visit  new  scenes.  As  we 
grow  old,  we  must  resist  the  chains  of  habit.  Peace  be  with  30U. 
Live  daily,  constantly,  with  a  high  purpose,  putting  forth  moral 
energy  in  the  minute  conflicts  of  desire  with  the  sense  of  right. 
This  is  the  way  to  keep  our  spiritual  weapons  bright  and  strong." 

"■  Buston.,  December,  1841.  My  cheerfulness  is  of  that  quiet, 
uniform  character  which  makes  no  show  on  paper.  It  does  not 
depend  on  good  stories,  queer  speeches,  laughable  incidents  ;  nor 
is  it  made  up  of  flashes,  but  shines  gentl}-,  steadil}'." 

'-'■  January  1,  1842.  I  wish  yon  a  happy  new  jear,  and  man^', 
many  such.  I  say  many,  for  I  trust  life  is  to  be  to  you  what  it  has 
been  to  me,  an  improving  gift.  Youth  is  not  its  happiest  period; 
at  least,  it  ought  not  to  be." 

But  it  was  not  for  his  own  sake  only,  and  for  the  peaceful  spir- 
itual discipluie  which  he  there  enjoyed,  that  Dr.  Channing  prized 
so  higlily  his  summers  at  Oakland.  The  consciousness  of  youth- 
ful freshness  inspired  from  natural  beauty  made  him  anxious 
to  secure  for  his  children  the  opportunity  of  passing  as  large  a 
portion  of  the  j-ear  as  possible  in  the  country.  He  felt  that  he  had 
owed  so  much,  from  boyhood  onward,  to  the  silent  teachings  of  the 


654  HOME   LIFE. 

universe,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see  the  young  spirits  intrusted 
to  his  charge  cooped  up  in  the  brick  i)risons  of  our  ovei'grown 
cities.  Fidelity  to  private  relations  was  thus  a  strong  motive  for 
his  periods  of  retirement.  He  was  a  most  devoted  and  loving 
father,  and  an  ever-wakeful  spirit  of  duty  watched  over  and 
guarded  his  parental  affections.  Almost  at  the  close  of  life  he 
wrote :  — 

"The  more  we  recede  from  childhood,  the  more  our  hearts  are 
drawn  back  to  it  by  tender  remembrances,  by  the  contrast  of  its 
beauty  and  joyousness  with  what  we  see  of  later  _years,  and  by  our 
increased  knowledge  of  the  solemnity  and  grandeur  of  that  existence 
on  which  the  little  creatures  are  entering  so  unconsciously.  I  am  a 
parent,  but  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  the  affection  which  springs  from 
tlwuyht  were  stronger  than  that  of  instinct." 

Extracts  from  his  letters  will  best  enable  us  to  tmderstand  his  re- 
lations to  his  children,  and  his  views  of  their  education. 

'■'•Portsmouth^  R.  /.,  July  10,  1824.  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
cordial  pressure  of  your  hand  the  night  before  I  left  Boston,  when  I 
told  you  I  had  heard  of  my  family  on  their  way  home,  and  was  to 
join  them  the  next  day  ;  and  now  that  thej-  are  round  me,  and  my 
heart  is  overflowing  with  a  quiet  joy,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  find  some 
relief  and  a  new  delight  in  talking  to  one  whose  s^-mpathy  is  so  dear 
to  me. 

"  Both  the  children  have  one  sign  of  health,  which  I  hope  is  a 
sure  one,  —  an  exuberant,  irrepressible  animation.  It  seems  to  be 
one  purpose  of  infancy,  that  it  should  be  a  fountain  of  spirits  and 
exhilaration  for  the  drooping  and  care-worn  travellers  of  adult  life. 
If  anything  in  life  makes  me  wonder,  it  is  the  immense  difference 
produced  by  a  few  years  between  the  child  and  the  man.  I  cannot, 
by  any  effort,  revive  the  feelings  of  my  infant  mind.  The  holiday 
life  of  my  children  strikes  me  as  a  mystery.  When  I  see  the 
slightest  excitement  stirring  up  the  living  principle  in  them  so  pow- 
erfully, when  1  sec  the  flexible,  graceful  Ibrm,  so  instinct  witli  spirit, 
and  the  countenance  so  beaming,  so  lighted  up  with  joys  and  hopes 
as  transient  and  swift-winged  as  they  are  alisorbing,  I  see  a  mode 
of  existence  so  ditferent  from  my  own,  that  it  perplexes  as  much  as 
it  delights  me.  Perha[)s  I  do  not  enjoy  it  the  less  for  comiuvheud- 
ing  it  so  little.  I  see  a  simple  jo3%  which  I  can  trace  to  no  earthly 
source,  and  which  appears  to  come  fresh  from  heaven.  It  seems  to 
me,  I  could  never  have  been  so  happy  as  my  children  are.  I  feel 
as  if  so  bright  an  infancy,  tliough  not  distinctly  recollected,  would 
still  oiler  to  memory  a  track  of  liglit,  as  if  some  vernal  airs  from 


RELATIONS  TO  HIS  CHILDREN.  655 

that  early  paradise  would  give  vague  ideas  of  a  different  existence 
from  the  present. 

"  When  I  see  m}'  children  living  without  end  or  aim,  and  living 
so  happily,  I  almost  distrust  that  laborious  wisdom  on  whicli  we 
adults  plume  ourselves.  Does  not  the  Christian  become  a  child,  in 
the  sense  of  acquiring  the  liglitness  of  spirit,  tlie  freedom  from  anx- 
iety, which  belongs  to  infancy,  — the  child  owing  it  to  temperament 
and  ignorance,  the  Christian  to  a  strong  faith,  —  the  child  casting 
its  little  burdens  on  a  human,  the  Christian  his  greater  ones  on  a 
heavenly  parent?  I  wonder,  too,  if  the  good  man,  as  he  advances 
in  truth  and  goodness,  does  not  revert  to  the  guileless  simplicity', 
the  quick  commerce  between  the  soul,  the  countenance,  and  the 
voice,  which  belongs  to  infancy,  —  whether  he  does  not  find  that  the 
reserve,  caution,  policy,  prudence,  to  which  men  look  for  success,  are 
shallow  expedients,  the  offspring  of  a  purblind  wisdom,  and  that  the 
ingenuous  exposure  of  a  pure  and  disinterested  mind  is  the  surest 

way  to  all  noble  ends  which  was  ever  discovered.     Dear ,  what 

a  letter !  You  will  think  me  half  as  much  a  child  as  those  I  have 
written  about.  I  have  spoken  of  the  joyousness  of  our  first  years 
as  poets  do  of  spring,  — forgetting  that,  with  the  flowers  and  balmy 
gales,  there  are  chilly  winds  and  days  of  gloom.  But  you  will  not 
be  an  unkind  critic,  especially  when  you  remember  that  I  have  ex- 
changed the  stillness  of  a  deserted  house  for  the  ga}'  sounds  and 
affectionate  faces  which  now  surround  me." 

1824.  '•  Our  connection  with  children  was  meant  to  be  a  happy 
one,  aixl  for  that  end  a  confiding  spirit  is  necessary.  It  is  unavoid- 
able, at  their  age,  that  they  should  fall  into  a  great  man3'  errors, 
and  that,  under  the  influence  of  strong,  absorbing  impressions,  they 
should  seem  to  lose  the  good  ones  which  we  have  made.  But  the 
very  volatility  that  troubles  us  should  give  comfort ;  for  these  new 
and  threatening  impressions  will  soon  in  turn  resign  their  place  to 
others,  and  we  must  wait  in  hope  for  the  propitious  moment  of  re- 
newing and  deepening  those  which  seem  to  have  passed  away." 

1824.  "As  to  the  period  of  beginning  religious  instruction, 
much  must  depend  on  the  capacity  of  the  child  ;  and  I  have  the 
general  impression,  that  much  more  is  to  be  done  towards  develop- 
ing the  religious  character  by  av/akening  feelings,  and  forming 
habits  congenial  with  piety,  than  by  making  this  the  subject  of 
direct  inculcation.  Filial  affection  and  gratitude,  general  kindness, 
and  the  sense  of  duty,  are  excellent  preparatives  for  religion,  and 
may  be  called  into  exercise  before  any  just  ideas  of  God  can  be 
given." 


656  HOME  LIFE. 

1824.  "  I  incline  more  and  more  to  the  use  of  generous  motives, 
and  of  appeals  to  the  best  feelings  in  children.  We  must  call  out 
in  them  the  sense  of  honor.  I  believe  that  the  seeds  of  genorosit}^ 
may  early  be  sown,  and  that  the  sensibility  to  what  is  good  and 
great  ma}'  early  be  awakened.  When  you  look  bade  into  very  early 
life,  do  3'ou  not  discover  the  traces  and  dawnings  of  some  truly 
exalted  sentiments  ?  " 

1825.  "  P'or  their  sakes  we  must  educate  ourselves.  Do  not 
let  us  forget  that  the  habitual  state  of  mind  and  feeling  which  we 
express  before  them  will  do  more,  vastly  more,  than  any  direct  in- 
struction, to  form  their  character.  Let  us  strive,  then,  to  give  to 
our  own  sentiments  and  motives  the  elevation  which  we  wish  our 
children  to  possess." 

1825.  "  Sometimes  I  think  that  the  clouds  are  lifted  a  little  from 
the  subject  of  education.  We  know  too  little  of  the  perfeclion  of 
the  human  being,  and  of  his  manifold  nature,  to  judge  Acry  clearly 
of  the  means  to  that  great  end.  But  we  must  feel  that  our  nature 
has  a  better  guide  and  wiser  protector  than  ourselves.  We  must 
follow  our  light,  be  it  more  or  less,  confiding  to  a  higher  power,  and 
new  gleams  will  break  upon  us.  The  defects  of  our  short-sighted- 
ness will  be  more  than  supplied  by  Omniscience.  Here  I  anchor  m^' 
soul.  I  feel  myself  more  and  more  lost  in  the  immensity  of  God's 
sj'stem,  —  more  ignorant,  bUnd,  helpless;  but  I  do  not  despair. 
There  is  infinite  intelligence  watching  over  one  and  all,  an  intelli- 
gence which  has  decreed  to  make  us  all  partakers  of  itself,  if  we  are 
true  to  the  incipient  light  which  now  dawns  upon  us,  and  which  wall 
be  in  the  place  of  our  own  wisdom,  wherever  the  narrowness  of  our 
faculties  forbids  our  self-direction." 

1826.  "I  am  inclined  to  prefer  very  much  the  oral  method  of 
instruction,  if  I  may  so  call  it.  Could  we  use  books  less  and  talk- 
ing more,  one  of  the  chief  objects  in  earl}-  teaching  would  be  at- 
tained more  certainly,  —  I  mean  disfinctness  of  conception.  I  attach 
as  much  importance  to  this  as  Mrs.  Hamilton,  and,  in  truth,  her 
views  on  the  first  steps  of  intellectual  development  agree  with  my 
own,  perhaps,  more  than  an}'  I  have  seen." 

1826.  "  Nothing  but  time  can  give  us  a  feeling  of  security  as  to 
the  character  of  the  young.  We  begin,  perhaps,  with  ascribing  a 
kind  of  omnipotence  to  education,  and  think  that  we  can  turn  out  a 
human  mind,  such  as  we  wish  it,  almost  as  surely  as  a  mechanic  can 
turn  out  from  his  machinery  a  good  piece  of  work.  But  we  learn, 
as  we  grow  older,  that  the  human  mind  is  more  comi)lex  and  deli- 
cate in  nature,  and  especially  naore  independent  and  self-active,  than 


SELF-GOVERNMENT.  657 

we  had  imagined.  Free-will,  that  glory  and  peril  of  a  rational  be- 
ing, belongs  to  the  child  as  truly  as  to  the  man  ;  and  the  child  must 
be  the  chief  agent  in  the  production  of  its  own  virtue,  and  it  has 
power  to  resist  all  influences.  This  is  right.  It  is  well  that  no 
mind  is  put  into  the  hands  of  another  to  be  moulded  at  pleasure." 

1828.  "  I  believe  much  in  giving  the  young  tlie  elements  of  every 
science  or  branch  of  knowledge.  I  have  never  learnt  anything 
which  has  not  been  useful  to  me,  and  1  often  groan  over  the  defi- 
ciencies of  my  education.     would  probably  slight  the  physical 

sciences,  and  give  himself  to  moral  ones  and  to  general  literature. 
But  physical  science  is  of  great  value.  I  lament  that  I  cannot  keep 
pace  with  the  discoveries  of  the  age.  The  universe  is  a  divine 
volume,  and  I  wish  I  could  look  on  it  with  a  more  intelligent  eye. 
Were  I  able  to  be  a  student,  I  should  devote  regularly  a  part  of  my 
life  to  the  pursuit  of  natural  science." 

1829.  "I  dislike  boarding-schools  as  much  as  you  can;  but  I 
wish  my  children  to  mix  freely  with  those  of  their  own  age  ;  nor 
have  I  many  fears,  whilst  they  come  home,  after  ever.y  talk  or  play 
abroad,  and  lay  open  to  us  the  impressions  they  have  received.  I 
believe  we  must  try  children  a  great  deal.  When  I  see  amidst 
what  infinite  influences,  impulses,  trials,  vicissitudes,  we  are  all 
plunged  by  our  all-wise  Parent,  I  feel  that  by  an  anxious  caution, 
such  as  I  sometimes  see,  I  should  fail  to  act  in  his  spirit,  and  to 
co-operate  with  his  providence." 

1835.^  "  Remember  that  it  is  the  distinction  of  a  man  to  govern 
himself,  and  that  a  man  who  cannot  keep  to  his  resolutions  and 
pursue  his  course  of  study  or  action  firmly  and  steadily  must  take  a 
low  place  in'tiie  world,  and,  what  is  worse,  in  his  own  esteem. 

"  I  beseech  you  in  ever3-  temptation  to  be  true,  honest,  frank, 
upright.  Whatever  you  may  suffer,  speak  the  truth.  Be  worthy' 
of  the  entire  confidence  of  your  associates.  Consider  what  is  right 
as  what  must  be  done.  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  keep 
your  property,  or  even  j'our  life,  but  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
hold  fast  your  integrity. 

"  Enter  on  the  school  with  the  firm  purpose  of  obeying  all  the 
laws.  Do  nothing  which  you  need  to  hide.  Make  it  a  matter  of 
honor  and  principle  to  do  nothing  which  can  injure  the  institution 
of  which  you  are  a  member.  Breathe  no  spirit  of  disaffection  into 
your  associates.  Be  the  friend  of  good  order.  If  at  an}'  time  you 
think  yourself  aggrieved  by  your  teachers,  go  to  them  frankly,  and 
urge  j'our  complaints  calmly  and  respectfully. 

1  To  his  son. 
42 


V 


658  HOME   LIFE. 

"Treat  _your  companions  generous!}'  and  honestly;  sympathize 
M'ith  them,  and  seek  tlieir  good-will  as  far  as  your  principles  will 
admit.  But  never  sacrifice  these.  Never  be  laughed  out  of  your 
virtue.  Take  your  ground  openly,  manfully,  and  you  will  at  length 
command  respect.  Do  not  let  your  companions  depress  3-our  ideas 
of  right.     They  cannot  do  you  a  greater  injury. 

"Reverence  God,  love  him,  and  live  as  in  his  presence.  Every 
morning  3'ou  will  be  remembered  in  our  prayers.  Ever}'  morning 
remember  us  in  yours.  At  that  hour,  let  us  meet  at  the  mercy-seat 
of  our  common  Father." 

These  extracts  show  the  blended  firmness  and  freedom,  cordial- 
it}'  and  dignity,  with  which  Dr.  Channing  treated  his  children.  He 
sought  to  gain  tlieir  confidence  by  perfect  honor  and  truth  in  all 
their  intercourse.  He  taught  them  self-respect  and  courtesy,  by 
the  respectfulness  and  sweetness  of  his  own  manner.  Strictly 
trained  in  his  own  early  years,  he  had  experienced  the  benefit  of 
inflexible  justice.  His  children  saw  that  they  must  not  dispute  his 
positive  commands,  nor  question  his  mature  decisions.  But  the 
affcctionateness  of  his  look  and  tone,  the  familiarity  to  which  he 
welcomed  them,  his  disinterestedness  and  elevation  above  arbitrary 
caprice,  gave  a  charm  to  his  autliority,  and  inspired  a  trust  in  his 
care  and  counsel,  like  reliance  upon  Providence.  If  in  any  case  he 
found  —  which  rarely  happened,  so  deliberate  was  he  —  that  his 
discipline  had  been  injudicious,  he  would  frankly  tell  his  children 
that  he  had  been  unjust.  He  encouraged  them  to  open  their  hearts, 
allowed  full  liberty  in  the  expression  of  opinions,  unfolded  his  own 
views,  invited  and  listened  to  their  objections,  taught  them  to 
think.  In  a  word,  he  made  them  his  companions,  and  sought  to 
win  their  unreserved  friendship. 

Dr.  Channing's  attachment  to  the  young,  indeed,  was  very 
strong,  and  continually  doe[)ening.  In  walking  in  Boston,  one  of 
his  greatest  pleasures  was  to  pass  among  the  crowds  of  children  in 
the  Mall,  and  to  watch  their  bright  looks  and  bounding  movements. 
And  in  the  summer  he  always  endeavored  to  surround  his  children 
with  a  group  of  young  friends.  In  a  letter  he  says,  "Our  days 
are  vei'v  bright  and  happy  ;  the  house  is  filled  with  children  ;  and 
the  more  of  good  children,  the  ])etter."  He  miuglcd  in  tlu'ir  scenes 
of  merriment  with  cordial  delight,  contributed  to  ever\-  innocent 
sport,  was  inexhaustibly  ingenious  in  inventing  entertainment,  and 
received  them,  on  their  return  fiom  rambles  and  pleasure  excur- 
sions, with  a  quick  response  to  their  joy,  that  seemed  to  rival  their 
own  buoyancy  of  spirit.  As  years  passed  on,  and  the  children 
who,    suuuncr   by  sunnner,    visited    Oakland,    became  }outIis   and 


HOSPITALITY.  659 

maidens,  he  read  with  them,  made  them  companions  of  his  walks, 
passed  liours  with  tliem  in  animated  .conversation,  became  as  far 
as  i)ossihle  tlieir  confidential  adviser,  discussed  character,  manners, 
private  interests,  and  public  affairs,  and  souglit  to  raise  them  up 
to  higli-toned  honor,  purity,  and  benignant  gentleness.  A  little 
child,  during  one  of  these  visits,  threw  herself  into  tlie  arms  of  an 
elder  friend,  and,  smiling  through  lier  tears,  exclaimed,  "  O,  this 
is  heaven  !  "  so  did  she  feel  subdued  by  the  atmosphere  of  love 
whicli  he  diffused.  And  a  young  girl  wrote:  "He  welcomed  me 
witli  a  kindness  that  took  away  all  fear,  a  kindness  that  I  felt  I 
might  trust  forever,  for  it  was  like  that  which  must  belong  to  spirits 
in  eternity.  His  daily  life  is  illuminated  by  a  holiness  which 
makes  his  actions  as  impulsive  and  peaceful  as  a  child's  ;  it  is  a 
hai)pincss  to  be  in  his  presence." 

Dr.  Channing's  hospitality  was  nowise  limited  to  the  companions 
of  his  cliildi'en.  The  spirit  of  his  mother-in-law  pervaded  Oakland, 
and  the  rule  was  to  keep  eveiy  room  filled  witli  guests  during  the 
bright  season.  Wlien  the  family  mansion  overflowed,  friends  found 
lodgings  in  the  immediate  neighborhood.  Visitors,  too,  from  New- 
port, and  strangers  from  abroad,  sought  his  society.  80  that  every 
pleasant  evening  was  sure  to  find  a  circle  of  intelligent  and  relined. 
persons  colL'cted  in  tlie  parlors,  piazza,  and  garden.  In  this  kind 
of  intercourse,  much  that  was  most  beautiful  in  tlie  character  of 
Dr.  Channiug  appeared.  The  absorbing  thoughts  of  the  student, 
the  reserve  of  the  recluse,  were  put  aside  ;  and  with  variety  of 
information  and  of  interests,  gracious  dignity,  tolerance  of  all  forms 
of  character  and  opinion,  and  simjjle  frankness,  he  welcomed  those 
Avho  sought  him  to  participation  in  his  truth  and  peace.  His  sym- 
pathy was  ihost  tender,  delicate,  discriminating  ;  his  wisdom  wake- 
ful and  large.  One  of  his  highh'- valued  friends  has  spoken  of  his 
"perfect  sincerity,  his  cordial  reception,  his  politeness  and  cour- 
tesy, his  habitual  attention  to  the  wants  and  habits  of  others,  the 
warm  pi'essnre  of  his  hand,  his  voice  so  rich  and  musical,  the  light 
of  his  deep-meaning  eye."  But  it  would  be  difficult  to  convey  an 
adequate  impression  of  the  benignity,  considerateness,  and  rev- 
erence which  gave  its  peculiar  tone  to  his  manner.  A  freshness 
and  brightness,  as  of  the  spirit  Avorld,  seemed  to  float  around  him, 
and  to  sanctify  all  within  its  sphere.  The  feminine  element,  so 
strong  in  all  men  of  genius,  was  dominant  in  his  social  nature. 
This  attracted  him,  as  has  been  several  times  remarked,  to  women. 
The  romantic  devotion,  the  untiring  faithfulness,  the  grace,  of  his 
affection  in  the  nearest  relation,  made  his  daily  life  verdant  with 
beaut}-.     And  at  all  times,  and  on  all  occasions,  he  showed  himself 


660  HOME  LIFE. 

the  Christian  gentleman.  In  his  inmost  heart  he  honored  woman. 
To  a  sister  he  saj-s  :  "  You  women,  I  sometimes  think,  are  in  all 
respects  our  superiors.  Certainl}-,  the  world  would  be  a  dull  place 
without  you.  Woman  brought  her  love  and  her  smile  from  Para- 
dise, and  these  are  worth  more  than  the  thornless  roses  and  vernal 
airs  she  left."  And  again,  to  Sismondi  he  writes:  '•!  am  some- 
what proud  of  my  countrywomen  ;  and  you,  I  think,  have  known 
some  who  will  show,  that,  if  man  has  degenerated  in  the  Western 
world,  woman  has  met  a  better  fate." 

With  characteristic  diffidence,  Dr.  Channing  distrusted  his  power 
of  giving  pleasure  in  the  social  circle.  "■  Before  the  multitude  I 
am  strong,"  said  he  once  to  a  friend,  "  but  weak  before  the  indi- 
vidual." In  this  particular,  as  in  others,  he  judged  himself  too 
strictly.  Anecdote,  wit,  fancy,  sprightliness,  graceful  trifling, 
indeed,  made  no  part  of  his  conversation,  and  would  have  been 
out  of  keeping  with  his  refined  spirituality.  But  the  richness,  origi- 
nality', force,  of  his  intellect  and  character,  appeared  in  their  full 
beauty.  He  talked  often  better  than  he  wrote,  for  he  allowed  him- 
self more  freedom  ;  and  the  quickening  touch  of  another  spirit, 
especially  of  a  youthful  one,  awoke  whole  crow^ds  of  brilliant 
thoughts,  which  lay  entranced  in  the  palace-halls  of  his  memory. 
This  topic  has  been  eloquently  treated  by  one  whose  personal  expe- 
rience gave  point  to  his  words. ^ 

"  He  sought  and  longed  for  a  perfectly  free  communication  ;  and 
no  conversation  interested  him  more  than  that  which,  in  forgetful- 
ness  of  him  and  of  one's  self,  and  of  everything  extraneous,  was  a 
kind  of  monologue,  a  kind  of  reverie,  the  purest  and  most  abstract 
idealism.  Least  of  all  must  it  be  supposed  that  there  was  any 
assumption  about  him,  or  any  stiff  formaUty  or  precision,  —  any- 
thing that  said,  'Now  let  us  talk  great  talk.'  Never.  He  did 
talk  greatly,  because  he  could  not  help  it.  But  his  manner  of  doing 
it,  his  manner  in  everything,  was  the  most  simple,  the  most  unpre- 
tending, imaginable.  At  the  same  time  he  possessed  a  nature  the 
most  truly  social.  He  regretted  anything  in  himself  or  in  others 
that  repressed  it.  More  than  once  has  he  said  to  me,  '  I  am  too 
serious.'  He  longed  to  feel  upon  his  spirit  the  free  and  genial 
breath  of  society.  And  all  who  have  known  him  well  must  have 
observed,  for  the  last  lifteen  years  of  his  life,  the  in(-reasing  liveli- 
ness, versatility,  and  happiness  of  his  social  nature.  The  earliest 
days  of  his  manliood  were  his  darkest,  —  days  of  illness  and  seclu- 

1  Dr.  Dewey's  Discourse  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Clianning, 
pp.  31-34. 


POWER  IN   CONVERSATION.  661 

sion.  They  spread  around  him  a  shadow  of  silence,  and  over  many 
of  his  after  days  a  shadow  of  reserve.  But  into  that  shadow  every 
later  year  of  his  life  seems  to  have  poured  new  and  more  cheering 
light. 

"  1  have  alluded  to  his  social  intercourse  ;  but  to  unfold  his  char- 
acter, I  must  speak  more  distinctlj'  of  his  conversation.  It  was 
the  best  image  of  himself,  better  even  than  his  preaching  or  his 
writing;  because  it  was  the  free,  unrestrained,  almost  unintentional 
outpouring  of  his  mind,  and  that  on  themes  as  elevated  as  those  of 
his  more  studied  efforts.  I  have  said  that  he  regarded  preaching 
as  the  (jreat  action  of  his  life.  Conversation  was  the  ordinary  action 
of  his  life.  It  was  not  his  relaxation,  but  his  action.  It  was  that 
which  showed  the  man,  as  the  daily  pursuit,  the  daily  business, 
shows  other  men.  Prevented  as  he  was  b^'  ill  health,  and  perhaps 
by  constitutional  indisposition,  from  mingling  with  the  ostensible 
enterprises  and  movements  of  the  social  world  around  him,  this 
was  specifically  his  mode  of  action,  his  dailj'  vocation.  And  those 
who  have  not  conversed  much  with  him  can  scarcely  know  what 
he  was,  can  scarcely"  appreciate  the  richness  or  the  beauty  of  his 
nature. 

"  I  wish  it  were  in  m}-  power  to  give  any  idea  of  the  extraor- 
dinary character  of  this  conversation.  On  m}^  first  acquaintance 
with  him,  it  was  my  happiness  to  pass  a  number  of  weeks  under 
his  own  roof.  His  health  was  then  delicate  ;  he  went  abroad  but 
little  ;  but  his  mind  was  left  untouched  by  the  frailty  of  his  bod}' ; 
and  I  found  it  constantly'  occupied  and  struggling  with  great  ques- 
tions. On  the  highest  philosoph}-,  on  the  highest  religion,  on  the 
highest  wisdom  of  life,  all  the  day  long  he  pursued  the  questions 
which  these  themes  present,  without  ever  slackening,  or  ever  turn- 
ing aside  to  ordiuar^'  and  commonplace  talk.  The  range  of  his 
subjects  was  as  great  as  their  elevation  ;  from  the  most  recondite 
point  in  philosophy  —  the  difference  between  relative  and  absolute 
truth  —  to  the  forms  of  philanthropic  enterprise  and  political  devel- 
opment around  him.  But  his  favorite  themes  were  man  and  the 
New  Testament;  man, — his  condition  and  the  philosophy  of  his 
condition ;  the  New  Testament,  —  Jesus  Christ,  his  teaching,  and 
the  sublimest  contemplation  of  God.  Sometimes  his  mind  ran 
upon  the  same  theme,  almost  without  interruption,  for  an  entire 
week  ;  yet  there  was  never  anj-  weariness  in  listening  but  the  weari- 
ness of  exhaustion.  His  view  of  ever}-  subject  was  original.  I  do 
not  mean  that  it  was  singular,  but  that  it  was  his  own,  thoroughly 
digested  in  his  own  mind  ;  and  I  wish  it  were  a  little  better  under- 
stood that  this  is  the  only  originalitj'  possible  to  any  mind.     His 


662  HOME  LIFE. 

imagination,  at  the  same  time,  kindled  everything  into  hfe,  pre- 
sented everything  in  new  and  multiform  lights,  spread  around 
every  point  in  debate  such  a  world  of  illustration,  that  it  seemed 
ever  new,  while  it  was  ever  the  same.  While  it  was  ever  the  same, 
I  say ;  and  yet  to  a  mind  suffused  and  overflowing,  like  his,  with 
the  very  poetry  of  every  theme,  that  is  the  trial  j^oint,  — to  adhere 
with  severe,  philosophical  accuracy  to  the  vei-y  question.  To  say 
that  he  went  beyond  the  reach  of  all  other  men  of  similar  genius  is 
more  than  I  do  say  ;  but  certainly  I  was  led  to  admire  the  remark- 
abh'  sober  and  rational  character  of  his  understanding,  even  more 
than  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  his  imngination.  I  must  add,  to 
complete  the  view,  that  the  style  of  his  conversation  seemed  to  me 
as  pej-fect  as  that  of  his  writing ;  and  I  sometimes  thouglit,  at  the 
close  of  a  day,  and  I  still  think,  that,  if  the  conversation  of  that 
day  could  have  been  taken  and  printed  from  his  lips,  it  would  have 
conveyed  to  the  world  as  striking  a  proof  of  his  great  powers  as 
an^'thing  that  has  ever  proceeded  from  his  [)en. 

"I  must  not  leave  it  to  be  supposed  that  in  all  this  there  was 
anything  of  the  lecturer,  the  speech-maker,  the  maker  of  orations 
by  the  fireside  ;  any  talking,  as  if  it  were  a  duty  to  talk  wisely  or 
gravely  or  instructive!}-,  or  as  if  he  thought  light  and  gay  conver- 
sation a  sin  or  an  offence :  nothing  could  be  fartiier  from  the  truth. 
His  conversation  was  singular!}'  involuntary.  The  stream  flowed 
and  flowed  on,  because  there  was  a  fountain  behind  ;  out  of  that 
abundance  he  spake.  Or  if  he  had  any  intent,  his  manner  was  as 
that  of  one  who  would  clear  up  his  own  thought,  or  would  sul)mit 
it  to  the  judgment  of  another.  He  never  aimed  apparently  to  be 
religious,  or  spiritual,  or  instructive  ;  and  yet  he  was  all  these  in 
the  highest  degree.  You  have  heard  of  persons  of  whom  it  was 
said,  that  'they  could  talk  of  nothing  but  religion.'  The  expres- 
sion, you  must  have  seen,  was  meant  for  praise  ;  but  it  is  a  praise 
which  I  have  no  desire  to  claim  for  the  subject  of  our  present 
thoughts.  And  yet  his  conversation,  though  he  never  entered  upon 
it  with  that  view,  was  the  very  religion  of  life,  the  very  i-eligion  of 
nature,  the  very  religion  of  politics,  society,  business,  the  i-(!ligion 
of  every  theme,  —  that  is,  the  highest  and  most  sacred  thought  of 
every  theme  that  he  touched  upon.  So  lofty,  so  commanding  was 
his  thouglit,  so  did  it  soar  above  all  around  it,  so  deep  was  its  im- 
pression, that  a  conversation  with  him  was  often  an  event  in  life, 
a  high  beacon  that  shed  its  light  over  the  track  of  future  years. 
I  remember  conversations  with  him,  I  remember  single  ])hrases, 
and  the  tone  in  which  the}'  were  uttered,  as  having  made  ni)on  me 
an  impression  be}'ond  the  effect  of  whole  volumes  of  moral  disqui- 


A  DAY  AT   OAKLAND.  663 

sition.  If  I  were  asked  to  convey  an  idea  of  this  impression  by 
repeating  his  words,  the  attempt  were  vain,  because  it  would  be 
impossible  to  give  the  manner  and  the  tone.  But  those  may  ima- 
ghie  something  of  tliis  who  remember  the  feeling  awakened  by  his 
sim[)le  reading  of  a  hymn  ;  who  recollect  how,  to  a  dull  and  lifeless 
hymn,  or  to  that  which  had  been  made  so  by  ordinary  repetition, 
he  communicated  a  character  altogether  new ;  how  it  became,  as  it 
were,  a  new  creation,  beneath  the  breathing  fervor  of  his  touching 
emotion  and  utterance. 

''  Indeed,  there  was  this  same  singular  impressiveness  about  his 
whole  character.  I  have  presented  to  you  the  picture  of  a  man 
retired,  reserved,  isolated  in  appearance  ;  of  one  who,  for  the  most 
part,  sat  in  his  own  dwelling,  wrapped  in  meditation,  or  engaged 
in  intellectual  and  elevated  converse.  But  this  was  a  being,  though 
calm  and  reserved  in  exterior,  all  alive  with  energies,  all  alive  with 
emotions,  all  alive  with  the  feeling  of  what  was  going  on  in  society 
around  him,  and  in  the  whole  wide  world  in  which  he  lived.  Calm 
he  was  in  manner,  self-restrained  in  fact,  and  in  a  degree  as  re- 
markable as  his  emotion  was  strong.  Such  was  his  self-control, 
that  I  thought  at  first  it  was  coldness  ;  the  quiet  and  subdued  tones 
of  his  voice  fell  on  my  ear  almost  like  tones  of  apathy.  But  I  soon 
learneil  to  correct  that  error.  I  soon  perceived  that  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  put  a  strong  guard  upon  his  feelings,  precisely  because 
they  needed  that  guard.  I  saw  that  his  self-government  was  the 
fruit  of  much  discipline.  I  had  no  doubt  that  in  the  bosom  of  his 
youth  there  had  been  a  burning  volcano.  I  had  no  doubt,  though 
I  never  saw  tears  in  his  e3-es,  that  there  were  tears  in  his  heart. 
I  know,  of  nothing  more  touching  than  this  restrained  emotion  of 
the  strongest  natures.  And  thus  it  was  with  every  trait  in  his 
character  ;  there  was  something  in  it  that  laid  a  powerful  hold  upon 
all  wiio  came  within  the  sphere  of  its  influence." 

Tluis  tranquilly  passed  Dr.  Channing's  days  at  Oakland.  Up 
usually,  in  the  morning,  before  any  of  his  guests  were  risen,  his 
quick  step  was  heard  upon  the  gravel  walk,  and,  looking  from  the 
window,  one  saw  him,  with  his  shawl  or  gown  wrai)ped  round  his 
shoulders  and  the  dogs  gambolling  by  his  side,  passing  amid  the 
shrubbery,  and  stopping  each  moment  to  gaze,  as  a  newly  opened 
flower,  a  gleam  of  sunshine  on  the  dewy  lawn,  or  some  passing  bird 
scattering  drops  from  the  branches,  caught  his  eye.  His  own  ex- 
Ijression  —  "When  I  see  my  friends  after  the  night's  separation, 
let  me  receive  them  as  new  gifts  from  God,  as  raised  from  the 
dead  "  —  describes  precisely  the  character  of  his  greeting.  The 
beaming  eyes,  the  radiant  smile,  the  grasp  of  the  hand,  the  joyous 


664  HOME   LIFE. 

tone,  all  spoke  to  the  spirit,  saying,  "What  an  inestimable  priv- 
ilege it  is  to  live  together  in  this  glorious  home  which  our  Father 
gives  us  each  clay  anew  !  "  Without  a  word  or  look  that  was  not 
as  spontaneous  as  the  delight  of  a  child,  he  seemed  so  softened 
with  religious  sensibility,  that  his  very  "good  morning"  was  a 
welcome  to  prayer.  We  stroll  with  him  under  the  deep  shade  of 
the  hedges,  look  into  the  green-house,  admire  the  white  lilies,  as, 
with  their  pyramid  of  spotless  bells  they  drink  in  the  golden  light, 
watch  the  bees  as  they  buzz  around  the  hive  and  come  and  go  with 
their  treasures,  bend  down  a  branch  to  peep  at  the  3oung  birds  in 
their  nest,  bask  for  a  few  moments  in  the  sunshine,  and  then  enter 
the  breakfast-room,  where  with  perfect  freedom  the  members  of 
the  household  gather  early  or  late,  according  to  inclination.  His 
simple  meal  of  coarse  wheat  bread  and  cream,  with  a  cup  of  tea,  is 
lightly  despatched,  and  then  he  passes  into  the  little  room  where 
his  books  and  papers  are  awaiting  him. 

For  an  hour  or  more  he  writes  down  thoughts  suggested  in  the 
wakeful  hours  of  night  or  in  his  morning  walk.  The  family  are 
now  ready  for  prayers,  and  guests  and  domestics,  young  and  old, 
are  assembled  in  the  parlor.  There,  with  the  Bible  upon  his  lap 
and  some  child  by  his  side,  whose  hand  and  e^-e  he  guides  across 
the  page,  he  reads  with  the  expressiveness  of  livel}'  feeling  a  favor- 
ite passage  from  the  Psalms  or  New  Testament,  illustrating  obscure 
points  with  a  few  words  of  explanation.  All  then  kneel,  and  a 
short  petition  is  offered,  so  simple  that  the  30ungest  and  most 
ignorant  can  take  in  its  meaning,  so  profound  in  sincerity  that 
the  most  spiritual  find  their  longings  fully  expressed,  so  precise 
that  the  special  want  of  each  member  of  the  circle  seems  felt  and 
remembered  with  appreciating  sympathy.  After  a  few  pleasant 
words,  on  plans  for  turning  the  bright  hours  to  the  best  use,  tlie 
happ3'  group  disperses,  the  children  or  young  people  to  their  les- 
sons, he  to  his  work.  Elvery  hour  or  half-liour,  more  or  less, 
according  to  the  state  of  his  health  or  the  beauty  of  the  day,  he 
throws  his  gown  around  him,  and  takes  a  turn  in  the  garden.  At 
these  times,  an  observer  is  struck  with  the  calm  concentration  of 
his  look,  and  the  deliberateness  of  his  step.  Occasionally  the  lips 
move,  words  are  murmured,  and  slight  gestures  of  the  hand  show 
the  intense  working  of  the  mind.  He  feels  the  enlarging,  purify- 
ing, illuminating  influence  of  the  sky,  and  air,  and  sun  ;  and  his 
inmost  spirit  responds  to  the  harmonious  growth  of  the  universe. 
Calmer,  brighter,  in  a  few  moments  he  is  seated  again  at  his  table, 
and  his  rapidly  flying  pen  shows  how  full  is  the  current  of  his 
thoughts.     A  few  hours  of  this  labor  exhaust  him  for  the  da}',  and, 


VISIT  TO   THE  BEACH.  665 

relnctantl}'  putting  aside  his  papers,  he  summons  his  j'oung  friends. 
The}-  are  reading  together  some  history-  or  work  on  philosoph}', 
and  in  the  summer-house  or  piazza  the  time  glides  swiftly  away  till 
dinner,  in  earnest  consideration  of  the  lessons  of  the  past,  or  the 
profound  problems  of  existence. 

And  now  the  long  summer  afternoon  invites  all  abroad  to  pleas- 
ure-excursions. If  the  wind  is  from  the  south,  and  the  distant 
roar  gives  token  that  the  ocean  is  swelled  by  the  influence  of 
a  storm  at  sea,  preparations  are  made  for  a  visit  to  the  beach. 
Happy  the  guest  who  is  to  ride  with  Dr.  Channing  in  his  chaise  ! 
It  is  a  most  plain  vehicle,  indeed,  and  the  horse  knows  well  that  he 
may  trespass  almost  without  remonstrance  on  his  master's  good 
nature ;  but  who  can  regret  the  slowness  of  a  drive  which  prolongs 
the  delight  of  this  conversation  ?  Under  the  genial  influence  of 
nature  and  local  associations,  all  restraints  are  loosed,  and  he 
pours  forth  from  the  springs  of  his  experience  the  fullest  streams 
of  wisdom  and  graceful  eloquence.  One  is  irresistibly  prompted  to 
open  the  inmost  secret  to  this  father-confessor,  to  ask  light  on 
perplexed  passages  of  life,  strength  in  peculiar  trials,  and  comfort 
in  heavy  sorrows.  And  this  trust  is  met  by  a  kindness  so  delicate, 
so  impersonal,  3'et  so  penetrating,  that  the  spirit  feels  that  it  is 
known  even  better  than  it  knows  itself.  Morbid  feelings,  long 
prisoned  in  the  breast,  are  healed  and  raised  to  vigorous  freedom 
by  the  bracing  air  of  his  good  sense.  His  disinterestedness,  wide 
as  the  sk}-  and  horizon,  makes  small  our  anxieties  ;  and  meannesses 
vanish  beneath  his  love,  as  fog-wreaths  melt  awa}-  at  noon.  And 
now  we  are  on  the  beach.  AYith  what  untiring  delight  he  watches 
the  combing  waves,  the  long  sweep  of  foam,  the  glitter  of  the 
retiring  waters,  and  lifts  his  voice  in  exultation  amid  the  rushing 
sounds  of  wind  and  ocean  !  But  he  is  not  content  with  the  even 
swell  upon  the  sands.  He  must  show  his  guest  the  favorite  spots 
among  the  rocks  ;  and  as  he  springs  from  point  to  point,  buoyant 
with  enthusiasm,  or  stands  watching  while  the  billows  gather  up 
their  force,  plunge  headlong,  and  are  dashed  back  in  spra}-,  it  is 
hard  to  remember  that  this  eager  guide  is  an  invalid  of  threescore 
years.  On  other  afternoons,  a  dri\e  to  Quaker  Hill,  to  gaze  abroad 
over  the  serene  landscape  and  the  island-dotted  bay,  or  a  stroll 
through  the  glen  amid  the  cool  shadows,  or  a  ramble  in  the  woods, 
or  visits  to  friends  in  the  neighboring  farm-houses,  occupy  the 
time  till  near  sunset.  That  sacred  hour  he  prefers  to  pass  in  a 
grassy  path  beyond  the  garden,  where  the  view  is  unobstructed  of 
the  western  heavens  ;  and  he  is  slow  to  seek  the  house,  until  the 
last  crimson  cloud  is  pale,  and  the  amber  tints  have  faded.     Music, 


666  HOME   LIFE. 

to  the  charms  of  which  he  was  every  j'ear  becoming  more  sensi- 
tive, reading  charades,  and  games  with  the  young  people,  cheerful 
talk,  consume  the  evening  until  his  earlj-  hour  of  retirement,  and 
then,  summoning  all  to  look  at  the  moonliglit  and  stars  through 
the  evergreens,  he  smilingly  gives  his  benediction. 

Thus  passed  the  weeks  and  months  of  summer.  Sunday  brought 
the  change  of  deeper  quiet,  abstinence  from  long  excursions,  soli- 
tude, and  attendance  at  the  neighboring  meeting-house.  Witliout 
any  superstitious  reverence.  Dr.  Channing  felt  his  own  need  of  the 
daj'  of  rest.  "  It  is  the  Sabbath,"  he  writes  ;  "  the  remembrancer 
of  our  imraortalit}',  the  soul's  holida}',  when  it  should  renew  itself 
in  happier  regions.  May  it  awaken  a  new  consciousness  of  what 
we  are  and  of  what  we  shall  be  !  How  gratefull3'  we  should  wel- 
come this  peaceful,  sacred  day  !  After  the  week's  chafing  cares 
and  bustle,  what  a  privilege  to  pause  and  be  refreshed  with 
thoughts  of  lieaven  !  How  should  I  rejoice  to  go  with  a  message 
of  life  and  immortality  to  my  fellow-beings  !  "  The  members  of  his 
family  took  an  active  part  in  the  Sunday  school ;  and  he  himself 
preached  whenever  his  strength  permitted.  On  these  occasions, 
he  used  no  notes,  but  appealed  with  hearty  directness  to  'his  simple 
audience.  But  though  the  pleasure  which  he  took  in  testifying  his 
friendly  regard  to  his  neighbors  made  these  services  interesting  to 
him,  he  found  that  his  love  of  exact  statements,  and  his  habit  of 
weighing  opposite  views,  checked  his  freedom  in  extemporaneous 
discourse.  He  estimated  his  own  success  in  this  mode  of  preach- 
ing much  more  humbly,  however,  than  did  his  hearers  ;  for  visitors, 
attracted  from  Newi)ort  by  his  celebrity,  were  often  more  im- 
pressed with  the  apostolic  fervor  and  earnest  piety  and  love  of 
these  village  sermons,  than  with  the  eloquence  of  his  more  elaborate 
addresses. 

And  now  scarlet  and  golden  leaves  litter  the  paths,  the  dark 
evergreens  rise  sombrely,  morning  fogs  lie  heavy  on  the  lawn,  and 
chill  autumn  winds,  through  the  tlnn  hedges,  remind  him  that  his 
season  of  recreation  is  ended.  To  his  society  in  Boston  will  he 
now  carry  back  the  truth  he  has  garnered. 

Arrived  in  Boston,  Dr.  Channing's  first  hours  were  always  passed 
with  his  mother.  Throughout  his  life,  it  has  been  seen  how  deep 
and  constant  was  his  filial  atfection  ;  but  every  year  seemed  only 
to  brighten  its  beauty  with  new  reverence,  tenderness,  regard 
for  her  wishes,  and  assiduous  care.  In  a  letter  of  consolation,  he 
says :  — 

1827.  "I  can  understand  the  affliction  of  which  you  write, 
though  I  have  not  experienced  it.     God  has  seen  fit  to  spare  my 


HIS   MOTHER.  667 

mother,  but  I  cannot  expect  her  to  continue  long,  and  I  feel  wliat 
a  change  will  be  made  in  my  life  by  her  removal.  A  mother's 
love  is,  in  some  views,  more  touching  than  any  other.  It  has 
more  of  the  immutableness  of  the  Divine  goodness.  It  is  a  love 
which  began  with  our  very  being,  and  follows  us  all  our  days, 
which  no  waywardness  can  alienate,  which  burns  undunmed  to  the 
last  hour.  And  will  it  not  survive  the  grave?  Is  not  a  true,  dis- 
interested parental  love  too  like  the  love  which  God  bears  his 
offspring  to  be  blotted  out?  Then  our  parents  never  die  to  us. 
The  sacred  tie  may  be  strengthened  rather  than  dissolved." 

A  few  years  later  he  wrote  in  his  journal :  — 

'■'-May  2G,  1834.  Yesterday  mj'  mother  died.  What  a  change 
in  my  condition  !  During  my  whole  life,  her  love  has  been  uni'e- 
mitted.  For  how  many  years  has  she  borne  me  in  her  thoughts 
and  heart !  I  have  been  privileged  in  so  long  ministering  to  her 
comfort,  and  I  trust  that  she  has  received  some  happiness  from  my 
affection. 

"And  now  the  friend  of  my  whole  life,  who,  amidst  all  fluctua- 
tions of  other  friendships,  never  changed,  with  whose  very  being  I 
was  entwined,  is  gone.  The  first  voice  I  ever  heard  I  shall  hear 
no  more  ;  the  arms  that  first  sustained  me  are  motionless  ;  the 
expressive  eye  is  quenched.  The  room  where  for  years  I  received 
her  counsels  and  blessings  holds  only  her  lifeless  frame.  Her  chair 
is  vacant ! 

"  Dear  friend,  whose  heart  yearned  over  me  through  all  trials, 
thou  art  gone  !  I  can  no  longer  press  th3'  hand,  read  thy  coun- 
tenance, hear  thy  words  of  pious  gratitude,  offer  prayers  with  thee 
to  our  common  Father  ! 

''  She,  who  gave  a  unit}^  to  n\y  wdiole  being,  who  by  her  pres- 
ence, interest,  affection,  bound  together  all  the  events  of  my  life, 
has  left  me.  Who  can  be  to  me  what  she  has  been?  To  whom 
can  I  be  what  I  have  been  to  her?  A  tie  is  broken  wiiich  cannot 
be  replaced  on  earth.  O  that  we  could  have  prolonged  her  da3S  in 
comfort !  But  she  has  gone  to  One  who  loved  her  better  than  we 
could.     To  His  will  we  resign  her," 

To  an  absent  sister  he  thus  expressed  his  feelings  :  — 

'■'■May  28,  1834.  Tliis  afternoon  we  followed  mother's  remains 
to  Cambridge,  where  she  wished  to  be  buried  b}'  the  side  of  her 
mother.  It  is  at  the  grave  that  we  feel  what  Christianit}'  has  done 
for  us.  What  anguish  would  overwhelm  us  at  the  moment  of  com- 
mitting the  dust  to  the  dust,  if  we  felt  that  we  were  shutting  up  in 
everlasting  darkness,  silence,  death,  all  that  was  our  friend !     I 


668  HOME  LIFE. 

felt  that  the  spirit  was  not  there,  —  that  what  we  most  loved  and 
revered  was  not  there.  Thanks  to  God  for  the  hope  of  immor- 
tality !  How  many  of  our  friends  are  now  gathered  into  that  better 
world !  It  seems  at  sueh  moments  as  if  we  could  never  again  shut 
ourselves  up  in  this  narrow  sphere. 

"I  think  of  her  last  year  with  great  pleasure  and  thankfulness. 
Her  character  seemed  to  improve,  which  is  not  the  ordinarj'  expe- 
rience of  age.  She  extended,  instead  of  narrowing,  her  interests, 
and  found  an  increasing  happiness  in  her  social  affections.  The 
kindness  of  her  friends  touched  her  heart  more  and  more,  and  she 
sometimes  wanted  words  to  express  her  gratitude  to  God  for  sur- 
rounding her  with  so  many  who  were  thoughtful  of  her  happiness. 
Her  conversation  attracted  as  many  visitors  as  she  could  see  with 
comfort,  and  3et  it  never  seemed  to  enter  her  mind  that  she  was 
capable  of  giving  pleasure.  She  ascribed  to  the  pure  good-will  of 
others  what  was  cliiefl}'  owing  to  herself.  I  look  on  her  last  days 
as  her  best  days.  We  must  be  grateful  that  we  have  not  waited  for 
her  death  to  learn  her  worth  ;  but  have,  in  some  measure,  given  testi- 
monies of  love  which  have  done  much  to  brighten  her  declining  years. 

"  Thus  we  are  without  a  mother.  What  a  change  !  Our  earliest, 
oldest,  unfailing  friend  has  gone.  She  to  whom  we  seemed  to  be- 
long in  a  pecuHar  sense  is  gone  ;  but  gone  full  of  years  and  honors, 
after  a  favored  life,  a  venerable  age,  and  a  larger  experience  of 
happiness  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  human  beings.  I  trust 
mother's  death  will  not  loosen  our  union.  She  was  a  centre  to  us. 
Let  her  memory  be  a  bond.  One  of  our  consoling  recollections  is, 
that  her  peace  was  never  disturbed  for  a  moment  by  discord  among 
her  children." 

Of  his  mother's  life  and  character  he  gave  this  brief,  but  truthful 
sketch,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  :  — 

'■'■  June^  1834.^  I  have  just  lost  my  mother.  She  had  attained 
to  the  age  of  eighty-two,  and  the  time  had  come  for  her  to  leave 
us  ;  and  3-et  I  do  not  feel  the  loss  the  less  on  this  account,  for  her 
faculties  had  almost  wholly  esea[)ed  the  influence  of  time,  and  her 
affections  were  gaining  strength  to  the  last  hour.  She  never  en- 
joyed life  more  than  in  her  age.  Released  from  the  cares  of 
domestic  life,  she  was  allowed  to  give  up  herself  to  her  friends,  in 
the  quiet  of  her  apartment;  and  there  her  cheerful  spirit,  bright 
conversation,  and  strong  interest  in  others  drew  round  her  a  numer- 
ous circle,  comprising  many  young,  in  wliom  slio  took  great  delight. 
She  was  the  mother  of  ton  children,  of  whom  nine  attained  to  adult 

1  To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. 


RESERVE   OF  MANNER.  669 

years,  and  seven  survived  her.  She  was  left  a  widow,  in  narrow 
circumstances,  with  six  sons  and  three  daughters,  the  oldest  about 
nineteen.  But  her  energy  and  sound  judgment  established  over 
them  a  salutary  control,  and  she  lived  to  see  them  prosperous  in 
the  world  be^'ond  what  is  common  in  such  large  families,  devoted 
to  her  happiness,  tenderly  alive  to  her  worth,  united  together  in 
uninterrupted  concord,  sincere  believers  in  Christianity,  and  none, 
I  trust,  strangers  to  its  power. 

"  At  one  period  of  her  life,  m}'  mother's  singular  directness  gave 
some  appearance  of  hardness  to  her  character,  which  time  softened 
down.  Her  sensibility  more  and  more  broke  through  the  restraints 
which  her  aversion  to  pretension  had  imposed  ;  so  that  the  winter 
of  her  age  seemed  warmed  and  brightened  with  the  fervor  of  youth- 
ful feeling.  I  never  witnessed  in  her  such  overflowings  of  gratitude 
to  God  and  of  social  affection  as  in  her  last  years.  An  improve- 
ment seemed  going  on  in  her  character  like  that  which  death  pro- 
duced in  her  countenance,  —  for  at  the  moment  of  death  a  beautiful 
serenity  overspread  her  features,  and  her  brow  became  almost  as 
smooth  as  in  3'outh. 

"  Such  is  the  friend  I  have  lost,  — my  earliest,  oldest  friend, — 
who  alone  of  all  human  beings  has  sympathized  with  me  through 
every  stage  of  my  life,  and  whose  love  seemed  to  connect  my  whole 
existence.  Beautiful,  sacred  bond  of  parent  and  child  !  How  true 
is  it  that  the  most  precious  gifts  and  beneficent  ordinations  of  God 
are  to  be  met  with  in  our  common  paths  !  Under  ever}'  roof  are  to 
be  found  these  relations  which  are  meant  to  be  the  springs  of  sub- 
lime virtue  and  the  sincerest  happiness." 

By  the  death  of  his  mother.  Dr.  Channing  became  the  head  of 
the  famil}' ;  and  the  dignity,  tender  affection,  faithfulness,  with 
which  he  fulfilled  the  duties  of  this  position  could  not  be  surpassed. 
With  thoughtful  sympathy',  he  made  the  trials,  joys,  responsibilities, 
of  his  brethren  and  sisters,  nephews  and  nieces,  his  own.  His 
generosit}-  to  each  and  all  was  unlimited,  and  grew  with  their  need 
of  his  aid,  counsel,  or  countenance.  His  respect  for  the  personal 
independence  of  others,  dislike  of  any  approach  to  flattering  atten- 
tions, aversion  to  patronage,  stern  sincerity,  threvv'  sometimes  a 
reserve  over  his  manner,  which  restrained  the  free  coannunications 
of  those  whom  he  most  desired  to  attract.  But  nothing  rejoiced 
him  more  than  hearty  trust  in  his  affection.  He  longed  to  be  loved 
again  with  the  purity  and  truthfulness  with  which  he  himself  loved, 
and  was  deeply  pained  when  he  failed  to  put  others  at  their  ease. 
Speaking  of  this  trait,  he  savs  :  — 

"  I  expect  my  friends  to  confide  in  the  constancy  of  my  aflTection, 


670  HOME   LIFE. 

as  much  as  I  do  m3'self.  I  feel  as  if  the}'  must  know  what  goes  on 
in  my  heart,  so  distinct  is  ni}'  own  consciousness  of  m}-  strength  of 
attachment.  I  foi'get  that  I  am  not  very  transparent,  and  cannot 
therefore  be  excused  from  outward  signs  of  regard." 

"  My  reserve  has  sometimes  prevented  me  from  doing  justice  to 
my  own  lieart,  and  given  me  the  appearance  of  coldness  when  I 
have  been  deeply-  touched  by  kindness.  I  recommend  to  j'ou  no 
forced  expressions  of  feeling,  but  when  the  emotion  comes  to  the 
lips,  give  it  utterance." 

"I  cannot  express  to  j'ou  the  satisfaction  I  should  find  in  the 
freest  intercourse  of  mind  with  you.  I  wish  it  for  both  our  sakes, 
and  I  cannot  blame  myself  for  not  having  established  such  an  in- 
tercourse of  thought  and  feeling.  I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  I 
blame  you.  There  are  often  mysterious  bars  to  the  free  communi- 
cation of  souls.  I  sometimes  want  power  to  open  other  minds  to 
me,  when  I  am  most  desirous  to  do  it." 

A  close  observer  has  well  described  the  cloud  of  abstraction  in 
which  Dr.  Channing  sometimes  appeared  to  dwell  apart  from  com- 
mon interests,  and  by  which  even  friends  felt  placed  at  a  distance. 

"  Intimacy  Avith  him  was  a  rare  thing  ;  and  even  where  it  existed, 
it  was  attended  witli  restraints  not  usual  in  the  closest  friendship. 
Where  there  was  perfect  freedotn  of  mind  in  intercourse  with  him, 
there  was  not  the  perfect  freedom  of  manner  that  ordinarily  follows 
it.  It  has  been  said  of  AVasliington,  that  none  of  his  military  com- 
panions coukl  freely  lay  their  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  same 
was  true  of  Channing.  Pie  was  a  person  of  a  delicate  frame,  but  of 
a  great  presence 

"■It  is  extremely-  difficult  to  be  at  once  a  man  of  deep,  earnest, 
continued  thought,  and  a  man  of  society.  When  fixed  attention  to 
some  theme  has  been  channelling  its  way  in  the  mind  all  the  day 
long,  it  is  not  easy  at  evening  to  turn  it  into  the  varied  flow  of  eas}'^ 
and  perhaps  sportive  conversation,  yielding  itself  to  all  the  impulses 
of  surrounding  and  miscellaneous  society.     The  very  fibres  of  the 

soul  have  been  strained  till  they  are  stiffened Add  to  all 

this  the  effect  of  a  certain  factitious  reverence  in  society  for  him 
who  bears  the  clerical  office  ;  let  it  be  such  as  to  forbid,  if  I  may 
say  so,  the  free  encounter  of  Avits  with  the  literary,  professional,  or 
intelligent  men  that  surround  him  ;  let  them  choose  to  exclude  him 
from  their  occasions  of  natural  and  unrestrained  intercourse  ;  and 
it  will  be  strange  if  he  escape  the  influence  of  such  a  combination  of 
causes.  One  ma}'  have  a  nature  the  most  bland,  gentle,  and  affec- 
tionate that  ever  existed,  and  yet  it  will  not  be  strange,  if,  in  such 
circumstances,  he  shuts   himself  up   in   his   own   thoughts,   and, 


HIS   RELATIONS   TO   OTHERS.  671 

indeed,  acquires  a  habit  of  pursuing  out  his  own  train  of  thoughts, 
so  that  he  seems  to  be  alone,  even  in  society.  I  think,  indeed, 
that  this  habit  contributed,  more  than  anything  else,  to  impart  to 
Dr.  Channing  the  air  of  isolation,  and  to  those  around  him  the 
feeling  of  constraint.  He  was  always  pursuing  out  his  own  thought ; 
he  seemed,  without  intending  it,  to  use  other  men  ;  everytliing  came 
into  his  crucible,  and  Avas  melted  and  moulded  into  his  form."  ^ 

But  it  was  the  predominance  of  the  ethical  element  in  Dr. 
Channing's  nature,  which  chiefly  explains  the  awe  induced  b}'  his 
presence.  Ever-wakeful  conscience  gazed  down  upon  one  through 
his  whole  expression,  and  there  seemed  no  covert  from  the  calm 
penetration  of  his  aye.  Pretension  felt  abashed,  self-seeking  hum- 
bled, before  the  ideal  of  goodness  shining  out  from  his  spirit.  In 
his  look  and  air  there  was  an  intentness,  an  expectancy,  a  concen- 
trated force,  which,  while  thej'  stimulated  thought,  checked  desire  of 
expression.  Plis  truthfulness  made  the  interview  solemn  as  a  visit 
to  the  shrine  of  an  oracle.  And  yet  there  was  no  appearance  of 
severe  inspection  or  stoical  hardness.  On  the  contrary,  no  ti-ait 
was  more  remarkable  than  his  delicate  regard  for  individual  privacy, 
his  modest  oversight  of  weaknesses,  his  deference  even  for  the  friv- 
olous and  3-oung.  Amidst  keen  self-reproach  one  felt  strengthened 
with  new  consciousness  of  moral  life,  new  aspirations  after  integ- 
rity. It  was  plain  that  his  reverence  for  the  central  power  of  good, 
in  ever}-  spirit,  was  yet  stronger  than  his  quick  sense  of  supei'ficial 
attainments  in  character.  How  habitually  self-distrustful  he  was  in 
his  relations  to  others  will  appear  by  a  few  extracts  from  his  letters. 

"  Among  my  gifts,  I  never  considered  that  of  counsel  as  holding 
a  high  place  ;  and  I  have  come  to  think  that  duty  is  so  far  an  indi- 
vidual thing,  so  dependent  on  the  inward  frame  and  on  peculiarities 
which  only  he  who  has  them  knows,  that  I  have  less  sohcitude  than 
ever  to  be  an  adviser." 

"This  is  all  very  vague,  and  sometimes  we  injure  a  friend  by 
giving  him  the  idea  of  a  danger  without  putting  a  finger  on  tlie  pre- 
cise fault.  I  suspect,  however,  that  w^e  cannot  serve  one  another 
much  beyond  such  general  hints.  A  man  may  be  set  to  work,  turned 
upon  himself,  by  such  remarks;  but,  unless  his  own  conscious- 
ness reveals  his  difficulty,  he  can  hardly  learn  it  from  abroad." 

"You  know  me  to  be  above  affectation,  and  to  have  sufficient 
self-reliance  in  certain  cases.  But  I  continually  see  people  who,  in 
the  ordinary'  concerns  of  life,  and  very  important  ones  too,  are  wiser 
than  I  am  ;  and  I  fear  to  do  injury  rather  than  good  by  inteiference." 

'  I")r.  Dewey's  Discourse  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Channing-,  pp. 
27,  28. 


672  HOME  LIFE. 

His  unaffected  respect  for  others  made  Dr.  Channing  most  un- 
willing to  censure  or  to  listen  to  words  of  condemnation.  The 
levity  with  which  character  is  discussed,  and  private  affairs  are  can- 
vassed, was  shocking  to  his  nice  sense  of  honor.  He  was  utterly 
intolerant  of  gossip  and  scandal,  and  ever  prompt  to  defend  an 
assailed  reputation,  or  to  explain  unfavorable  reports.  To  a  friend 
he  writes  :  — 

"I  would  have  speech  free  as  the  wind  in  regard  to  principles, 
institutions,  great  truths,  abuses,  oppressions  ;  but  in  regard  to  in- 
dividual acts  and  character,  I  feel  more  and  more  the  duty  of  cau- 
tion. I  have  faith  in  m\'  fellow-creatures  ;  but  it  is  exercised  in 
the  recognition  of  a  deep,  imperishable  goodness  amidst  man}'  and 
sometimes  gi-eat  imperfections.  I  forgive  ever^iihing  to  the  gener- 
ous and  disinterested.  Still  more,  I  admire  and  love,  even  where  I 
see  veiy  partial  developments  of  character,  and  sometimes  unac- 
countable mixtures  of  evil  with  goodness.  I  believe  in  their  future 
perfection.     How  I  should  rejoice  to  see  it  now  !  " 

In  further  illustration  of  this  trait,  the  Discourse  from  which  free 
extracts  have  been  alread}'  made  may  be  again  quoted. 

"  His  was  a  goodness  of  heart  the  most  gentle,  tender,  and  con- 
siderate. I  do  not  believe  that  one  unkind  action  can  be  found  in 
his  life.  I  never  heard  him  utter  a  hai-sh  and  hasty  word  concern- 
ing any  human  being.  But  here  I  must  still  discriminate.  In  some 
respects  he  was  a  severe  judge  of  men.  Calmly  and  considerately 
his  opinion  was  expressed ;  but  it  was  strong  and  clear,  and  doubt- 
less unsparing.  He  seemed  at  times  a  rigorous  censor.  Especially 
towards  sensual  aberrations  he  was  so.  and  had  some  right  to  be, 
since  he  showed  no  indulgence  towards  himself.  But  his  rigor  was 
always  tempered  with  pity.  Informed,  on  an  occasion,  of  a  person 
who  had  fallen  in  this  respect,  •  Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  know  that  he  has 
dishonored  himself.'  with  such  a  tone  of  rebuke  and  sorrow  united 
as  I  can  never  forget.  That  was  doubtless  an  awfully  severe  moral 
judgment  which  he  once  pronounced  on  the  nature  of  retribution, 
but  it  was  not  harsh  nor  cruel.  A  representation  of  the  pains  to  be 
inflicted  by  conscience  in  another  life  having  been  mentioned,  as 
very  impressive,  '  Yes,'  he  said,  '  and  it  is  all  true ;  but,  after  all, 
does  not  the  heaWest  retribution  for  sin  lie  in  the  sin  itself,  —  lie  in 
being  a  sinner,  —  lie  in  the  darkness  and  moral  annihilation  which 
sin  causes,  although  the  offender  be  unconscious  of  it  ?'  Terrible 
thought  I  but  one  breathing  lenitv  and  compassion,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  none  but  a  mind  awfully-  impressed  b}-  the  evil  of  sin  could 
have  suggested  it.  But  so  were  all  things  tempered  in  him.  He 
was  doubtless,  from  the  very  elevation  of  his  seutimeuts,  a  strict 


SELF-KXOWLEDGE.  673 

and  fearful  judge  of  the  characters  of  men ;  but  how  candid,  con- 
siderate, and  forbearing  he  was,  all  who  have  conversed  much  with 
him  must  know."  ^ 

Dr.  Channing  judged  himself,  indeed,  far  more  strictly  than  he 
did  others,  and  demanded  more  of  his  own  will.  His  magnanimity 
in  acknowledging  limitations  and  errors,  accepting  criticism,  and 
lea\'ing  his  reputation  to  the  just  care  of  his  fellow-men,  may  be 
shown  b}-  the  following  extracts  from  his  correspondence. 

"  I  have  come  to  think  but  little  about  the  judgments  people  form 
of  me  ;  for  they  can  know  but  little  of  the  actions  on  which  thej- 
pass  sentence.  I  expect  frequent  misrepresentation  as  a  matter  of 
course.  I  wish  to  be  influenced  by  indirect  rather  than  direct  judg- 
ments about  me.  To  explain  myself.  When  I  do  right,  all  good 
minds  virtuiJly  approve  me,  whether  the\'  know  what  I  have  done 
or  not.  Their  love  of  virtue  is  a  love  of  me.  as  far  as  I  am  virtuous. 
So  when  I  do  wrong,  though  wholly  undetected,  all  good  minds  con- 
demn me  as  trul\-  as  if  the}'  witnessed  the  particular  deed.  This  is 
the  only  judgment  to  be  hoped  or  feared,  and  this  is  infallible.     I 

wish  to  take  refuge  from  superficial  censures  in  this As  to 

3'our  want  of  faith,  is  it  of  the  same  nature  with  mine  ?  I  have  faith 
in  great  principles,  and  faith  in  their  ultimate  triumph  ;  but  I  often 
want  faith  in  the  s^'mpath}*  of  indi^nduals  with  whom  I  converse, 
and  shrink  from  expressing  the  truth,  lest  it  should  meet  no  response. 
This  I  am  trying  to  overcome." 

"  You  have  begun  well  to  tell  me  of  my  errors.  TThat  you  have 
begun  half  in  sport  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  carri-  on  in  earnest. 
I  would  know  myself,  if  possible  :  for  I  think  that  I  am  prepared 
for  the  knowledge,  by  m\-  strong  confidence  in  the  capacity  of  refor- 
mation which  belongs  to  our  nature,  and  which  God  is  most  readj- 
to  assist." 

"  I  ask  you  to  retaliate  m}-  severities  by  setting  all  my  defects  and 
sins  before  me.     If  I  do  not  profit,  I  will  promise  to  be  grateful." 

"  I  thank  vou  for  your  remarks  on  my  Lectures.  You  were  right 
in  thinking  that  I  like  the  greatest  freedom  of  criticism.  My  prin- 
cipal objection  to  criticism  is,  tliat  it  recalls  my  mind  to  what  I  have 
written.  When  a  work  of  mine  is  fairly  through  the  press,  I  wish 
to  shake  hands  with  it  and  sa}-  a  last  word  of  blessing,  and  to  know 
it  no  more." 

'•  I  thank  yon  for  your  remarks  on  my  article.  They  were  only 
too  sparing.  Do  read  the  article  when  it  comes  out.  You  will  find 
that  in  almost  every  instance  I  have  followed  your  suggestions,  and 

1  Dr.  Dewey's  Discourse  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Channing. 

43 


674  HOME   LIFE. 

I  feel  m}^  work  to  be  improved.  I  need  a  counsellor.  My  mind  is 
sometimes  too  fervent  for  accurac}'  or  caution  of  expression,  and, 
fallen  as  we  are  on  evil  times,  every  word  needs  to  be  weighed." 

"  I  am  unwilling  to  owe  reputation  to  concealment  of  any  kind. 
I  have  not  shrunk  from  saying  what  I  think  true,  for  the  sake  of 
nursing  my  good  name." 

Playful  irony  was  a  means  of  reproof  that  Dr.  Channing  occasion- 
ally used  with  great  effect  in  his  immediate  circle  ;  but  there  was 
such  a  light  of  kindness  in  his  e3'e  and  smile,  and  such  a  purit\',  in- 
nocence, and  childlike  sportiveness  in  his  allusions,  that  the  most 
sensitive  could  not  feel  pained.  His  silence,  too,  in  the  presence 
of  unreasonable  emotion,  was  more  impressive  than  most  earnest 
speech.  Only  on  extreme  occasions  did  he  express  indignation,  and 
then  it  was  tempered  with  pity.  His  habitual  mildness  was  strik- 
ingly manifested  once  to  a  sceptic,  who  was  reproaching  Jesus  Christ 
for  his  "  angr^-  denunciations."  In  answer,  Dr.  Clianning  opened 
the  New  Testament  and  read  the  passages  referred  to  aloud.  As 
soon  as  he  had  finished,  his  hearer  said,  "  O,  if  that  was  the  tone 
in  which  he  spoke,  it  alters  the  case  !  "  He  recognized  that  justice 
might  be  at  once  firm,  and  free  from  personal  passion.  This  con- 
sistent gentleness  of  manner,  however,  was  the  result  of  self-com- 
mand. B}'  temperament  he  was  ardent,  even  to  impetuosit}',  and 
nothing  in  his  cliaracter  was  more  beautiful  than  the  serene  benig- 
nity with  which  he  controlled  his  quick  impulses. 

Enlightened  will,  indeed,  presided  over  all  his  native  instincts. 
"  1  had  naturally,"  he  once  said,  "  not  a  little  physical  fear,  but  I 
have  outgrown  it.  A  sudden  emergency-  might  prove  me  a  coward  ; 
but  give  me  time  to  survey  the  foe  or  danger,  and  I  should  not  trem- 
ble." Probably  he  mistook  sensibility  and  imagination  lor  fear  ;  but 
if  so,  he  had  certainly-  verified  in  experience  his  own  words,  —  "I 
call  that  mind  free,  which,  through  confidence  in  God  and  in  the 
power  of  virtue,  has  cast  off  all  fear  but  that  of  wrong-doing,  which 
no  menace  or  peril  can  inthrall,  which  is  calm  in  the  midst  of  tumults, 
and  possesses  itself  though  all  else  be  lost."  ^  When  the  Hon. 
Josiah  Quincy  was  delivering  a  centennial  address  upon  the  settle- 
ment of  Boston,  in  the  Old  South  church,  the  alarm  Avas  given  that 
one  of  the  galleries  was  falling  beneath  the  pressure  of  the  multi- 
tude. The  consternation  and  ui)roar  in  the  vast  crowd  were  ap- 
palling. "  Dr.  Channing  rose,"  said  a  friend  who  was  near  him, 
"  looked  around,  saw  the  impossibility  of  escape,  and  then  remained 
standing,  '  calm  and  self-possessed,'  without  a  change  in  his  couu- 

1  Works,  Vol.  IV.  p.  73.     One  VoUime  Edition,  p.  174. 


FORBEARANCE   UNDER  INJURIES.  675     ^ 

tenance  or  attitude,  till  the  agitation  had  subsided."  Veiy  seldom, 
too,  was  he  known  to  exhibit  tlie  usual  signs  of  grief.  In  the  midst 
of  persons  excited  by  a  pathetic  appeal,  some  one  said  to  him,  , 

"  How  can  you  be  so  unmoved?"  "  M}'  tears,"  he  answered,  "  do  \x 
not  lie  so  near  my  eyes."  Once,  however,  when  a  ver\'  dear  sister- 
in-law  was  taken  away,  he  went  to  visit  his  mother,  and,  kneeling 
down  by  the  side  of  her  chair,  was  for  a  time  borne  awa}'  bv  the 
flood  of  his  sorrow.  And  on  retiring  from  his  mother's  death-bed, 
he  could  onl}'  utter,  while  his  ej'es  were  suffused  and  his  voice  trem- 
bled, "  In  such  an  hour  may  j-ou  have  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  you  have  been  a  good  son."  A  friend,  who  carried  him  the 
dreadful  news  of  Charles  Follen's  death,  relates  that  an  expression 
of  agony  convulsed  his  features  ;  but  instantly  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  then,  looking  up  with  a  most  radiant  and  tri- 
umphant smile,  he  said,  "It  is  all  well."  Thus,  in  most  trying 
scenes,  the  spirit  shone  out  unclouded. 

Dr.  Channing's  perfect  self-control  was  shown,  also,  in  his  for- 
bearance under  injuries.  In  relation  to  a  slander  that  was  once 
circulated  about  him,  he  thus  wrote  to  a  friend  :  — 

"  Boston^  November  9,  1837.  I  like  to  know  the  evil  that  is  said 
of  me,  because  much  of  it  may  be  traced  to  misapprehension  of 
what  really  took  place,  and  because  sometimes  part  of  it  has  a 
foundation  in  real  defects  of  character,  and  may  be  used  for  self- 
knowledge  and  self-reform I  shall  not  be  angered.  Dis- 
appointment with  me  in  such  cases  is  sorrowful,  never  angry,  and 
the  impression  of  wrong  is  soon  effaced  by  the  subjects  of  deep, 
absorbing  interest  which  every  da}'  pour  in  on  my  mind.  I  have 
the  placableness  of  a  short  memory,  if  not  of  a  Christian  spirit. 

This  must  not  trouble  ,  for  it  does  not  trouble  me.     I  only 

ask  for  light  to  make  my  path  plain.  Happily,  on  this  point  I  am 
sure  of  myself,  which  I  cannot  sa}'  of  other  defects.  I  make  it  my 
rule  to  spend  my  whole  income^  to  lay  up  nothing.  At  the  same 
time,  I  hold  myself  bound  not  to  exceed  m}-  income,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  in  my  case,  as  in  others,  the  self-denial  and  economy 
necessary  to  keep  within  this  bound  may  pass  with  some  for  mean- 
ness. On  this  head  I  have  no  solicitude,  because,  from  the  nature 
of  the  case,  I  am  sure,  not  only  of  my  motives,  but  of  my  conduct. 
This  may  explain  reports  to  my  injury." 

"  Boston.,  Norember  26,  1837.  As  to  the  reports  themselves, 
they  do  not  disturb  me.  I  have  gone  through  the  hardening  pro- 
cess to  whicli  all  public  men  are  exposed  in  our  country,  and  not 
in  vain.  I  am  accustomed  to  the  free  use  which  sects,  parties,  and 
individuals  make  of  my  name,  and  I  hope  that  something  higher 


676  HOME  LIFE. 

than  habit  keeps  me  calm.  I  have,  too,  an  excellent  specific 
against  injuries  of  this  kind,  namel}',  a  short  memory,  aided  by 
absorption  in  ver}^  interesting  subjects.  We  visionaries,  as  we  are 
called,  have  this  privilege,  from  living  in  the  air,  that  the  harsh 

sounds  from  earth  make  onh'  a  slight  impression  on  the  ear 

I  have  no  desire  to  know  the  particular  reports,  because  the}'  can- 
not help  me  to  understand  myself.  Sometimes  this  common  liar, 
rumor,  does  tell  truths,  and  I  hold  m3self  bound  to  be  instructed 
by  an  enemy.  But  in  the  present  case  I  think  I  know  m3'self. 
And  here  let  me  say  that  I  have  regretted  sending  you  my  last  let- 
ter on  one  account.    I  spoke  there  of  my  rules  or  habits  of  expense. 

The  love  I  have  for  you  and  makes  me  willing  to  speak  to 

you  of  such  personal  affairs,  but  to  the  world,  to  my  harsh  judges, 
to  evil  reporters,  I  have  no  explanation  to  make.  My  reputation, 
if  it  is  good  for  anything,  will  take  care  of  itself.  I  beg  you, 
therefore,  to  say  nothing  of  that  part  of  my  letter  to  any  person. 
Be  not  anxious  to  vindicate  me,  except  on  the  ground  of  your  own 
observation.  I  can  furnish  you  no  weapons.  I  know'  how  many 
evil  rumors  are  spread  about  me  ;  not  that  I  have  enemies,  for  I 
doubt  whether  one  human  being  cherishes  any  malignity  towards 
me  ;  but  my  retired  hal)its  favor  much  misapprehension,  and  then 
my  defects,  with  a  little  exaggeration,  furnish  good  topics  for  the 
gossip  of  the  day.  These  rumors  I  leave  to  themselves.  I  would 
not  on  any  account  undergo  the  labor  of  '  ferreting '  them  out,  I 
only  ask  that  my  friends  will  do  me  justice.  I  am  ashamed  to 
talk  so  much  of  myself,  and  here  let  the  subject  drop." 

Most  strange,  indeed,  it  was  that  any  one  could  have  ever  sus- 
pected this  generous,  hospitable,  open-handed  man  of  illiberality 
in  money  matters.  To  his  relatives,  to  the  deserving  and  strug- 
gling, to  the  poor,  to  charitable  enterprises,  he  gave  without  stint. 
In  llie  minutest  practical  affiiirs,  as  in  his  highest  professed  princi- 
ples, his  life  was  love.  Possibly  an  explanation  of  this  gratuitous 
calumny  may  be  found  in  domestic  circumstances  to  which  he  once 
had  occasion  thus  to  refer  :  — 

^'■January,  1842.  I  am  unable  to  make  the  loan  which  you 
request.  The  little  property  which  can  be  called  strictly  my  own 
is  loaned  to  relatives,  and  liad  I  more,  the  same  disposition  would 
be  made  of  it.  Tlie  property  which  passes  for  mine,  but  which  is 
my  wife's,  I  regard  and  treat  as  hers.  I  never  invest  it,  but  leave 
it  to  the  care  of  friends,  as  was  the  case  before  our  marriage,  and, 
indeed,  her  control  and  use  of  it  are  essentially  the  same  as  at  that 
period.     I  could  serve  such  a  cause  as  yours  only  by  a  donation, 


HIS  AVERSION   TO  EXCLUSIVENESS.  677 

or  by  loaning  income.  But,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  neither  of  these 
modes  of  assistance  is  in  my  power.  Our  rule  is,  to  la}-  up  noth- 
ing, to  add  nothing  to  our  propert}-,  to  expend  our  whole  income, 
and  to  seek  secure,  not  productive,  investments  of  property.  I 
make  this  communication  for  you,  and  you  onl}-,  because  I  wish 
you  to  understand  that  it  is  no  inditference  to  your  cause  which 
leads  me  to  withhold  the  aid  you  ask.  It  would  rejoice  me  to 
assist  you,  —  to  give  something  more  than  good-wishes  to  an  ex- 
periment so  interesting  to  a  Christian." 

From  his  position  as  the  minister  of  a  leading  congregation  and 
a  distinguished  man  of  letters,  as  well  as  from  the  social  relations 
into  which  he  was  brought  b}-  birth  and  bv  marriage.  Dr.  Channing 
was  connected  with  the  highest  class  of  Boston  society  ;  and  refine- 
ment of  feeUng,  tastes,  and  habits  made  him  value  at  their  full 
worth  all  means  of  elegance.  But,  as  }ias  been  full}'  shown,  his 
whole  thought  and  aim  were  to  thi'ow  open  and  diffuse  the  privi- 
leges of  cultivated  life.  He  had  an  utter  aversion  to  the  exclu- 
siveness  and  arrogance  of  fashion.  A  few  passages  from  his 
correspondence  will  show  his  desire  to  lessen  the  distance  between 
himself  and  his  less-favored  brethren. 

"  April,  1835.  I  wish  more  and  more  a  simple,  unostentatious 
style  of  living.  The  inconsistency  of  our  habits  with  Christianity 
strikes  me  more  and  more.  They  separate  us  from  our  fellow- 
creatures,  instead  of  spreading  our  sympathy  and  keeping  love  in 
perpetual  exercise.  I  wish  to  bear  witness  to  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  to  urge  on  men  the  dut}'  of  living  for  their  own  and 
others'  perfection  as  they  have  not  done,  and  m}'  own  habits  must 
not  war  with  my  teaching.  My  aim  is  to  spend  nothing  on  myself 
which  health  and  usefulness  do  not  require." 

"  Mai/,  1835.  I  am  pained  by  the  narrow,  exclusive  spirit  which 
prevails  even  in  our  republic.  Whilst  we  value  the  society  of  the 
more  cultivated,  let  us  look  on  every  human  being  as  one  of  our 
family." 

'■'■June  22,  1835.  So  you  are  building  a  house.  By  what  sym- 
pathy* is  it  that  we  are  both  carrying  on  the  same  work  at  once? 
I  hope,  however,  your  practical  wisdom  has  kept  you  from  my 
error.  My  house  threatens  to  swell  be3ond  my  means,  so  that  I 
cannot  think  of  it  with  a  perfectl}'  quiet  conscience.  This  is  the 
only  point  in  which  I  am  in  danger  of  extravagance.  I  spend 
nothing  on  luxuries,  amusements,  shows.  M3'  food  is  the  sim- 
plest ;  m}'  clothes  sometimes  call  for  rebuke  from  atfectionate 
friends,  not  for  their  want  of  neatness,  but  for  their  venerable  age. 


678  HOME  LIFE. 

But  one  indulgence  I  want,  —  a  good  house,  open  to  the  sun  and 
ah-,  with  apartments  large  enough  for  breathing  freely,  and  com- 
manding something  of  earth  and  sky.  A  friend  of  mine  repeated  to 
me  the  saving  of  a  cliild,  —  '  Motlier,  the  country  has  more  sky  than 
the  town.'  Now  I  want  sk}-,  and  my  house,  though  in  a  city,  gives 
me  a  fine  sweep  of  prospect,  and  an  air  almost  as  free  as  the  country. 
"■I  do  not,  however,  suffer  even  a  house  to  be  an  essential. 
When  I  think  of  Him  who  had  not  where  to  la^-  his  head,  and 
of  the  millions  of  fellow-creatures  living  in  outward  and  inward 
destitution,  I  feel  doubts  and  misgivings  in  enjoying  the  many 
accommodations  which  respectabilit}'  is  thought  to  require.  To  a 
Christian,  to  one  who  hungers  and  thirsts  after  moral  excellence, 
what  perplexities  and  obstructions  are  offered  by  the  present  con- 
dition of  society !  How  hard  to  realize  our  conception  of  disin- 
terested virtue !  How  the  fetters  of  custom,  forged  by  a  self- 
indulgent  world,  weigh  on  us,  and  inthrall  the  purer  and  more 
generous  feelings !  Were  I  entering  on  life,  instead  of  approach- 
ing its  end,  with  my  present  views  and  feelings,  and  with  no  ties, 
I  should  strive  for  a  condition  which,  without  severing  me  from 
societ}',  would  leave  me  more  free  to  act  from  mj-  own  spirit,  to 
follow  faithfulh'  and  uncompromisingly  the  highest  manifestations 
of  virtue  made  to  my  mind.  I  mean  not,  however,  to  repine.  I 
have  not  been  wholly  a  slave  to  outward  and  inferior  inlkiences, 
and  there  is  a  world  of  true,  perfect  freedom." 

"  October^  1835.  Had  I  more  strength  and  wealth,  I  should  de- 
vote myself  to  the  improvement  of  the  mass  of  the  people,  especially 
the  laboring  classes  ;  but  I  cannot  speak  to  them,  and  my  means 
are  scattered  by  so  many  claims,  that  I  cannot  sustain  others  to 
labor  among  them." 

"  June,  1<S37.  I  see  no  reason  why  a  person  should  dress  plainly 
because  he  is  religious  ;  but  there  is  a  reason  why  we  all  should. 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  finery  and  rags  near  each  other.  If  we  would 
clothe  the  naked,  instead  of  dressing  extravagantly,  how  much 
better  it  would  be  !  I  desire  to  have  the  finest  taste  cultivated  in 
all,  to  have  the  power  of  perceiving  and  enjoying  beauty  called  out 
in  all.  But  I  cannot  wear  costly  garments  while  I  see  sucli  a  man 
as  AUston  scarcely'  able  to  live.  What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  Boston, 
that  the  greatest  genius  of  this  country  in  his  department  should  be 
in  want !  Millions  are  spent  in  decoration  every  ,year,  but  nothing 
is  given  to  him.  I  would  have  our  private  dwellings  simple,  but 
our  public  edifices  magnificent  models  of  taste,  and  ornaments  to 
the  cit}'.     1  would  have  a  public  gallery  freely  open.     We  should 


DOMESTIC  SEE  VICE.  679 

not  keep  pictures  at  home,  or  more  than  one,  perhaps,  and  the  rest 
should  be  for  the  community.  Expensive  furniture  is  of  the  least 
possible  value,  because  it  is  so  artificial ;  and,  in  this  country,  it  is 
a  source  of  great  trouble,  from  neediug  so  much  care  to  keep  it  in 
order.     The  way  to  be  comfoitable  here  is  to  live  simply." 

"  August,  1837.  I  speak  of  my  faith  in  the  coming  kingdom  of 
heaven  upon  earth,  and  yet  I  feel  its  weakness.  We  all  need  to 
believe  more  profoundly  in  what  may  be  accomplished  now  within 
us  and  around  us  by  the  helps  of  Christianity  and  of  God's  spirit. 
How  prone  we  all  are  to  make  the  world,  as  it  now  exists,  the 
standard  of  our  hopes,  efforts,  and  lives  !  " 

"  September  25,  1838.  I  shall  read  your  article  on  '  Domestic 
Ser\dce'  with  much  interest.  It  is  a  subject  which  forces  itself  on 
me  often.  The  true  relation  between  famiUes  and  their  domestics 
is  little  understood.  One  would  think  that  living  under  one  roof 
would  be  a  tie  of  some  strength,  and  that  people  crossiug  each 
other's  path  every  hour  would  come  to  sympathize  in  one  another's 
weal  and  woe  ;  but  among  us  there  is  httle  fellow-feeling ;  not  that 
there  is  unkindness  or  injustice,  but  much  mutual  indifference.  I 
trust  that  we  are  in  a  better  way,  and  that  the  complaints  about 
domestics  will  wake  up  people  to  ask  if  the  relation  may  not  need 
some  essential  reform.  In  this  country,  the  idea  of  respectability 
must  be  associated  with  domestic  service,  and  nothing  but  ignorance 
on  both  sides  prevents  this." 

"  September,  1838.  The  inteUigence  of  our  people  is  what  we 
must  be  judged  by.  The  higher  class  here  is  continually  '  invaded ' 
and  filled  from  below.  Consequently,  we  cannot  have  the  refine- 
ment, tire  grace,  of  the  higher  classes  abroad.  We  have  not  their 
distinctive  accomplishments,  their  conventional  manners.  But  in 
reality  we  have  more  vigor  of  mind,  a  rough,  healthy  energy  for 
connnon  pursuits." 

This  desire  of  elevating  all  men  to  the  privileges  of  the  most  re- 
fined each  year  colored  more  deeply  the  tone  of  thought,  conversa- 
tion, and  preaching  of  Dr.  -Channing.  He  saw  that  political  freedom 
and  eciuality  are  of  little  value  without  social  freedom  and  equality, 
and  that  these  can  be  practically  attained  only  by  a  reconstruction 
of  social  relations.  These  views  led  him  to  Avatch  with  deep 
anxiety  the  tendencies  of  his  adopted  city.  He  felt  proud  of  her 
inteUigence  and  philanthropy,  and  was  inclined  to  think  that  no 
community  in  Christendom  surpassed  her  in  purity,  justice,  and 
eflbrts  for  general  improvement.  But  he  regarded  with  pain  her 
rapidly  increasing  material  prosperity,  and  still  more  the  growing  in- 


y 


680  HOME  LIFE. 

fluence  of  wealth  and  fashion.  The  following  extracts  will  indicate 
his  feelings  in  relation  to  Boston. 

1835.  "A  census  just  taken  in  this  cit}'  reports  our  number  to  be 
seventy-seven  thousand,  and  3'et  the  people  are  not  satisfied.  They 
want  a  new  railroad  to  connect  us  with  the  Lakes  and  the  West,  which 
will  double  our  population.  What  good  is  to  come  from  this  great 
accumulation  of  people  I  do  not  see.  If  we  loved  people  more  by  hav- 
ing more  swarming  about  us,  I  should  not  object ;  but  I  fear  men 
grow  cheaper,  and  are  less  cared  for,  in  large  cities  tlian  in  small." 

'■'•  May,  1836.  We  are  a  city  too  much  given  to  croaking.  I 
have  been  told  that  we  were  on  the  brink  of  ruin  ever  since  I  knew 
the  place.  Tiiose  whose  duty  it  is  to  carr}'  forward  society'  despair 
of  it.  They  despair  of  the  body  of  the  people,  despair  of  our  in- 
stitutions, despair  of  liberty  through  the  world.  Too  many  of  our 
young  men  grow  up  in  a  school  of  despair.  Instead  of  hearing  a 
generous,  kindling  voice,  summoning  them  to  the  service  of  their 
country  and  mankind,  they  hear  the  palsying  tones  of  cold  derision 
or  desponding  prophecy,  and  the  effect  on  the  3'oung  I  know  to  be 
mournful.  Not  long  ago,  I  received  a  letter  from  a  very  intelligent 
European,  asking  me  with  much  concern  whether  he  could  trust  the 
report  of  a  friend  just  returned  from  Boston,  who  had  told  him  that 
we  in  this  city  had  given  up  the  cause  of  freedom  in  despair,  and 
that  we  were  prepared  for  monarch}'.  In  repl}',  I  gave  him  to  un- 
derstand that  a  stranger  was  apt  to  misinterpret  our  croaking,  that 
our  heart  was  sounder  than  our  language,  that  a  man  who  should 
take  us  at  our  word,  and  set  up  for  king,  would  find  a  strange 
dearth  of  subjects ;  but  still,  that  there  was  a  scepticism  which 
augured  badl}'  for  the  country.  Much  as  I  lament  our  want  of 
tolerance,  I  lament  our  want  of  faith  in  human  improvement  much 
more.  This  hangs  as  a  weigiit  on  our  political  and  religious  pro- 
gress. What  a  new  citj-  this  would  become,  if  the  enlightened  and 
influential  would  enter  with  a  trustful  spirit  on  the  work  of  forming  a 
community  worthy  of  freedom,  and  fitted  to  sustain  free  institutions  ! 

"  You  will  not  think  that  I  undervalue  the  advantages  or  im- 
provements of  the  city  in  which  I  live.  Did  1  not  love  and  honor 
it,  I  should  sa}'  nothing  of  its  defects.  Believing,  as  I  do,  tliat  it 
contains  elements  of  improvement  to  be  found,  perhaps,  in  no  other 
cit}'  on  earth,  I  am  anxious  that  the  obstructions  to  their  develop- 
ment should  be  removed.  I  would  leave  it  for  no  spot  under 
heaven.  But  may  1  not,  therefore,  see,  and  sliould  I  not  s[)eak  of 
its  defects  ?  Boston  can  afford  to  be  spoken  of  trul}'  and  plainl}'. 
In  thinking  so,  I  pay  it  the  best  tribute  of  respect." 

1837.     "In  spite  of  the  deadening  power  of  habit,  in  spite  of 


A  DAY  IN  BOSTON.  681 

the  might}'  worldh'  movement,  the  rush  for  gain,  which  seems  to 
absorb  all  our  energies,  there  is  some  higher  life,  some  conscious- 
ness of  the  great  defects  of  our  social  state  and  of  individual  virtue, 
some  aspiration  after  something  better.  Winter  has  its  signs  of 
spring,  swellings  of  leaf-buds  on  the  naked  branches.  I  live  by 
faith  and  hope,  and  was  never  farther  from  despair. 

"The  passion  for  lectures  continues,  and  these  and  other  pleas- 
ures have  shut  up  our  theatres  almost  entirel}'.  I  hope  the  next 
triumphs  of  reason  and  civilization  will  be  over  great  parties.  Are 
we  not  cultivated  enough  for  society  ?  Now  we  congregate  ;  but 
ought  it  to  satisfy  our  ambition  to  take  the  first  rank  among  gre- 
garious animals  ?  " 

And  now  let  us  take  an  outline  view  of  a  day  of  Boston  life.  The 
sun  is  just  rising,  and  the  fires  are  scarcely  lighted,  when,  with  rapid 
step,  Dr.  Channing  enters  his  study.  He  has  been  wakeful  during 
man}-  hours,  his  brain  teeming,  and,  under  the  excitement  of  his 
morning  bath,  he  longs  to  use  the  earliest  moments  for  work.  His 
eye  and  smile  are  so  bright,  his  step  is  so  elastic,  his  whole  air  so 
buoyant,  —  the  spirit,  in  a  word,  seems  so  to  shine  through  his  slight 
frame,  —  that  a  stranger  would  not  anticipate  the  languor  which 
protracted  labor  will  bring.  "Dr.  Channing  small  and  weak!" 
said  a  Kentuckian,  who  was  a  fervent  admirer  of  his  writings  ;  "  I 
thought  he  was  six  feet,  at  least,  in  height,  with  a  fresh  cheek, 
broad  chest,  voice  like  that  of  many  waters,  and  strong-limbed  as  a 
giant."  And  now,  in  this  morning's  time,  you  see  how  radiant 
he  is  with  energ}'.  His  first  act  is  to  write  down  the  thoughts 
which  have  been  given  in  his  vigils ;  next,  he  reads  a  chapter  or 
more  in  Griesbach's  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament ;  and  after  a 
quick  glance  over  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  he  takes  his  light  re- 
past. Morning  prayers  follow,  and  then  he  retires  to  his  study- 
table.  If  he  is  reading,  you  will  at  once  notice  this  peculiaritj', 
that  he  studies  pen  in  hand,  and  that  his  book  is  crowded  with 
folded  sheets  of  paper,  which  continually  multiply,  as  trains  of 
thought  are  suggested.  These  notes  are  rarely  quotations,  but 
chiefly  questions  and  answers,  qualifications,  condensed  statements, 
germs  of  interesting  views  ;  and  when  the  volume  is  finished,  they 
are  carefully  selected,  arranged,  and,  under  distinct  heads,  placed 
among  other  papers  in  a  secretary.  If  he  is  writing,  unless  mak- 
ing preparation  for  the  pulpit  or  for  publication,  the  same  process 
of  accumulating  notes  is  continued,  which,  at  the  end  of  each  day 
or  week,  are  also  filed.  And  as  your  eye  scans  the  interior  of  the 
secretary,  j-ou  observe  that  it  is  already'  filled  with  heaps  of  similar 
notes,  arranged  in  order,  with  titles  over  each  compartment.    These 


682  HOME  LIFE. 

are  the  materials  for  the  work  on  "  Man."  When  a  topic  is  to  be 
treated  at  length  in  a  sermon  or  essay,  these  notes  are  consulted, 
the  reflections,  conjectures,  doubts,  conclusions,  of  manj*  years  are 
reviewed,  and  then,  with  treasures  of  memorj'  orderly  arranged, 
Dr.  Channing  fuses  and  recasts  his  gathered  ores,  under  the  warm 
impulse  of  the  moment.  He  first  draws  up  a  skeleton  of  his  sub- 
ject, selecting  with  special  care  and  making  prominent  the  central 
principle  that  gives  it  unit^',  and  from  which  branch  forth  correlative 
considerations.  Until  perfectly  clear  in  his  own  mind  as  to  the 
essential  truth  of  this  main  view,  he  cannot  proceed.  Questions  are 
raised,  objections  considered,  explanations  given,  definitions  stated, 
what  is  merely  adventitious  and  accidental  swept  aside,  the  ground 
cleared,  in  a  word,  and  the  granite  foundation  laid  bare  for  the 
corner-stone.  And  now  the  work  goes  rapidly  forward.  With  fly- 
ing pen  he  makes  a  rough  draft  of  all  that  he  intends  to  say,  on 
sheets  of  paper  folded  lengthwise,  leaving  half  of  each  page  bare. 
He  then  reads  over  what  he  has  written,  and  on  the  vacant  half- 
page  supplies  defects,  strikes  out  redundancies,  indicates  the  needed 
quaUfications,  modifies  expressions.  Thus  sure  of  his  thought  and 
aim,  and  conscientiously  prepared,  he  abandons  himself  to  the 
ardor  of  composition. 

Dr.  Channing,  however,  self-governed  and  methodical  though  he 
was,  did  not  al\va3-s  find  himself  in  a  fit  mood  to  write  ;  and  then 
he  forbore  to  force  his  mind  to  unwilling  effort.  He  knew  that 
fallow  seasons  must  alternate  with  fruitfulness.  He  thus  describes 
his  own  experience  :  — 

"  I  have  great  faith  in  inspiration  ;  but  it  is  a  fruit  and  reward  of 
faithful  toil,  not  a  chance  influence  entirely  out  of  our  power." 

"There  is  often  a  niysteriousness  in  the  combination  of  constitu- 
tional qualities.  Some  men  with  high  intellectual  endowments,  and 
fine  dispositions  too,  live  almost  useless  lives,  in  consequence  of  a 
diseased  sensitiveness,  over  which  the  will  has  no  power.  Some- 
times I  have  seen  this  disease  mitigated,  if  not  removed,  by  a 
change  of  circumstances,  compelling  the  individual  to  exert  and 
commit  himself.  In  truth,  what  we  call  hard  necessit}'  is  often  our 
best  friend.  One  thing  I  learn  by  growing  experience,  —  how  much 
more  the  happiness  and  usefulness  of  life  depend  on  a  right  balance 
of  mind  than  on  remarkable  gifts.  I  am  less  and  less  a  worshipper 
of  mere  intellect." 

"  That  we  have  succeeded  is  no  pledge  of  future  success.  Per- 
haps I  have  singular  consciousness  of  the  variableness  and  insta- 
bility of  my  intellectual  energies  ;  but  whilst  it  damps  no  effort,  il 
keeps  me  from  all  hope  which  maj'  be  turned  into  mortification." 


INDIFFERENCE  TO  HIS  WRITINGS.  683 

"I  have  spoken  of  m}'  doubts  as  to  m}'  own  mind.  I  do  not 
mean  that  I  see  any  instabihty  in  mj'  intellectual  acquisitions  ;  but 
that  life  and  force  of  thought  which  give  to  writing  all  its  effi- 
cienc}',  without  which  learning  is  dull,  and  truth  falls  dead  from  the 
lips  or  pen,  this  mysterious  energy  comes  and  goes,  —  by  what 
laws  I  cannot  tell.  In  truth,  this  sun-like  brightness  and  warmth 
of  conception,  when  it  does  coine  upon  me,  — and  I  should  be  un- 
grateful not  to  feel  that  it  has  sometimes  visited  me,  — is  welcomed 
as  an  inspiration  from  above.  I  hope  it  will  not  desert  me  ;  but  I 
do  not  presume  upon  it." 

From  his  habit  of  intense  contemplation,  and  his  faithful  use  of 
bright  hours,  came  Dr.  Channing's  power  of  vivid  conception.  A 
few  grand  princi[)les,  early  received  into  his  longing  spirit,  had  as- 
similated and  oiganized  materials  of  growth  from  facts  of  his  expe- 
rience, until  they  appeared  before  him  as  palpable  realities.  His 
work  was  to  extend  their  kingdom;  and  current  events  he  used  as 
occasions  for  establishing  their  sway.  Thus  he  was  alwaj's  in  ear- 
nest ;  his  aim  was  clear,  and  he  wasted  no  time  in  random  efforts. 
Well-balanced  A'igor  of  intellect,  the  fruit  of  patient  discipline,  gave 
directness  to  his  thoughts  and  effectiveness  to  his  expression.  He 
belonged,  as  has  been  justly  said,  to  the  "  poetic  order  of  philo- 
sophic minds."  ^  Imagination,  ideality,  the  perception  of  analogies, 
was  probably  his  strongest  natural  faculty  ;  but,  under  the  com- 
mand of  conscience,  his  powers  of  analysis  and  discrimination  had 
been  trained  to  minutest  accuracy ;  and  good-sense  presided,  like  a 
judge,  over  every  mental  operation.  Word-fencing  in  all  its  modes, 
disputation,  and  tricks  of  debate,  he  detested  ;  but  logic,  in  its 
highest  form,  of  strong  grasp  of  central  principles,  natural  method, 
detailed  application  of  laws,  and  exact  statement,  he  possessed  in  a 
rare  degree.  The  enthusiasm,  which,  under  some  conditions  of 
life,  would  have  embodied  itself  in  poetrj'^,  made  his  composition  a 
dynamic  rather  than  a  mechanical  process.  And  his  love  of  beauty 
gave  a  living  warmth  and  grace  to  the  simple  style  that  clothed  the 
symmetric  structure  of  his  argument. 

When  once  he  was  done  with  a  sermon  or  essaj",  Dr.  Channing 
quickly  forgot  it.  He  had  no  eagerness  to  multiply  hearers,  to  win 
notoriet}',  and  to  guard  his  writings  from  attacks  or  plagiarism. 
He  claimed  no  exclusive  ownership  in  the  common  elements  of 
God's  truth  and  love  ;  and,  humbly  thankful  for  what  he  had  re- 
ceived and  had  been  the  medium  of  diffusing,  he  forgot  the  things 
behind  and  pressed  on.     In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Tuckerman,  he  says  :  — 

^  Essay  on  the  Pliilosophical  Cliaracter  of  Channing,  by  Rowland  G.  Hazard. 


684  HOME  LIFE. 

"  I  feel  an  almost  insuperable  reluctance  to  look  back,  and  read 
over  and  put  in  order  what  I  have  written.  I  have  something  of 
the  nature  of  the  inferior  animals  in  regard  to  my  literary  offspring. 
When  once  they  have  taken  flight,  I  cast  them  off,  and  have  no 
desire  of  further  acquaintance.  I  have  postponed  this  work,  on 
account  of  its  unpleasantness,  being  unwilling  to  cloud  mj'  summer 
with  it." 

By  noon.  Dr.  Channing's  power  of  study  and  writing  is  spent, 
and  he  seeks  the  fresh  air.  In  company  with  his  friend  Mr.  Phil- 
lips, he  walks  in  the  sunny  streets  around  the  Common,  discussing 
high  themes  of  religion  and  humanit}',  or  attends  to  business 
arrangements,  in  conducting  which  he  shows  the  same  quick  com- 
prehension and  sound  judgment  which  characterize  him  in  moral 
and  spiritual  relations,  or  goes  to  the  Athenreum  to  look  through 
the  files  of  foreign  papers  and  new  journals,  or  makes  calls  upon 
parishioners  and  acquaintances,  or  visits  some  of  the  poor  and  des- 
olate families  whose  names  are  on  his  lists.  After  dinner,  he  lies 
for  a  time  upon  the  sofa,  and  walks  again  or  drives  into  the  coun- 
try. Sunset  in  the  city,  as  at  Newport,  he  keeps  as  a  hoi}'  season, 
looking  from  upper  windows,  which  command  wide  prospects,  over 
the  broad  basin  of  Charles  River  and  the  undulating  range  of 
Brighton  and  Milton  hills.  During  the  winter  twilight  he  likes  to 
be  silent  and  alone. 

After  tea,  he  usually  listens  for  an  hour  or  more  to  reading  from 
some  of  his  3'oung  relatives  or  female  friends,  intei'spersing  illustra- 
tive remarks,  and  leading  off  conversation  upon  interesting  points. 
Then  guests  come  in,  strangers  to  be  introduced,  earnest  reformers 
seeking  his  sympathy  or  advice,  familiar  acquaintances  with  inter- 
esting topics  of  the  day,  or  members  of  the  family  who  have  been 
to  hear  Dr.  James  Walker's  profound  discourses  on  philosophy,  or 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson's  briUiant  lectures,  where  ancient  wisdom 
smiles  with  new-born  beauty.  On  the  rich  topics  thus  presented  he 
discourses  with  full,  soaring  thought  that  lifts  the  hearer  to  un- 
wonted heights,  and  yet  with  unaffected  deference  to  the  most  care- 
less word  of  the  3'oungest  in  the  circle.  On  other  occasions,  a 
party  of  select  friends  gather  in  his  rooms  b}'  invitation,  for  the 
purpose  of  unfolding  some  great  subject  of  speculative  or  practical 
interest,  not  in  the  way  of  discussion  so  much  as  of  colloquy.  A. 
listener  will  be  much  impressed  at  such  times  with  one  trait,  which 
at  first  seems  inexplicable  in  so  earnest  a  person  as  Dr.  Channing. 
For  the  most  part,  he  leaves  to  others  all  eloquent  outpourings  of 
faith  on  the  great  principles  involved,  and  limits  himself  to  the 
much  humbler  path  of  suggesting  doubts,  marking  limits,  stating 


SOCIAL  PLEASURES.  685 

difficult  problems,  arraying  objections  in  fullest  force,  and  pruning 
luxuriant  raptures  with  keen  criticism  and  unsparing  qualification. 
But  on  closer  observation,  one  is  touched  with  reverence  to  see  that 
this  unattractive  attitude  of  mind  is  the  result  of  intense  love  of 
truth,  justice,  personal  unconsciousness,  and  a  respect  for  other 
minds  too  genuine  to  mock  them  with  a  flattering  show  of  honor. 
Other  parties  he  delights  to  collect  to  listen  to  readings  from  Shake- 
speare, or  to  recitations  by  Mr.  William  Russell.  This  is  a  pleas- 
ure which  he  greatly  enjoj's.  "  I  have  alwaj-s  been  inclined,"  he 
sa3'S  in  a  letter,  "  to  love  people  for  their  voices.  A  musical  voice 
wins  its  wa}'  to  my  heart ;  and  when  it  communicates  to  me  the 
grand  and  beautiful  thoughts  of  a  work  of  genius,  it  is  particularly 
captivating."  On  3'et  other  evenings,  he  meets  a  few  gentlemen  to 
consider  gravely  and  profoundly,  with  a  view  to  practical  measures, 
the  wants  and  tendencies  of  the  times.  It  falls  to  him,  generall}'', 
to  propose  and  open  the  subject ;  and  the  breadth  of  view,  the 
justice  at  once  to  conservatism  and  radicalism,  the  reverence  for 
the  old  blended  with  hope  for  a  higher  good,  the  fidelity  to  his  own 
convictions,  yet  hearty  candor  to  opponents,  with  wliich  this  is 
done,  show  how  habitual  is  his  feeling,  that  only  from  the  combina- 
tion of  man}'  minds  pervaded  by  love  of  truth  can  there  be  an 
approximation  to  infallibilit}'.  Yet  "  always  he  seemed  to  have  a 
thought  bej'ond  everybody's  thought  that  he  conversed  with."  In 
the  following  remarks  on  another  he  drew  his  own  portrait,  as  he 
appeared  in  sucli  assemblies.  "  It  was  a  great  struggle  to  him  to 
oppose  others,  and  yet  he  never  shrank  from  what  he  thought  right. 
Some  men  have  the  organ  of  combativeness,  and  seem  to  take 
pleasure  in  conflict.  They  are  hard  and  rough,  and  suflJer  nothing 
in  wounding  others.  The  firmness  of  such  persons  I  vahie  very 
little.  It  is  often  a  vice.  The  combination  of  energy  with  sweet- 
ness is  the  perfection  we  must  strive  for."  Once  in  a  winter,  or 
possibly  oftener,  his  evening  hearth  was  brightened  by  the  presence 
of  Washington  Allston.  He  loved  his  friend  for  his  lofty  purity  of 
character,  as  much  as  he  admired  his  grand  genius  ;  and  the  cour- 
tesy with  which  each  recognized  the  other's  greatness  was  most 
noble.  Mr.  Allston  was  prompt  to  seek  his  friend's  judgment  of  a 
new  picture,  so  much  did  he  confide  in  his  simple  instincts  of  beauty 
and  truthfulness  of  taste.  And  by  the  hour  would  Dr.  Channing 
listen,  rapt  and  silent,  with  childhke  animation  on  his  spiritual 
countenance,  whilst  the  painter  poured  forth  his  golden  floods  of 
high  idealism,  devout  sentiment,  criticism,  anecdote,  description. 
He  joyfully  made  the  sacrifice  of  wasted  days  following  such  wake- 
fulness, for  the  artist's  best  hour  for  talk  was  midnio;ht. 


686  HOME  LIFE. 

During  the  last  ^-ears  of  his  life,  Dr.  Channing's  desire  rapidly 
enlarged  of  forming  wider  acquaintance  with  his  fellow-men,  and 
he  was  led  to  visit  other  cities,  and  to  travel.  In  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  he  formed  most  interesting  and  improving  friendships, 
and  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  affectionate  regard  with  which  he 
was  ever^-where  greeted.  Absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  sul)lime  ends, 
retiring  in  his  habits,  naturally  "diffident,"  as  he  described  him- 
self, '-to  the  verge  of  shyness,"  and  rather  pained  than  gratilied  by 
being  made  an  object  of  notice,  it  very  slowly  bi'oke  upon  his  ap- 
prehension, that  a  combination  of  character  and  events  had  made 
him  a  power  among  men.  Private  manifestations  of  sympathy 
touched  him  most  deeply.  After  speaking  to  a  friend  of  the  hum- 
bling sense  of  defects  called  out  by  what  seemed  to  him  undue  public 
admiration,  he  continues:  "It  is  on  other  occasions,  that  I  feel 
that  my  powers  have  been  used  for  a  good  end.  It  is  Avhen  a  nur- 
sery-man forgets  his  plants  and  customers  to  express  his  interest  in 
my  views,  and  a  retired  Quaker  family  is  moved  by  my  presence, 
that  I  become  conscious  that  I  have  found  ni}'  way  to  the  hearts  of 
my  fellow-creatures.     This  is  better  than  fame,  a  thousand  times!" 

From  many  records  of  excursions,  whicli  illustrate  his  delight  in 
scenes  of  natural  beauty,  the  following  may  be  selected  as  very 
characteristic,  while  interesting  also  from  its  associations. 

"Niagara  Falls. 

"I  arrived  last  evening  at  this  spot, — the  great  object  of  my 
journey,  as  far  as  anything  but  health  could  be  called  an  object,  — 
and  was  repaid  almost  by  one  view  for  all  fatigues.  I  find  that  I 
knew  nothing  of  this  wonderful  place.  I  will  not  sa}'  that  the  half 
had  not  been  told  me  ;  for  I  feel  as  if  nothinr/  had  been  told.  Peo- 
ple have  talked  and  written  about  it,  but  one  is  tempted  to  think 
that  they  did  not  understand  what  the}'  had  seen,  until  he  recollects 
that  a  man  must  speak  of  Niagara  in  its  own  tones,  or  his  voice 
will  be  but  a  faint  echo,  giving  no  conception  of  the  original.  Ni- 
agara must  tell  you  its  own  story,  or  30U  will  never  hear  it. 

"  The  pictures  I  had  seen  of  this  place,  and  the  fact  that  some 
persons  had  been  disappointed  by  the  first  view,  rather  prepared 
me  to  meet  this  wonder  of  the  world  with  emotions  not  very  dilfer- 
ent  from  what  had  been  excited  before.  But  the  first  view  taught 
me  that  I  was  coming  under  a  new  spell,  and  was  to  be  swayed 
and  lifted  up  by  a  mightier  energy  than  I  had  ever  met.  The  first 
view  scattered  all  mj-  doubts  and  misgivings.  A  new  voice,  waking 
the  whole  soid,  came  to  me  from  the  cataract.  It  was  about  sun- 
set, at  the  close  of  a  long  day's  ride,  when  I  was  so  wearied  that 


NIAGARA  FALLS.  687 

I  had  made  np  m}'  mind  not  to  look  at  the  falls  until  the  morning, 
lest  I  should  not  greet  them  with  due  admiration.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  them  from  the  carriage.  In- 
stantly, I  felt  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  dress  up  my  mind  for 
an  introduction  to  the  scene.  We  were  friends  in  a  moment.  I 
was  not  awe-struck,  as  bj-  the  presence  of  a  might^^  stranger. 
Here  was  a  more  glorious  revelation,  a  concentration,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  of  that  power  which  had  been  for  years  m}'  dail}'  joy,  as 
manifested  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  my  soul  exulted,  burst  forth 
to  meet  it,  to  mingle  with  and  partake  it. 

"  I  know  not  how  far  I  am  peculiar  ;  but  such  scenes  have  almost 
an  exhilarating  influence.  The  sublimit}'  around  me  seems  to  call 
forth  something  congenial  within.  Instead  of  shrinking  before  the 
niajest}'  of  nature,  m}'  mind  rather  dilates  into  a  proportionate 
elevation.  Instead  of  fear,  I  become  a  hero.  I  am  driven  to  the 
edge  of  precipices.  I  want  to  draw  as  near  as  ma}'  be  to  the 
thunder  and  rush  of  the  torrent.  Perhaps  the  awful  power  mani- 
fested in  such  scenes  is  less  terrific  on  account  of  the  strong  im- 
pressions I  receive  of  the  beautij  with  which  it  is  strangely  blended. 
This  beauty  is  more  striking  on  account  of  its  union  with  the  grand. 
I  am  almost  tempted  to  say,  that  Niagara  is  as  beautiful  as  it  is 
sublime.  I  wish  I  had  time  to  speak  of  this  feature.  I  agree  with 
Miss  Sedgwick,  that  'justice  has  never  been  done  to  its  beauty.' 
I  have  always  been  alive  to  the  beauty  of  waterfalls.  When  I 
visited" Terni  or  Velino,  —  one  of  the  most  exquisite  spots,  —  I  was 
almost  indignant  at  Byron,  who  talked  of  the   'hell  of  waters.' 

You  must  come  here,  dear .     A  visit  to  this  spot  is  an  era  in 

one's  life.  .  I  feel  as  if  I  were  richer  for  life.  The  univei'se  has 
become  nobler  in  my  eyes.     I  know  more  of  its  Author." 

The  last  spring  of  Dr.  Channing's  life  was  passed  in  travelling 
with  his  family  through  the  interior  of  Pennsylvania,  along  the 
romantic  valleys  of  the  Juniata  and  Susquehanna.  Of  this  journey 
he  thus  speaks  :  — 

'■'•  Juhj  14,  1842.^  I  have  been  prevented  from  writing  in  part 
b}^  another  illness,  brought  on  me  by  my  rashness.  I  have  long 
had  an  earnest  desire  to  visit  the  interioi-  of  Pennsylvania,  especially 
the  river  Juniata  and  the  valle}^  of  Wyoming.  I  forget  whether 
your  journey  carried  3'ou  among  this  glorious  scener}'.  If  so,  you 
will  understand  how  much  I  enjoyed.  But  fearing  the  heat,  I 
started  too  early,  and  the  state  of  the  roads  led  me  to  try  the  canal- 
boats  b}'  night,  —  the  ver}-  peril  I  had  determined  to  avoid,  —  and 

^  To  Miss  Harriet  Martineau. 


688  HOME   LIFE. 

the  result  was,  that  I  reached  the  valle}'  of  W3-oining  onl}'  to  he  a 
prisoner  nearly  a  month  in  an  inn  at  Wilkesbarre,  the  principal 
town  in  that  region.  As  soon  as  I  could  leave  m}-  bed,  and  bear 
the  light,  I  found  a  compensation  for  nij^  confinement  in  sitting  at 
m}'  window,  which  overlooked  the  Susquehanna,  and  receiving  the 
soothing  influences  of  this  tranquil  valle}'.^  .... 

"To  me,  the  burden  of  life  —  never  overpowering  —  has  been 
unspeakabl}-  lightened  b}'  m}'  intercourse  with  Nature.  Nature  has 
been,  and  is,  my  true,  dear  friend.  She  is  more  than  a  pleasure, 
even  a  deep,  substantial,  elevating  joy.  I  feel  as  a  stranger  in  new 
cities,  and  often  in  well-known  circles ;  but  I  am  at  home  amidst 
streams,  mountains,  valleys,  which  I  have  never  known  before. 
Nature  does  not  alienate  me  from  society,  but  reconciles  me  to  it. 
In  her  order  and  beauty  I  see  types  and  promises  of  a  higher  social 
state.  I  am  sure  that  God  will  call  forth  a  yet  nobler  beauty  from 
the  soul.  Indeed,  he  is  constantly  doing  so.  There  are  human 
beings,  human  countenances,  which  speak  to  us  as  Nature  never 
did.  I  earnestly  desire  to  open  this  fountain  of  happiness  to  the 
mass  of  men.  I  am  now  in  the  country,  surrounded  by  grand  and 
interesting  scenery  ;  but  how  few  who  live  in  the  midst  of  it  have 
an  e3"e  and  heart  open  to  the  wonderful  spectacle ! 

"  I  live  in  the  faith  that  the  slumbering  faculties  of  the  multitude 
are  to  be  awakened,  that  the  rich  provision  God  has  made  for  all 
shall  not  always  be  the  monopoly  of  the  few.  You  speak  of  popu- 
lar music  springing  up  in  your  country.  I  rejoice  to  hear  it.  I 
want  the  common  people  to  be  refined  as  well  as  instructed,  and 
believe  that  music  will  do  them  more  good  than  much  of  the  arid, 
dead  knowledge  now  communicated  to  them.  Have  I  told  you 
what  pleasure  I  have  felt  from  the  expressions  of  gratitude  which  I 
have  received  from  mechanics  in  3'our  country,  for  my  efl"orts  to 
elevate  the  laboring  classes?  I  find  my  books  circulating  among 
them  freely,  and  awaking  some  enthusiasm.  To  me  this  is  fame, 
I  wish  my  example  might  teach  enlightened  men  to  approach  these 
classes  with  manly  thoughts,  and  with  confidence  in  their  capacity 
of  appreciating  truths  of  a  generous  character.  Enlightened  men 
leave  the  multitude  to  the  l)igot  and  the  narrow  priest.  How  won- 
derful that  Christianity  should  be  used  to  depress  the  poor !  You 
have  done  your  part.     May  you  live  to  do  more  ! 

"In  my  late  journey,  I  read  your  last  two  stories, — The  Nor- 
wegian Tale  and  The   Crofton  Boys,  —  and  was  delighted  with 

1  Dr.  Channing  felt  that  he  owed  liis  restoration  from  this  ilhiess  ver^'  much 
to  the  faithful  care  and  most  kind  and  disinterested  attention  of  Dr.  Miner,  of 
Wilkesbarre. 


SUMMER  AT  LENOX.  689 

these  most  true,  living  pictures.  They  have  found  great  favor 
here.  I  have  read,  too,  jour  brother's  paper  on  the  Five  Points 
of  Calvinism  ;  and,  perhaps,  nothing  from  his  pen  has  interested 

and  helped  me  more.     I  put  it  into  's  hands,  who  entered  M\y 

into  my  enjo^-ment  of  it.  I  am  just  reading  Dr.  Pollen's  sermons. 
How  rich  in  great  thoughts  !  They  are  not  as  popular  in  form  as 
I  expected,  but  will  do  much  good." 

In  the  summer,  Dr.  Channing  went  to  reside  at  Lenox,  Massa- 
chusetts, amid  the  circle  of  warm-hearted  and  cultivated  friends 
whose  graceful  and  cordial  hospitality  crowned  with  the  charm  of 
moral  beauty  the  picturesque  scenery  of  Berkshire.  From  the 
interesting  journal  of  Mi-s.  Charles  Sedgwick,  the  following  extracts 
are  selected,  as  fitly  confirming  the  view  which  has  been  presented 
of  his  social  character,  and  the  sphere  of  his  influence. 

^  "  The  greatest  pleasure  and  excitement  of  the  summer  have  con- 
sisted in  Dr.  Channing's  residence  among  us.  He  came  the  first 
of  July,  and  remained  nearly  two  months  with  us,  besides  making 
a  little  excursion  to  Bashpish,  and  spending  a  week  at  Stockbridge'^ 
so  that  he  did  not  faii'Iy  go  away  till  early  in  September.  I  had 
no  personal  knowledge  of  him  before,  having  seen  him  but  twice, 
and  then  merely  for  a  few  moments.  I  knew  him  only  through  his 
works  ;  and  the  opportunity  of  intercourse  with  him,  which  I  have 
been  permitted  to  enjoy,  I  rank  among  the  greatest  pleasures  and 
highest  privileges  of  my  existence.  His  life,  from  the  state  of  his 
health,  and  probably,  too,  from  the  natural  bent  of  his  mind,  was 
so  entirely  one  of  study  and  contemplation,  that  few  who  had  lived 
all  their  days  in  the  same  city  either  knew  him  or  thought  of  him  in  " 
a  social  capacity.  But  singularly  lofty  as  is  the  spirit  which  his  writ- 
ings breathe,  he  was  true  to  every  word  of  them  in  heart  and  life. 

''  It  might  have  been  truly  said,  after  every  fresh  interview, 
'  Did  not  our  hearts  burn  within  us  while  he  talked  with  us  ? '  His 
conversation  was  of  a  most  elevating,  inspiring  nature,  and  there 
was  something  in  his  whole  air  and  manner,  in  the  expression  of 
his  eye  and  the  tone  of  his  voice,  that  gave  me  the  impression  of  a 
bemg  who  lived  altogether  '  above  the  world' ;  and  yet  he  was  so 
full  of  human  sympathy,  of  true  brotherly  love,  so  very  kindly,  that 
this  elevation  never  constituted  any  barrier  between  himself  and 
those  with  whom  he  associated  ;  on  the  contrary,  for  the  time  being, 
they  felt  themselves  lifted  into  a  higher,  purer,  holier  atmosphere 
than  that  of  ordinary  life.  As  I  said  lately,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
the  man  was  never  lost  in  the  saint,  nor  the  friend  in  the  prophet 
and  seer.     Indeed,  we  never  had  a  friend  in  close  neighborhood, 

44 


690  HOxME  LIFE. 

who  showed  more  interest  in  eveiything  connected  with  us,  in  3'oung 
and  old,  in  our  famil}^  and  in  our  school,  in  our  occupations,  pleas- 
ures, and  pursuits  of  ever}^  sort.  I  imagined  he  had  never  before 
lived  where,  from  the  absence  of  all  conventionalisms,  he  was  able 
to  mingle  so  freel}'  with  those  about  him,  and  to  penetrate  so  com- 
pletely into  the  heart  and  core  of  things  connected  with  their  social 
condition.  Our  hours  wei'e  never  too  late,  or  our  assemblies  of 
people  too  large,  to  tax  his  feeble  strength,  which,  in  such  a  place 
as  Boston,  unfitted  him  completely'  for  general  societ}' ;  and  our 
opportunities  of  free,  informal,  and  kindlj'  intercourse  with  him 
brought  us  so  near  to  him,  and  on  such  a  footing,  that  heart  an- 
swered to  heart,  as  face  to  face.  He  took  great  interest  in  the 
children,  and  never  suffered  them  to  pass  him  without  a  kiss  or 
kindly  greeting 

"  Dr.  Channing's  countenance,  when  speaking  in  public  or  pri- 
vate, but  more  especially  on  religious  subjects,  was  full  of  inspira- 
tion. His  look,  his  manner,  the  tone  of  his  voice,  as  well  as  what  he 
uttered,  were  all  calculated  to  make  our  hearts  glow.  His  praters 
were  like  the  genuine  outpourings  of  a  tender,  devoted,  loving 
child,  full  of  reverence  and  of  earnestness,  to  his  father.  The 
whole  effect  of  his  services,  even  when  conducted  in  this  simple 
manner  in  a  private  room,  was  precisely'  such  as  I  have  since  heard 
ascribed  to  his  public  services.  The  very  atmosphere  about  him 
seemed  holy.  Our  hearts  —  for  the  time,  at  least  —  were  purified 
and  exalted,  and  we  shrank  from  dispersing,  as  if,  by  leaving  the 
spot,  we  should  break  some  sacred  spell 

"The  first  of  August  was  exceedingl}'  fine,  —  the  air  pure  and 
clear.  Almost  ever}'  one  looked  eager  and  animated.  I  shall 
never  forget  Dr.  Channing's  appearance  in  the  pulpit  that  da}'. 
His  countenance  was  full  of  spiritual  beaut}',  and  when  he  uttered 
that  beautiful  invocation  towards  the  close  of  his  address,  — Avhich 
would  not  have  been  more  characteristic  or  fitting,  had  he  known 
that  he  should  never  speak  again  in  public,  —  he  looked  like  one  in- 
spired. I  have  more  than  once  seen  this  part  of  his  address  referred 
to,  and  compared  to  the  death-song  of  the  swan. 

"  There  were  two  hymns  sung  that  day,  written  by  my  sister, 
Mrs.  Susan  Sedgwick,  and  myself.  We  had  some  amusement  in 
their  preparation.  The  Doctor  had  expressed  a  great  wish  that 
there  should  be  lines  written  for  the  occasion,  and  Susan  was 
applied  to  in  his  behalf.  She  sent  him  a  hymn,  which,  not  answer- 
ing his  [)urpose  exactly,  he  returned,  expressing  a  wish  that  she 
would  write  another,  and  embody  certain  sentiments  which  he 
specified.     She  called  the  first,  laughingly,  '  her  rejected  address' ; 


INCREASING  HAPPINESS.  691 

and  immediately  complied  with  his  request.  Meanwhile,  I  had 
submitted  to  him  the  rough  draft  of  mine,  which  he  criticised,  sug- 
gesting amendments  and  alterations.  I  revised  and  corrected  it, 
accordingly ;  and  he  said,  jokingly,  that  we  were  the  most  docile 
authoresses  he  had  ever  known 

"Dr.  Channing  was  so  exhausted  by  this  effort  of  speaking, 
that  he  did  not  recover  sufficiently  to  give  us  any  of  his  society 
for  several  days.  My  mother,  who  had  been  spending  some  weeks 
here,  was  about  leaving  me,  and  he  wished  so  much  to  entertain 
her  at  his  room,  that  she  was  invited  to  take  tea  there,  the  day 
after  the  address  was  delivered.  He  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa, 
hardly  able  to  speak  at  all,  but  pleased  to  listen 

"  One  day  this  summer,  while  he  was  sitting  in  m.y  sister  Cath- 
erine's parlor,  something  was  said  as  to  which  period  of  life  is  the 
happiest.  He  smiled,  and  answered,  that  he  thought  it  was  about 
sixty." 

How  truly  this  sixty-third  summer  was  his  happiest  will  appear 
by  giving  a  few  extracts  from  his  letters. 

'■'■Lenox^  July  1,  1842.  1  expect  a  pleasant  summer  in  this 
beautiful  spot.  I  have  just  been  walking  on  the  piazza  to  make 
acquaintance  with  my  new  home,  and  struck  up  a  friendship  with 
it  in  a  moment.  It  is  a  true  delight  to  me  to  be  once  more  in  the 
midst  of  trees,  fields,  and  mountains.  I  took  a  few  drives  in 
Wilkesbarre  before  leaving  it,  and  caught  some  glimpses  of  that 
famed  valley,  and  feel  as  if  I  were  not  wholly  without  recompense 

for  what  I  suffered  there I  was  less  ill  than  at  Newport 

last  autumn.^  ....  For  a  fortnight  I  spent  the  day  in  or  on  the 
bed,  in  much  passiveness  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body,  but  with  no 
weariness,  no  pain,  no  anxiety.  That  I  should  have  risen  so  soon 
surprises  me,  and  shows  that  the  attack  was  less  severe  than  it 

seemed  at  first I  feel  the  unspeakable  benefits  of  having 

modes  of  action,  over  which  place  and  time  and  weather  have  little 
influence.  In  my  pen,  paper,  and  a  few  books,  I  have  all  the 
apparatus  I  need  for  the  great  objects  of  life.  This  is  the  happi- 
ness of  every  man  who  has  proposed  the  discovery  and  diff"usion  of 
groat  truths  as  his  end,  and,  in  a  better  age,  this  happiness  will  be 
a  general  possession." 

''Lenox,  July  21,  1842.^  I  am  sorry  to  learn  from  your  letter 
that  your  solicitude  about  me  has  continued  so  long,  kver  since 
I  began  to  improve  in  health,  I  have  gone  on  ver^-  slowly,  to  be 
sure,  but  steadily,  until  now  I  am  in  my  usual  condition.     Perhaps 

1  To  Mrs.  E.  L.  Follen. 


692  HOME  LIFE. 

I  insensibly  let  down  my  standard  of  health,  and  after  every  con- 
valescence am  satisfied  with  a  little  less  vigor  than  I  had  before. 
But  '  I  have  all  things  and  abound.'  It  is  not  necessary  to  me  '  to 
learn  to  be  content.'  I  have  been  imbued  with  that  lesson  without 
effort.  Life  presents  to  me,  as  yet,  her  more  cheering  aspects. 
Is  it  that  my  condition  lias  been  happier,  or  my  temperament  hap- 
pier, or  that  I  have  resisted  evil  less  than  most  people  ?  I  have  not 
gone  through  life  fighting  with  my  lot.  When  evil  has  come,  I 
have  accepted  it  at  once.  This  looks  like  insensibility,  and  yet 
I  am  not  stone. 

"What  mysteries  we  are  to  ourselves!  Here  am  I  finding  life 
a  sweeter  cup  as  I  approach  what  are  called  its  dregs,  looking 
round  on  this  fair,  glorious  creation  with  a  serener  love,  and  finding 
more  to  hope  for  in  society  at  the  very  time  that  its  evils  weigh 
more  on  my  mind.  Undoubtedly  the  independent  happiness  which 
I  find  in  thought  and  study  has  much  to  do  with  my  freedom  from 
the  common  depression.  The  man  who  lives  in  a  world  of  his 
own,  and  who  has  contrived  to  make  or  find  a  bright  one,  has 
struck  one  mine  at  least.  But  enough.  This  page  of  egotism  is 
not  to  my  taste,  and,  what  is  more,  I  have  not  gone  to  the  root  of 
the  matter,  but  have  touched  only  on  superficial  influences." 

'■'•July  22.  Grand  mountain  sweeps,  precipices,  sweet  valle3'S, 
these  absorb  us.  We  do  not  look  beneath  the  surface,  and  by  a 
perverseness,  very  strange  to  the  utilitarian,  we  sometimes  gaze 
with  most  interest  on  spots  which  promise  nothing  to  the  farmer  or 
mineralogist.  The  universe,  as  we  plainly  see,  is  adapted  with  the 
most  provident  wisdom  to  the  wants  and  powers  of  man  ;  and  why 
may  we  not  suppose  that  the  want  of  the  picturesque,  the  capacity 
of  enjoying  the  wild  and  awful,  may  be  provided  for  as  truly  as  our 
physical  needs,  so  that  a  spot  quite  barren  to  the  owner  or  the 
geologist  has  a  no])le  use  in  the  system  ? 

"We  enjoy  our  life  here  greatly.  The  country  is  inexhaustible 
in  pleasant  excursions.  After  spending  so  many  years  on  the  sea- 
shore, I  am  the  more  alive  to  mountain  scenery.  But  you  must 
not  think  that  I  am  living  on  fine  sights.  We  write  about  what  we 
call  our  pleasures,  and  are  silent  about  our  labors.  The  last  week 
I  returned  to  my  writing,  and  when  I  can  write  I  call  myself  well. 
I  find  that  I  have  not  forgotten  the  use  of  the  i)en,  and  hope  to  do 
a  little  good  before  I  take  leave  of  this  pleasant  earth.  We  have 
found  the  climate  hot;  in  other  words,  we  have  found  genuine 
summer  here.  In  Rhode  Island,  summer  looks  out  now  and  then, 
but  does  not  show  her  full,  glowing  face." 

'''■August  7.     In  truth,  our  cup  of  outward  good  seems  overflow- 


PHYSICAL  AND  MORAL  QUALITIES.  693 

ing,  and  I  receive  it  thankfully,  not  forgetting  how  soon  it  raaj  pass 
from  us.  I  can  enjoy  life  with  a  full  conviction  of  its  transitoriness. 
I  enter  at  once  into  the  spirit  of  mountain  scenery,  and  have  even 
begun  to  make  comparisons  between  mountains  and  the  ocean.  I 
can  better  judge  after  a  longer  acquaintance  with  the  former.  The 
ocean  I  have  known  from  birth,  and  loved  more  and  more." 

"  It  encourages  me  to  see  the  spirit  of  inquir^^  spreading  through 
the  countr}'.  In  truth,  every  visit  to  the  interior  gives  me  signs 
of  an  improving  people.  I  am  struck  with  the  effect  of  agriculture 
in  softening  the  face  of  our  hard  New  England.  Time  wears  out 
the  wrinkles  on  Mother  Earth's  brow.  The  world  grows  younger 
with  age." 

'•'■  August  11.  The  best  gifts  of  Providence  are  universal,  and  the 
effect  of  laho7'  in  giving  content  and  keeping  off  fits  of  depression 
is  a  striking  proof  of  this  encouraging  truth.  How  far  you  were 
serious  in  your  speculations  about  the  connection  between  the 
geology  of  a  country  and  the  physical  and  moral  qualities  of  the 
inhabitants,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  there  are  some  great  facts  in  favor 
of  the  doctrine,  and  I  see  not  wh}'  it  may  not  hold  good  more  ex- 
tensively than  we  have  supposed.  I  have  lately  asked  myself, 
whether  light  maj'  not  be  a  more  important  physical  agent  than  it 
has  been  considered,  whether  the  various  raj'S  may  not  prevail  in 
different  proportions  at  different  times,  and  whether  the  prepon- 
derance of  one  ray  —  sa^'  the  red  or  violet  —  may  not  exert  unsus- 
pected influence  on  vegetable  and  animal  nature.  I  feel  that 
we  know  as  yet  little,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the  subtle  power  of 
nature." 

"  Our  natural  affections  become  more  and  more  beautiful  to  me. 
I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  had  known  nothing  of  human  life  until 
lately,  —  but  so  it  will  be  forever.  We  shall  wake  up  to  the 
wonderful  and  beautiful  in  what  we  have  seen  with  undiscerning 
eyes,  and  find  a  new  creation  without  moving  a  step  from  our  old 
haunts." 

"  I  mix  freely-  with  conservatives  and  with  the  hopeful,  and  am 
more  and  more  inclined  to  extend  m}'  intercourse  with  men. 
Everywhere  our  common  nature  comes  out.  I  have  kept  up  by 
books  an  acquaintance  with  all  classes  ;  but  real  life  is  the  best 
book.  At  the  end  of  life  I  see  that  I  have  lived  too  much  b}' 
myself.  I  wish  j'ou  more  courage,  cordiality',  and  real  union  with 
30ur  race 

"Mr.  spent  part  of  the  evening  with  us.     He  is  a  wise, 

just,  noble  man,  and  disposed  to  look  with  severe  eyes  on  the  cor- 


694  HOME  LIFE. 

rnption  of  the  times  ;  but,  after  a  few  gentle  croaks,  we  agreed  that 
the  republic  need  not  be  despaired  of.   ...   . 

"  Such  is  our  asceticism.  I  should  incline  much,  if  I  were  in 
better  health,  to  break  ever}^  chain,  and  harden  mj'self  for  a  life  of 
wider  experience  and  more  earnest  struggle." 

"  August  11.  Amidst  so  many  social  claims,  and  in  this  beautiful 
country,  which  seems  inexhaustible  in  its  attraction,  I  am  not  a 
hard  student,  and  I  feel  more  and  more  that  love  is  better  than 
thought,  or  rather  that  thought  is  worth  little  when  not  steeped  in 
love.  My  reserve  is  not  to  be  broken  down  in  these  latter  years 
of  m}'  life,  but  I  think  the  ice  melts.  I  am  sure  age  need  not  be 
cold  and  unlovely,  and  I  welcome  any  degree  of  improvement." 

Thus  serenely,  amid  beauty  and  love,  glided  by  the  last  few  months 
of  earthly  life.  All  clouds  were  lifted,  and  rainbows  spanned  them. 
His  sun  brightened  to  its  setting.  What  he  had  sown  in  his  spring- 
time with  tears,  he  had  reaped  with  joy  in  his  autumn.  And  winds 
of  Providence  were  scattering  far  his  winged  words.  During  the 
previous  season  he  had  written :  — 

"  This  morning  I  plucked  a  globe  of  the  dandelion,  — the  seed- 
vessel,  —  and  was  struck  as  never  before  with  the  silent,  gentle 
manner  in  which  Nature  sows  her  seed,  and  I  asked  if  this  is  not 
the  way  in  which  the  spiritual  seed,  ^r»M,  is  to  be  sown.  I  saw, 
too,  how  Nature  sows  her  seed  broadcast ;  how  the  gossamer  wing 
of  the  dandelion-seed  scatters  it  far  and  wide ;  how  it  falls,  as  b^^ 
accident,  and  sends  up  the  plant  where  no  one  suspects.  So  we 
must  send  truth  abroad,  not  forcing  it  on  here  and  there  a  mind, 
not  watching  its  progress  anxiousl}',  but  trusting  that  it  will  light 
on  a  kindly  soil,  and  ^ield  its  fruit.     So  Nature  teaches." 

And  now  his  own  prophetic  words  were  to  be  verified. 

"Amidst  such  truly  El3^sian  beauty,  the  chains  which  the  spirit 
wears  are  broken,  and  it  goes  forth  to  blend  with  and  to  enjoy  the 
universe.  How  ungrateful  appear  all  selfish  states  of  feeling,  when 
in  these  blessed  hours  of  liberty  we  difl^use  ourselves  through  the 
glorious  creation,  sympathize  with  its  order  and  happiness,  and  rise 
with  joyful  trust  to  its  Divine  Author !  Is  there  not  a  day  of  re- 
lease at  hand?  and  may  we  not  use  such  privileged  seasons  as 
foretastes  of  the  joy  which  awaits  us,  if  we  bear  patiently  and  do 
cheerfull}-  the  will  of  the  Great  Disposer?" 

Early  in  September,  Dr.  Channing  left  Lenox,  with  the  intention 
of  returning  to  Boston  through  the  romantic  passes  of  the  Green 
Mountains,  but  was  detained  at  Bennington  by  an  attack  of  fever. 


LAST  DAYS.  695 

which,  slight  at  first,  steadil}'  increased,  until  the  appearance  of 
typhoid  symptoms  induced  his  physicians  to  summon  his  brother 
from  Boston.  His  immediate  family  and  several  near  relatives  were 
gathered  around  him  b}^  this  alarming  intelligence,  and  ever}^  effort 
was  used  to  stay  the  insidious  disease.  But  in  vain.  Through 
twenty-six  days  he  slowly  sank,  though  illusive  changes  excited 
hopes.  From  a  desire  to  avoid  occasions  of  excitement,  the  friends 
who  watched  by  his  bedside  abstained  from  continued  conversations  ; 
and  his  own  consciousness  of  the  intense  action  of  his  brain,  and 
his  wish  to  use  every  means  of  recovery,  made  him  seek  the  most 
soothing  influences.  "Can  you  aid  me  to  call  off  my  mind,"  he 
several  times  said,  "to  common  things,  from  these  crowds  of  images, 
these  visions  of  immensity,  and  rushing  thoughts?  "  A  few  extracts 
from  the  journal  of  one  of  the  small  baud  whose  sad  privilege  it  was 
to  minister  to  him  will  show  how  characteristic,  to  the  last,  was 
each  word  and  act. 

' '  On  my  return  from  church,  he  expressed  pleasure  that  I  had 
been  there,  inquired  earnestly  as  to  the  appearance  of  interest  in  the 
congregation,  and  talked  with  animation  of  missionary  enterprises 
as  signs  of  the  deepening  feeling  of  human  brotherhood.  '  Is  there 
any  influence  in  the  world,'  he  said,  looking  up  in  my  face  with 
kindling  expression,  '  like  the  Christian  rehgion,  any  power  which 
so  insures  the  progress  of  mankind  and  the  widest  diffusion  of 
good?'  .... 

"As  these  plans  for  carrying  out  his  cherished  convictions  were 
described,  he  at  once,  with  his  usual  discrimination,  stated  the  dan- 
gers and  difficulties  in  the  way,  ending  with  these  words  :  '  I  feel 
more  deeply  every  day  the  close  personal  relations  which  the  Heav- 
enly Father  sustains  to  every  spirit,  and  the  strong  bond  of  a 
common  spiritual  nature  between  all  human  beings.  But  we  must 
beware  of  over-excited  feeling,  or  vague  sentiment,  of  mingling  our 
theoretical  views  or  our  favorite  imaginations  with  the  truth.  AYe 
need  to  feel  the  reality,''  —  with  great  emphasis  and  expressiveness, 
— '  the  REALITY  of  a  spiritual  life.  In  the  common  affections,  in  the 
usual  relations,  in  seeming  trifles,  in  the  contingencies  and  events 
of  hourly  existence,  we  must  learn  to  see  a  present  Providence,  an 
all-inspiring  Goodness.'  Finding  himself  much  moved,  he  waved 
his  hand,  saying,  '  But  I  have  talked  enough.' 

"  He  liked  to  hear  the  minutest  details  about  friends,  asked  con- 
stantly after  his  relatives  and  acquaintances,  and  was  much  pleased 
with  sketches  of  character.  I  told  him  of  the s,  of  their  beau- 
tiful home  affections,  their  Quaker-like  simplicity  of  life,  their  sacri- 
fices for  Antislavery,  the  blended  courage  and  peace  with  which  they 


696  HOME  LIFE. 

had  met  their  trials.  A  beautiful  smile  spread  over  his  face  as  he 
listened,  —  his  ej'cs  full  on  mine.  '  Do  such  people  grow  among 
us?'  he  exclaimed,  when  I  had  finished.  '  This  is  indeed  refreshing. 
Tell  me  !  have  you  met  many  such  spirits  ? '  On  answering,  '  They 
are  not  a  few,'  he  replied,  '  The  earth,  then,  is  very  rich ! '  On 
describing  another  lovely  family,  he  remarked,  '  Yes !  such  life  is 
very  beautiful.  But  they  do  not  seem  to  have  a  readiness  to  sacri- 
fice all  for  the  great  ends  and  the  good  of  man,  like  the s.'     I 

told  him  of ,  who  left  a  good  situation,  with  ample  support, 

because  he  would  not,  even  by  silence,  seem  to  compromise  the  truth, 
and  who,  sick  and  weak,  far  advanced  in  life,  separated  by  poverty 
from  his  children,  and  even  for  a  time  from  his  wife,  whom  he  most 
tenderly  loved,  yet  struggled  on  patiently,  cheerfully,  till  he  had 
paid  debts  incurred  b}^  failure  years  before,  although  he  had  received 
the  benefit  of  the  English  bankrupt  act.  He  looked  up  with  the 
words,   '  This  is  a  hero,  a  Christian  hero.'    Again,  I  told  him  of 

,  who,  dying  the  horrible  death  of  cancer  in  the  face,  though 

naturally  a  stern  man,  grew  gentler,  more  thoughtful,  prayerful, 
bright,  and  loving,  each  da^^.  '  Ah  ! '  said  he,  '  this  shows  us  a  little 
of  the  meaning  of  sorrow  and  pain.  How  grand  is  the  power  of  the 
spirit ! '  When  reading  to  him,  he  would  sa}',  '  You  may  pass 
that ;  let  me  hear  of  men,  of  people,  of  their  social  relations.'  .   .   .   . 

"The  courtes}^  with  which  he  everj'  morning  greeted  the  3'oung 
woman  who  arranged  his  room,  and  his  kind  inquiries  after  all 
members  of  the  household,  were  unvarying.  As  the  physician  left 
him  one  morning,  he  remarked,  '  A  good  face  that,  and  a  most 
kind  man  ! '  He  spoke  with  commendation  of  the  great  quiet  of  tlie 
hotel,  and  of  the  readiness  to  oblige  exhibited  by  Mr.  Hicks's 
family.  He  seemed  deeply  moved  by  the  considerate  stillness  of  the 
oflficers  and  soldiers  of  a  mihtary  company,  which  had  held  a  review 
on  the  green  before  the  house,  and  dined  in  a  neighboring  room. 
To  his  attendants  and  watchers  his  tlioughtful  gratitude  was  inces- 
sant. Whenever  we  smoothed  his  bed  or  pillows,  he  would  say, 
'  You  are  really  most  admirable  bed-makers.  All  is  as  well  as  could 
possibly  be  desired.'  His  chief  anxiety  seemed  to  be  lest  we  should 
be  strained  by  lifting  him,  wearied  with  watching,  or  injured  by 
confinement ;  and  he  constantly  urged  us  to  seek  recreation,  and  to 
take  the  fresh  air.  His  apparent  indifference  to  outward  conditions 
was  most  characteristic.  Whenever  we  attempted  to  make  him 
easier,  he  would  sav,  '  O,  it  is  of  no  importance,  —  of  the  least 
possible  moment !     Thank  ,you.' 

"  I  observed  continually,  that  his  mind  seemed  to  be  very  active 
in  sleep.     Words  escaped  from  his  hps,  though  they  were  seldom 


LAST  DAYS.  697 

distinct.  But  in  every  instance  where  their  meaning  was  caught, 
he  appeared  to  be  engaged  in  acts  of  prayer.  '  Heavenly  Fa- 
ther '  was  most  often  intelUgible.  His  very  earnestness  sometimes 
wakened  him.  Once,  on  thus  rousing,  he  said,  '  I  have  had  a  sin- 
gularly vivid  dream  of  being  engaged  in  prayer  for ,  by  which 

he  seemed  to  be  very  deeply  affected.'  And  after  a  short  slumber 
at  the  close  of  a  restless  night,  his  first  words  were,  '  I  have  had 
a  most  genial  nap,  and  I  do  not  know  that  my  heart  was  ever  so 
overflowed  by  a  grateful  sense  of  the  goodness  of  God.'  It  was 
most  characteristic,  that  a  man,  M^ho  through  Ufe  had  such  an  aver- 
sion to  anything  like  parade  of  religious  feeling,  should  thus  uncon- 
sciously exhibit  his  all-pervading  piety.  Thursday  night  he  passed 
in  a  wholly  wakeful  state.  In  the  morning  he  told  me  that  his  mind 
had  been  very  active,  that  he  had  allowed  it  to  work  freely,  and  had 
enjoj-ed  greatly  his  thoughts 

"  On  Friday,  September  30,  he  said  to  Dr.  Swift:  'I  think 
myself  less  well.  Week  has  passed  after  week,  and,  instead  of 
improving,  I  seem  to  myself  declining.  I  should  wish,  if  it  is  the 
will  of  Providence,  to  be  able  to  return  home,'  —  adding,  after  a 
moment,  —  '  to  die  there.'  His  voice  was  even  and  firm  as  he  spoke, 
and  the  habitual  tranquillity  of  his  manner  undisturbed.  He  in- 
stantly added,  '  But  it  will  all  be  well ;  it  is  all  well.'  This  was 
the  only  time  that  he  distinctly  referred  to  his  death;  though  he 
undoubtedly  felt  that  his  recovery  was  hopeless,  he  was  probably 
unprepared,  as  we  all  were,  for  the  very  rapid  change.  During 
this  day  he  visibly  sank,  and  could  only  with  the  greatest  exertion 
move  at  all.'  The  eflfort  to  take  nourishment  distressed  him.  Yet, 
when  requested  to  receive  something,  he  would  whisper,  '  O,  yes ! 
I  will  take  it.  I  desire  to  be  true  to  all  the  relations  of  duty.' 
Once,  however,  he  replied,  with  a  word  of  endearment,  '  I  wish 
now  to  remain  for  a  long  time  without  taking  anything.  I  wish  to 
be  quiet.'  .... 

'^  On  Sunday,  October  2d,  as  he  heard  the  bells  ring,  he  said  to 
us,  '  Now  go  to  church.'  '  It  is  a  part  of  true  rehgion,  dear  sir, 
to  nurse  the  sick  and  aid  our  friends.'  '  True,'  he  replied  ;  '  you 
may  stay.'  He  asked  us  to  read  to  him  from  the  New  Testament. 
'From  what  part?'  'From  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.'  As  we 
closed  the  Lord's  Prayer,  he  looked  up,  with  a  most  expressive 
smile,  and  said,  '  That  will  do  now ;  I  find  that  I  am  too  much 
fatigued  to  hear  more.  I  take  comfort,  0,  the  greatest  comfort, 
from  these  words.  They  are  full  of  the  divinest  spirit  of  oui-  re- 
ligion.' ^ 

1  See  Note  B,  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


698  HOME  LIFE. 

"In  the  afternoon  he  spoke  very  earnestlj',  but  in  a  hollow 
whisper.  I  bent  forward  ;  but  the  onl}'  words  I  could  distinctly 
hear  were,  '  I  have  received  many  messages  from  the  spirit.' 

"As  the  da}'  declined,  his  countenance  fell,  and  he  grew  fainter 
and  fainter.  With  our  aid,  he  turned  himself  towards  the  window, 
■which  looked  over  valle3's  and  wooded  summits  to  the  east.  We 
drew  back  the  curtains,  and  the  light  glorified  his  face.  The  sun 
had  just  set,  and  the  clouds  and  sky  were  bright  with  gold  and 
crimson.  He  breathed  more  and  more  gently,  and,  without  a 
struggle  or  a  sigh,  the  spirit  passed. 

"  Amidst  the  splendor  of  autumn,  at  an  hour  hallowed  b}'  his  de- 
vout associations,  on  the  daj'  consecrated  to  the  memor}'  of  the  risen 
Christ,  and  looking  eastward,  as  if  in  the  setting  sun's  reflected  light 
he  saw  promise  of  a  brighter  morning,  he  was  taken  home." 

The  bod}'  was  immediately  conve3'ed  by  the  family  to  Boston,  — 
the  Western  Railroad  Company,  through  Josiali  Quincy,  Jr.,  Esq., 
with  most  delicate  and  thoughtful  kindness,  offering  them  the  free 
use  of  a  car. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  October  7th,  the  funeral  services 
were  observed  at  the  Federal  Street  meeting-house,  in  compliance 
"with  the  wish  of  the  Society,  as  thus  expressed  :  — 

"  At  a  meeting  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Meeting-house  in  Federal 
Street,  in  the  city  of  Boston,  the  following  Resolutions  were 
offered  by  Hon.  Judge  Davis,  and  unanimousl}'  adopted. 

^'•Resolved,  That  we  have  heard  with  profound  grief  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  death  of  our  revered  and  beloved  pastor  and  friend, 
the  Rev.  William  E.  Channing,  D.  D.,  with  whom  we  have  been 
so  long  and  so  happil}'  connected,  and  whose  invaluable  moral  and 
religious  teachings  we  have  so  long  enjo^'ed. 

"  Resolved^  That  we  dwell  with  deep  sensibility  upon  the  life  and 
services  of  this  faithful  servant  of  God,  now  brouglit  to  a  close  on 
earth  ;  upon  the  energy,  unbroken  to  the  last,  with  which,  not- 
withstanding much  physical  infirmity,  he  labored  in  the  discharge 
of  the  trust  assigned  to  him  by  his  great  Taskmaster  in  Heaven ; 
upon  his  loyalty  to  duty,  his  syn>pathy  with  humanity,  his  religious 
faith,  the  eminent  Christian  graces  which  adorned  his  character, 
and  the  persuasive  power  with  which  he  preached  the  gospel  of 
Christ :  and  we  feel  a  profound  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  peculiar 
privileges  which  we  have  so  long  had,  in  hearing  his  voice,  receiving 
his  instructions,  and  in  being  guided,  warmed,  and  animated  by  his 
discourses  and  his  life. 


THE  FUNERAL   SERVICES.  699 

"  Resolved,  That,  as  members  of  this  communit}',  we  mourn  the 
vanishing  from  earth  of  a  great  moral  and  intellectual  light,  in  the 
death  of  one  who  has  uniformly  devoted  great  powers  to  good  ends, 
whose  bosom  glowed  with  love  for  the  whole  human  family,  who 
has  been  the  eloquent  and  fearless  advocate  of  truth,  libert}',  and 
humanity,  whose  admirable  writings  have  had  no  other  object  than 
the  highest  good  of  mankind,  who  has  done  so  much  to  make  men 
wiser,  happier,  and  better,  and  who  has  commended  the  religion  of 
Christ  to  so  many  hearts  and  minds,  by  his  profound  and  beautiful 
expositions  of  its  doctrines  and  spiiit. 

'■'•  Jiesolved,  That  we  deeply  sympathize  with  the  family  of  our 
departed  friend  in  their  irreparable  loss,  and  earnestl}'  pra}'  that 
the  consolations  of  that  religion,  of  which  he  was  so  faithful  a  min- 
ister, may  be  extended  to  them  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of 
their  bereavement. 

"  Resolved,  That  the  Standing  Committee  of  the  Proprietors,  the 
Deacons  of  the  Church,  and  the  Clerk  and  Treasurer,  be  a  committee 
to  make  arrangements  for  a  public  funeral  and  appropriate  services 
in  the  church,  provided  it  be  agreeable  to  the  family  of  the  deceased. 

'•'•Resolved,  That  Hon.  Judge  Davis,  Mr.  Rollins,  and  the  Clerk 
be  a  committee  to  present  a  copy  of  the  foregoing  resolutions  to  the 
family  of  the  late  Dr.  Channing,  and  that  the  Clerk  also  transmit 
a  cop3'  to  Rev.  Mr.  Gannett. 
"  A  true  copy. 

"  Attest,  Geo.  S.  Hillard,  Proprietors'  Clerk. 

"  Boston,  October  5,  1842." 

The  discourse  was  b}'  Mr.  Gannett,  whose  "  words  of  simple 
tnith"  were  the  eulogy  best  befitting  the  place  and  occasion.  At 
the  close  of  the  services,  the  vast  assembly",  by  a  spontaneous  im- 
pulse, passed  slowlj'  up  the  middle  aisle,  to  gaze  for  the  last  time 
upon  the  countenance,  now  cahnl}'  turned  upward  to  the  pulpit, 
whence  its  light  of  love  had  for  so  many  3ears  shone  down.  Across 
the  waxen  brow  the  dark  brown  locks  la}'  softly  as  in  life  ;  and  he 
looked  so  like  one  entranced  in  a  dream  of  glor}-,  that  the  hand 
was  slow  to  close  the  coffin-lid  above  a  fleshly  temple,  whose  portal 
the  spirit  still  seemed  to  brighten  with  its  train. ^ 

As  the  procession  moved  from  the  church,  the  bell  of  the  Catholic 
cathedral  was  tolled  ;  and  it  was  grateful,  at  such  a  moment,  to 
remember  the  just  and  cordial  words  in  which  Dr.  Channing  had 
offered  his  tribute  of  honor  to  the  devoted  Cheverus.^ 

^  See  Note  C,  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 

2  Works,  Vol.  I.  pp.  178,  179.     One  Voiunie  Edition,  p.  563. 


700  INSCRIPTIONS. 

At  twilight,  among  the  shades  of  Mount  Auburn,  the  hands  of 
relatives  bore  the  bier,  deposited  the  coffin,  and  covered  with  earth 
the  remains  of  Channing. 

A  monument  of  fine  white  marble,  designed  b}'  Washington 
Allston,  and  erected  by  the  Federal  Street  congregation,  marks  his 
burial-place.  It  bears  the  following  inscriptions,  prepared  bj^  Mr. 
George  Ticknor :  — 

On  one  side  of  the  Monument. 

pjcrc  rest  tlje  remains  of 

WILLIAM    ELLERY    CHANNING, 

Born,  7  April,  1780, 

AT  Newport,  R.  I.  ; 

Ordained,  1  June,  1803, 

AS   A   MINISTER   OF   JeSUS    ChRIST 

TO  THE  Society  worshipping  God 

IN  Federal  Street,  Boston: 

Died,  2  October,  1842, 

while  on  a  journey, 

at  Bennington,  Vermont. 


On  the  other  side. 

hx  fflcmorg  of 

WILLIAM    ELLERY    CHANNING, 

honored  throughout  Christendom, 

FOR    HIS    eloquence    AND    COURAGE 
IN    MAINTAINING    AND    ADVANCING 

THE  Great  Cause  of 

Truth,  Religion,  and  Human  Freedom, 

This  Monument 

IS  gratefully  and  reverently  ERECTED 

BY  THE  Christian  Society, 

OF  which,  during  nearly  forty  years, 

HE  was  Pastor. 


ISrOTES. 


Note  A.  —  (See  Page  665.) 

It  is  the  tradition,  that  the  rocks  near  the  beach  at  Newport,  which  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  was  so  fond  of  visiting,  were  much  frequented  by  Bishop  Berkeley,  and 
that  some  of  his  works  were  there  composed. 


Note  B.  —  (See  Page  697.) 

I  FEEL  as  if  it  were  insulting  the  memory  of  my  uncle  to  refer,  even,  to  the 
assertion,  that  on  his  death-bed  he  changed  his  opinions.  But  the  urgency  of 
many  correspondents  induces  me  here  to  say,  once  for  all,  that  there  was  no 
foundation  ichatever  for  such  a  rumor.  Weakness,  the  violence  of  fever,  and  the 
earnest  desire  for  his  restoration,  prevented  conversation  on  his  part  and  ours. 
But  every  word,  act,  look,  showed  us  how  perfect  was  his  peace.  Every  word 
that  he  is  known  to  have  spoken,  indicating  his  own  religious  opinions  and  feel- 
ings, is  recorded  on  the  preceding  pages.  This  distinct  statement  should  for- 
ever put  an  end  to  the  calumny  referred  to,  among  all  honest  men. 

W.  H.  C. 

Note   C.  —  (See  Page  699.) 

This  Life  would  be  incomplete  without  referring  to  the  portraits  and  en- 
gravings of  Dr.  Channing  now  in  existence.  Great  injustice  has  been  done  him 
in  most  of  these  representations.  "  The  romantic  and  tender  beauty  "  of  his 
expression,  as  well  as  the  power  of  thouglit  in  his  countenance,  has  never  been 
adequately  given  in  any  portrait ;  and  most  of  the  engravings  must  be  pro- 
nounced caricatures. 

Tlie  engraving  in  the  first  volume  of  the  "  Memoir,"  published  in  Boston 
in  1848,  is  from  an  unfinished  picture  by  Allston,  in  possession  of  his  son, 
painted  in  1811.  The  picture  is  full  of  ideal  beauty,  purity,  devoutness,  and 
youthful  fervor,  and  nmch  of  this  expression  is  preserved  in  the  engraving.  It 
is  considered  a  very  correct  likeness  by  those  who  can  look  back  to  that  period 
of  Dr.  Channing's  life. 

The  Albertype  in  this  book  is  a  photographic  reproduction  of  a  picture  by 
S.  Gambardella,  painted  in  1839,  now  in  the  possession  of  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Mary  C.  Eustis.  Tiiis  picture  is  the  one  by  vvhicli  Dr.  Channing,  as  he  appeared 
in  later  years,  will  be  chiefly  known.  Seen  under  unfavorable  lights,  there  is  a 
harshness  and  look  of  abstraction  in  this  picture  which  are  not  agreeable  ;  but 
in  a  mellow  liglit,  it  preserves  many  characteristics  of  the  original  not  elsewhere 
to  be  found. 

At  least  two  copies  of  this  picture  have  been  made  bj^  Gambardella,  but  both 
very  inferior  to  the  original  likeness.  One  of  them  belonged  to  the  late  Hon. 
T.  H.  Perkins,  of  Boston.  The  other  was  sent  to  Glasgow,  and  engraved  for 
the  edition  of  Dr.  Channing's  Works  published  by  Hedderwick  &  Co.  But  the 
engraving  is  equally  devoid  of  likeness  and  of  elevated  expression. 


702  NOTES. 

There  is  a  likeness  by  Gilbert  Stuart,  in  possession  of  the  family,  taken  in 
middle  life,  which  is  vdry  wanting  in  refined  expression.  It  can  never  be  re- 
iiarded  as  in  any  sense  a  portrait  of  Dr.  Clianning,  save  to  tliose  wlio,  from 
familiarity,  have  learned  to  trace  out  some  resemblances  through  its  defects. 

The  picture  by  Chester  Harding  is,  perhaps,  better  known  than  any  other,  as 
it  has  been  copied,  and  also  engraved,  by  Hougland.  Kut  no  just  views  of  the 
original  can  be  obtained  from  tliis  picture,  or  from  the  engraving. 

A  very  unfinished  picture,  — a  profile  by  George  Flagg, —  formerly  in  pos- 
session of  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Parkraan,  of  Boston,  gives  a  general  image  of  the 
original. 

There  is  also  a  picture  by  Ingham,  in  possession  of  the  family,  painted  from 
a  sketch  after  death,  and  from  memory,  in  1843,  which,  though  incorrect  in  some 
of  the  features  and  deficient  in  strength,  recalls  to  those  familiar  with  the  origi- 
nal the  sweetness  and  deep  sentiment  of  his  expression.  Strangers,  however, 
would  never  receive  from  it  a  just  impression  of  Dr.  Clianning. 

A  pencil  sketch  by  Malbone,  taken  in  early  youth,  presents  a  very  pleasing 
contrast,  by  its  air  of  full  health  and  vigorous  youthfulness,  with  those  taken  at 
a  later  period. 

Tiie  bust  of  Persico,  though  tame  and  weak  in  character,  is,  in  some  respects, 
of  value.  The  profile  view  is  especially  to  be  commended.  The  forehead  is 
wanting  in  breadth  and  fulness.  But,  as  a  whole,  this  bust  should  rank  next  to 
the  Gambardella  picture. 

No  daguerreotj'pe  or  pliotograph  of  Dr.  Clianning  was  ever  taken  from  life. 

Dr.  Channing  thus  writes  to  his  son  of  the  various  attempts  to  represent 
him  :  — 

"November  20,  1835.  I  gave  Mr.  Persico  no  encouragement  to  make  an  ex- 
periment on  my  head.  It  is  too  thin,  and  has  too  little  beauty  for  this  art. 
Painting,  I  think,  can  take  greater  liberties  than  sculpture,  and  even  painting 
has  made  poor  work  with  my  face.  I  am  certainly  not  vain  of  my  exterior.  My 
countenance  would  not  make  me  many  friends,  I  fear.  What  has  troubled  me 
in  my  different  portraits  is,  not  tliat  they  liave  not  given  me  a  more  intellectual 
expression,  but  that  so  little  benevolence  has  beamed  from  the  features.  I  have 
learned,  with  the  Apostle,  to  prefer  charity  to  all  knowledge  ;  and,  if  I  am  to  be 
handed  down  to  posterity,  I  should  be  pleased  to  speak  from  the  stone  or  can- 
vas, or  rather  to  breathe  from  it,  good-will  to  mankind." 

"  August  3,  1836.  I  am  sitting  for  my  likeness,  —  a  wearisome  task;  but  I 
was  willing,  as  so  many  poor  likenesses  had  been  made,  to  try  once  more  for  a 
good  one." 

1838.  "  Mr.  Gambardella  has  succeeded  in  his  work.  My  friends  are  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  picture.  It  is  not  only  a  good  likeness,  but  a  meritorious 
work  of  art.  After  so  many  unsuccessful  attempts,  this  poor  face  is  faithfully 
transferred  to  canvas,  and,  on  the  whole,  is  better  worth  looking  at  than  I 
supposed." 

W.  F.  C. 


INDEX. 


Abolition,  a  practical  manifestation  of 
Christ's  spirit,  454.  Garrison's  watch- 
word, 521.     See  "  Antislaverj'." 

Abolitionism,  to  ijrow  among  the  middle 
classes,  542.  Uncertainty  of  its  future 
history,  542.  To  gain  by  opposition, 
542.  His  doubts  of  the  expediency  of 
agitating  it  in  Congress,  544. 

Abolitionists,  interest  in,  528,  566.  Ob- 
jections to,  529,  540,  565.  Defence  of, 
by  S.  J.  May,  52y,  530.  Their  objec- 
tionable mode  of  action,  531.  Little 
sympatiiy  with  their  spirit,  540.  Their 
inconsistency,  540.  Judged  by  the  char- 
acter of  tiie  times,  not  unduly  intolerant, 
541.  Their  earnestness,  541.  The  in- 
fluential part  of  the  community  not  with 
them,  542.  Little  good  to  come  from 
their  political  action,  545.  Their  busi- 
ness with  the  conscience,  545.  To  do 
good  by  establishing  principles,  546. 
Channing  becomes  identified  with,  563. 
Not  understood,  564.  Letter  to,  564. 
Reasons  why  thej-  should  disavow  resort 
to  force,  566.  Their  pacific  principles, 
565,  566.  Their  principles  resting  on  the 
worth  of  man,  568.  His  relations  with 
the,  509.  Readiness  to  co-operate  with, 
570. 

Accumulation,  evils  of  the  passion  for,  517, 
518,  586,  587. 

Adams,  Hanrtah,  her  works  and  character, 
613. 

Adams,  John,  his  administration,  35.  And 
liberty,  35.  Address  of  Harvard  stu- 
dents to,  36.  His  Position  as  President,  in 
reference  to  European  complications,  51. 

Adams,  John  Quincy.  defender  of  the  right 
of  petition,  544. 

Affection,  importance  of  the  outward  mani- 
festation of,  in  married  life,  322. 

Africans,  the  evils  they  suffer,  and  modes 
for  their  relief,  133.  Their  capacity  for 
development,  541. 

Akott,  A.  Bronson,  his  school,  501.  His 
qualifications  for  a  teacher,  502.  The 
lesson  taught  by  his  life,  514. 

Alien  and  Sedition  Laws  show  govern- 
ment's weakness,  51. 

Allston.  Wasliington,  sketch  of  Channing 
as  a  boy,  18,  19.  As  a  college  student, 
24.  Caricature  by,  24.  Letter  to,  by 
Channing,  on  his  choice  of  a  profession, 
38.    Marries  Ann  Channing,  314.    His 


poverty,  678.  His  conversation,  685. 
Designer  of  Channing's  monument.  700. 

Almsgiving,  objections  to,  263.  Evils  of, 
264.  Injudicious,  better  than  the  extinc- 
tion of  sympathy,  264. 

Alton,  Lovejoy's  death  at,  551. 

Ambition,  inconsistent  with  the  spirit  of 
Christianity,  100. 

Ames,  Fisher,  the  eloquence  of,  135. 

Anglo-Saxons,  character  of,  599. 

Anthology  Club,  contributor  to,  409. 

Antislaverv,  the  movement  in  America, 
520.  In' Great  Britain,  521.  First  book 
taking  the  ground  of,  527.  His  interest 
in  the  cause  of,  527,  528,  531.  Progress 
of  the  cause,  532.  Its  supporters  at- 
tacked, 532.  Attempts  to  prohibit  the 
circulation  of  its  newspapers,  532.  Mobs 
against,  533.  Societies,  unwise  proceed- 
ings of,  536.  Female  Antislaverv  So- 
ciety's meeting  broken  up  by  a  mob,  538. 
Convention,  N.  E.,  meeting  of.  540.  Two 
aspects  of  the  cause,  544.  To  triumph 
through  public  conscience  and  religion, 
544.  Spiritual  truths  involved  in  the 
movement,  545.  Advanced  by  preach- 
ing Christianity.  546.  Interview  of  the 
Massachusetts  Society  with  the  legisla- 
ture, 569. 

Antram,  Mary,  4. 

Appleton,  Nathan,  letter  to,  on  mercantile 
education,  496,  497. 

Apprentices,  their  temptations,  492.  Their 
library,  492.  Inducements  to,  to  attend 
chunh,  492. 

Arbitration,  470. 

-Arian,  Channing  an,  274. 

.Armstrong,  Rev.  Genrge,  letter  to,  405. 

.Aspirations,  70,  308. 

Atheists,  assertion  of  their  rights  to  free- 
dom of'  thought  and  sjieech,  505,  506. 

Atonement,  Liberal  Christian  view  of.  rep- 
resented bv  Bible  News  and  Butler, 
213.     Not  infinite,  213. 

Austin,  James  T.,  Attorney-General  in  the 
case  of  Abner  Kneeland,  503.  Speech 
on  Lovejoy's  death,  562. 


Baim.ie,  Mrs.  Joanna,  Channing's  letter 
to,  on  self-distrust,  406;  on  liis  own 
works,  407;  on  death  of  Lord  Bvron, 
413;  on  character  of  Walter  Scoff,' 416; 
on  Christianity,   429;   on  the  power  of 


704 


INDEX. 


Christ's  character,  444 ;  on  the  elevation 
of  the  lower  classes,  509;  on  the  death  of 
his  mother,  608;  on  tlie  death  of  Noah 
Worcester,  620;  on  Rhode  Island,  634, 
635. 

Ballon,  Rev.  Adin,  letter  to,  on  "Frater- 
nal Community,"  511. 

Baltimore,  sermon  at,  300.  Temperance 
movement  in,  520. 

Bellamy,  Joseph,  compares  progress  of 
theology  to  hat-making,  82. 

Belsham,  Thomas,  his  view  of  Jesus  Chi'ist, 
195,  197.  Dr.  Chauuing  not  a  sympa- 
thizer with,  427. 

Beneticent  Association,  the,  formation  of, 
465.     Its  purpose,  465. 

Benevolence,  with  care  might  become  a 
principle  of  action,  64.  Sources  of  the 
happiness  of  true,  153. 

Benignity,  the  Divine,  375. 

Bennington,  sickness  at,  694. 

Bereavement,  consolations  in,  619,  620,  632. 
The  true  influence  of,  632. 

Berne,  beauty  of,  344. 

Berrj'-Street  Conference,  Address  at  for- 
mation of.  218. 

Berry-Street  Vestry,  296. 

Bible  News,  187.  Substantially  represents 
Liberal  Christian  views,  212.  Affirms 
Jesus  to  be  distinct  from  God,  212. 

Bible  Society,  formation  of,  in  Massachu- 
setts, 289."  Extracts  from  its  reports,  289, 
290,  291. 

Bible,  study  of  the,  as  the  only  source  of 
divine  knowledge,  71. 

Birney,  James  G.,  driven  from  Cincinnati 
by  a  mob,  543. 

Bleecker,  Harmanus,  letter  to,  on  the  influ- 
ence of  trade,  519.  On  Congress,  585. 
On  Repudiation,  589. 

Blessedness  a  reward  of  usefulness,  152. 

Bonaparte,  report  of  the  defeat  of,  51.  Fol- 
lowing that  of  victories,  52.  His  personal 
character  inspired  gloomy  forebodings, 
174;  lost  sight  of,  through  his  splendid 
victories,  176.  Channing's  joy  in  the 
overthrow  of,  277;  sermon,  278;  essay 
on,  411;  his  spirit  in  writing  it,  432. 

Bond,  George,  563. 

Boston,  Channing  a  minister  in,  98.  His 
mother  moves  to,  110.  Moral  and  intel- 
lectual activity  of,  313,  593.  Address  to 
the  citizens  on  the  refusal  of  Faneuil  Hall 
for  a  public  meeting,  553.  Moral  sound- 
ness of,  on  the  principles  of  liberty,  554, 
556.  Public  opinion  in,  554,  555.  Free  dis- 
cussion secured  in,  563.  His  connection 
with  society  in,  677.  His  fears  for,  679. 
Thoughts  about,  680.  His  love  for,  680. 
His  daily  life  in,  681. 

Boston  Farm  School,  volume  of  sermons 
prepared  in  aid  of,  412. 

Boyhood  of  Dr.  Channing,  10-21. 

Boys,  Address  before  the  Society  for  the 

Education  of  Indigent,  261. 
Brattle  Street  Society,  desires  him  as  col- 
league to  Dr.  Thae'her,  93.     Invites  him 


to  preach  again,  94.  His  letter  declining 
invitation  of,  94.  His  funeral  semion  on 
Buckminster  before,  124. 

Brookline,  97. 

Brotherhood,  the  tie  of,  90. 

Brownson,  0.  A.,  tries  to  form  a  working- 
men's  congregation,  481.  Attempts  to 
sta}'  the  tide  of  infidelity,  482.  Chan- 
ning's interest  in,  482;  and  in  the  efforts 
he  made,  514. 

Buckminster,  J.  S.,  Dr.  Kirkland  on,  116. 
The  style  of  preaching  of,  122.  Letter 
from  to  Channing,  122.  Death  of,  124. 
Funeral  Sermon  on,  124.  Letter  on  the 
death  of,  124.  The  papers  of,  125.  Rule 
of,  for  ])osthumous  publication,  125.  The 
best-read  theological  student  in  tlie  coun- 
try, 291.  First  Dexter  Lecturer  at  Cam- 
bridge, 292. 

Burns,  Wm.,  letter  to,  on  the  New  Era  of 
Christianity,  443.  Letter  to,  on  St.  Si- 
monism,  5il. 

Bush,  George,  letter  to,  on  Unitarian  con- 
cessions, 426. 

Butler,  Joseph  (Bishop),  influence  of  his 
sermons  on  human  nature,  87.  Excel- 
lence of,  as  a  writer,  129. 

Byron,  Lord,  character  of,  413. 


Cabot,  George,  135. 

Calvinism,  serious  objections  to  its  teach- 
ings, 186. 

Calvinist,  Channing  never  a,  75.  The  name 
might  be  made  one  of  reproach,  199. 

Cambridge,  1,  21. 

Cappe,  Mrs.,  letter  to,  on  Wordsworth, 
276. 

Carpenter,  Lant,  character  of  the  reply  to 
Magee  by,  273.  Letter  of  Channing  to, 
on  ills  own  proposed  work  on  Jlan,  417. 
Letter  to,  on  condition  of  United  States, 
592;  on  the  relations  of  England  and  the 
United  States,  597.  Letter  to  his  daugh- 
ter on  death  of.  624. 

Carpenter,  Miss  Mary,  letter  to,  on  her 
father's  death,  624." 

Catechism,  prepares  a,  121. 

Centinel,  Boston,  35. 

Centre  Harbor,  N.  H.,  Letter  from,  329. 

Chaloner,  Mary,  grandmother  of  Channing, 
4.  Character  of,  4.  Widow  of  James 
Robinson,  4. 

Champlin,  Geo.,  character  of,  8. 

Channing,  Ann,  marries  Washington  All- 
ston,  314.  Death  of,  317.  Reflections  on 
her  character  and  death,  317,  318. 

Channing,  Francis,  his  brother,  19.  Letter 
by,  on  his  departure  to  Richmond,  43. 
Letter  by,  on  iiis  enthusiasm,  61.  Letter 
to,  in  reiply,  61.  Lawyer  at  Cambridge, 
77.  His  pleasure  in  the  society  of,  90. 
Mutual  agreement  to  aid  their  mother, 
110.  His  adviser  and  supporter  in  politi- 
cal trials,  135.  Is  taken  sick,  314.  Dies, 
315.  Character  of,  and  reflections  on  the 
death  of,  316. 


INDEX. 


705 


Channing,  Rev.  Henry,  his  uncle,  19.  Let- 
ters of,  on  his  character  and  conduct,  20, 
21 ;  on  Channing  as  a  college  student, 
38.  Gives  charge  at  his  ordination,  96. 
Letter  to,  on  faith  in  progress,  604. 

Channing,  John,  of  Dorsetsliire,  England,  4. 

Channing,  John,  Jr.,  4.  Merchant  of  New- 
port, 4. 

Channing,  Jlrs.  Wm.  (See  EHer}',  Lucy.) 
Letter  to,  43.  Moves  to  Boston,  ilO.  Lter 
wit  and  vivacitj',  113.  Letter  to,  126; 
on  leaving  for  Europe,  333;  on  the  death 
of  his  ciiild,  351 ;  on  his  birthdav,  353. 
His  affection  for,  666.  Death  o"f,  667. 
Character  and  life  of,  668,  669. 

Channing,  William,  lawyer  at  Newport, 
father  of  Dr.  Channing,  4.  Marriage,  4. 
Attorney-General  and  District  Attorney 
for  Rhode  Island,  4.  Character  of,  by 
Hon.  Asher  Robbins,  4;  by  Wm.  Ellery, 
4;  by  Dr.  Channing,  6.  Religious  char- 
acter, 7.  Owner  of  slaves,  7.  A  Federalist, 
7,  13.  Description  of  his  person,  5,  8. 
Sweetness  of  manner,  12.     Death  of,  19. 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  birth  at  Newport, 
1.  Description  of,  as  a  boy,  10.  School 
days,  11.  Character  as  a  pupil,  12. 
Home  education,  12.  Early  inclinations 
to  the  ministry,  13.  Character  as  a  boy, 
16.  Influences  of  solitary  thought,  16. 
Description  of,  as  a  boy  of  fourteen,  17. 
Personal  and  physical  courage,  17,  674. 
Charity,  18.  Repugnance  to  cruelty  to 
animals,  18.  Description  of,  as  a  boy, 
bv  Wasliington  Allston,  18,  19.  Prep- 
aration for  college,  19.  Death  of  his 
father,  19.  Letter  from  his  brother  on 
the  same,  20.  An  earnest  student,  21. 
Enters  Harvard  College,  21.  Ambition 
for  excellence,  23.  Personal  description 
of,  when  in  college,  by  W.  Allston,  24. 
Humor,  24.  Description  of,  bv  Dr. 
Pierce.  25;  by  Judge  Story,  25.  26.  A 
classical  student,  26.  Fond'  of  historical 
and  literary 'studies,  26.  Early  eloquence, 
26.  First  orator  at  Commencement,  26.  A 
student  of  elocution  and  rhetoric,  27.  A 
member  of  literary  societies  in  college,  27. 
Religious  influences  in  college,  29.  Liter- 
ary studies,  32.  A  new  spiritual  birth,  32. 
Longing  for  something  worthy,  32.  A 
moral  and  social  reformer,  33.  Essay  on 
electricity,  33.  Fondness  for  geometry, 
33,34.  A  student  of  metaphysics,  34  ;  of 
Shakespeare,  34.  A  fervent  politician,  34. 
Makes  a  political  speech,  35.  Draws  up 
an  address  to  President  John  Adams,  35. 
Early  a  lover  of  free  thought,  36.  Com- 
mencement oration,  36.  Political  dis- 
cussion forbidden  in  it,  37.  Declines  it 
in  consequence,  37.  Gains  some  conces- 
sions, 38.  Discusses  the  topics  suggested 
by  the  French  Revolution,  38.  Choice  of 
a  profession,  38.  Letter  to  Allston,  38. 
Thinks  of  being  a  physician,  38.  De- 
cides on  his  course,  39.  A  lover  of 
truth,  39.    Narration  of  his  own  experi 


46 


ence  as  a  student  and  in  deciding  on  his 
profession,  39.  College  friendships,  40, 
41.  Goes  to  Richmond  as  a  tutor,  43.  Ob- 
jections to  slavery,  46.  In  contact  with 
opposing  political  views,  47.  Views  en- 
larged by  discussion,  47.  Letter  on  the 
condition  of  Europe  at  the  close  of  18th 
century,  48-51.  Duties  as  a  tutor,  52. 
Life  in  Richmond,  54.  A  close  student 
at  night,  53.  Power  of  self-control,  53. 
Course  of  his  studies  in  literature,  55. 
His  philanthropy,  63.  His  ideas  of 
common  property,  64-67.  Enthusiasm 
of  his  plans,  08."  A  student  of  the  evi- 
dences of  Christianity,  70.  Begins  a 
commentary  on  the  Scriptures,  70.     Be- 

fins  a  religious  correspondence  with 
oseph  McKean,  71.  A  student  of  specu- 
lative doctrines,  72.  Called  over-ortho- 
dox and  a  heretic,  72.  His  mental 
loneliness,  72.  Return  to  Newport,  76. 
Continues  theological  studies,  76.  Be- 
comes head  of  the  family,  77.  Begins 
family  devotions,  77.  Struggles  with 
excitabilit}-  of  disposition,  77.  Abstemi- 
ous in  his  mode  of  life,  77.  Lays  down 
rules  for  self-discipline,  77.  Made  Re- 
gent of  Harvard  University,  84.  De- 
scription of  his  appearance  in  1802,  84. 
Flis  habits  as  a  student,  87,  88.  An  exact 
and  methodical  thinker,  87.  Admitted 
to  First  Church  in  Cambridge,  90.  Re- 
ceives "approbation"  from  Cambridge 
Association,  9L  Held  from  Calvinism 
by  doctrine  of  Trinity,  91.  Begins  to 
preach,  92.  His  first  sermon,  9-3.  In- 
vited to  settle  by  Brattle  Street  and  Fed- 
eral Street  Societies  in  Boston,  93.  De- 
clines the  Brattle  Street  invitation,  94,  95. 
Accepts  the  Federal  Street  invitation,  96. 
And  is  ordained,  96.  A  minister  in  Bos- 
ton, 98.  His  manner,  98.  His  excessive 
studiousness,  99.  His  self-examination, 
100-102.  Extracts  from  his  journals, 
103-106.  Invites  his  mother  to  his  home, 
110.  His  care  for  his  family,  111.  His 
rules  for  self-discipline,  112.  His  sense 
of  dut}',  113.  Not  at  home  in  festivity  or 
society,  98,  113.  His  consideration  for 
others,  114.    His  popularitj'  as  a  preacher, 

116.  Growth  of  his  powers  as  a  preacher, 

117.  His  interest  in  his  people,  118-121; 
in  the  children,  121.  Liberality  in  ex- 
changes, 122.  Preaches  Buckminster's 
funeral  sermon,  124;  and  prepares  his 
sermons  for  the  press,  125.  Estimates  of 
his  own  love  of  praise  and  of  his  failures, 
128.  His  enumeration  of  needed  social 
reforms,  131-133.  Discusses  political 
principles  in  his  sermons,  134. 135.  Adds 
by  it  to  his  influence,  135.  His  spiritual 
development,  140-181.  His  sympathy 
with  the  tendencies  of  his  age,  181.  Re- 
sents charge  of  concealing  his  sentiments, 
197.  Gives  his  views  of  Christ,  197. 
Replies  to  Dr.  Worcester,  205.  Defends 
Unitarian  preaching,  206.     His  charac- 


706 


INDEX. 


ter  as  a  controversialist  and  theoloojian, 
268.  Led  into  controversy  by  devotion 
to  free  inquirv,  2(58.  His  own  idea  of  his 
controversial  writings,  209.  Illustrations 
of  the  mildness  of  his  character,  271; 
of  his  magnaninuty,  272.  More  a  man 
of  sentiment  than  a  philosopher,  274.  A 
student  of  German  literature,  275.  His 
indebtedness  to  Wordsworth,  275.  De- 
votedly attached  to  the  Union,  280.  A 
lover  of  peace,  281;  but  not  opposed  to 
defensive  war,  283.  Active  in  forming 
the  Peace  Society,  281 ;  and  in  other 
philanthropic  movements  and  missionary 
enterprises,  288.  Delivers  an  address  be- 
fore the  Massachusetts  Bible  Society,  and 
is  one  of  its  officers,  28i).  Is  appointed 
Dexter  Lecturer,  but  soon  resigns,  291. 
Is  interested  in  the  Theological  School, 
292.  A  member  of  the  Corporation  of 
Harvard  College,  293.  Plans  for  union 
and  co-operative  usefulness  in  his  societv, 
296.  Is  invited  to  New  York,  312.  De- 
clines the  invitation,  313.  His  mar- 
riage, 319.  Birth  and  death  of  a  child, 
323.  Birth  of  a  daughter,  323.  Birth  of 
sons,  327.  Is  obliged  to  travel  for  health, 
327.  Travels  in  New  England,  329. 
Leaves  for  Europe,  332.  Loses  a  child, 
350.  Returns  home,  355.  Receives  de- 
gree of  D.  D.  from  Harvard  College,  357. 
Resumes  his  ministry,  357.  His  interest 
in  it,  361.  His  distaste  for  sanctimonious 
dignity,  303.  His  high  estimate  of  the 
needs  and  duties  of  his. profession,  369. 
His  manner  as  a  preacher,  383-389.  His 
benignity,  383.  His  sincerity,  384.  His 
living  sense  of  spiritual  realities,  384. 
Asks  relief  in  his  pul])it  labors,  389. 
Receives  a  colleague,  391.  Relinquishes 
part  of  his  salary,  394.  His  relations  to 
his  society,  394-397.  Asks  to  be  relieved 
from  his  public  functions,  398.  His  esti- 
mate of  his  work  as  an  author,  405-407. 
Accidental  nature  of  his  general  writings, 
408.  Character  of  his  miscellaneous  writ- 
ings, 411.  Plans  a  work  on  Man,  417- 
His  review  of  his  own  time,  420.  His 
firmness.  425.  Statement  of  the  work  he 
projected,  436.  Did  not  try  to  teach  a 
definite  system,  439.  A  social  reformer, 
456.  Interested  in  prison  reforms,  471 
In  the  elevation  of  the  laboring  classes, 
481,  482,  483.  His  interest  in  education, 
492-500.  His  vindication  of  free  speech 
in  the  case  of  Abner  Kneeland,  503-505. 
In  that  of  Rev.  John  Pierpont,  507,  508. 
Connected  with  the  antislavery  move- 
ment, 520.  His  impressions  of  slavery 
in  the  West  Indies,  521-525.  Sermon 
on  antislavery,  533.  Reasons  for  not 
publishing  his  sermon,  534.  Defence  of 
the  arrangement  of  his  book,  538.  His 
book  on  Slavery,  539,  543.  Writes  to 
Henry  Clay  on  the  annexation  of  Texas, 
548.  Foresees  danger  of  destruction  of 
the  Union  from  it,  550.     Vindicates  the 


right  of  public  assembly,  553.  Defends 
the  public  opinion  of  Boston,  554;  the 
freedom  of  the  press,  554.  Addres.ses  a 
meeting  at  Faneuil  Hall  on  the  death  of 
Lovejoy,  558.  Writes  the  resolutions 
of  the  meeting,  559.  Identified  with 
the  Abolitionists,  563.  His  increasing 
interest  in  politics,  573.  His  belief 
in  popular  institutions,  582,  583.  His 
friendships,  607;  with  women,  G09.  His 
physical  depression  from  ill-health,  634- 
639.  His  delight  in  activity,  639.  His 
sj'mpathies  with  the  poor  constantly  in- 
creasing, 640.  His  consecration  of  him- 
self to  attain  perfection,  642  His 
attachment  to  children,  658.  His  hos- 
pitality, 659.  Character  of  his  conver- 
sation, 660-662;  its  power,  663.  His 
daily  life,  663,  664.  The  reserve  of  his 
manner,  669,  670,  671.  The  greatness 
of  his  presence,  670.  His  personal  char- 
acter as  a  censor  of  wrong-doing,  672; 
of  himself,  673.  His  habit  of  irony,  674. 
His  mildness,  674.  His  forbearance,  675. 
His  rule  about  money,  075,  676.  His 
habit  of  self-denial,  677.  His  life  as  a 
minister  and  student  in  Boston.  681-084. 
His  social  pleasures,  685.  Manifesta- 
tions of  public  interest  in  his  views, 
686.  His  manner  in  ])rivale,  in  conver- 
sation, and  in  the  pul]iit,  68:),  690.  Hap- 
piness of  the  close  of  his  life,  691,  693, 
094.  Taken  sick  at  Bennington,  694. 
His  sickness,  695-697.  His  death,  698. 
Funeral  services,  698,  699.  Resolutions 
of  his  society,  698. 

Channing,  Wm.  F.,  letter  to,  from  Judge 
Storj-,  describing  Channing  and  his  col- 
lege life,  22. 

Chapman,  Mrs.,  569,  570. 

Character,  evil  effects  of  war  on,  179.  True 
greatness  of,  in  obedience  to  God's  pur- 
pose, 241.  Capacity  of  attaining  great- 
ness of,  an  indication  of  immortality,  246. 
Religious,  im]iortant  to  a  minister,  .307. 

Charity,  ways  of  improving  jniblic,  1-31,  132. 
Does  not  require  exclusion  of  Unitarians 
from  (Christian  fellowship.  211.  The  most 
useful,  not  in  almsgiving,  263.  A  test 
of  religion,  265.  Universal,  a  character- 
istic of  our  religion,  205. 

Chartists,  their  views.  480,  598. 

Cheerfulness,  prayer  tor,  109. 

Child,  death  of  a,  323.  Birth  of  a,  323. 
Death  of  a,  350.  351.  Letter  to  a  friend 
on  the  death  of  a,  619. 

Child,  Lydia  Maria,  letter  to,  on  social  re- 
form, 456.  Letter  of,  on  Dr.  Channjug's 
connection  with  the  antislavery  cause, 
527.  Letters  tc,  of  sympathy  for  her 
sufferings  in  the  antislavery  cause,  630. 

Children,  duties  of  a  minister  to,  120.  His 
interest  in,  and  respect  for.  121.  Prepares 
a  catechism  for,  121.  The  capacity  of,  for 
education  not  determined  by  birth,  201. 
Value  of  benevolent  institutions  for,  202. 
True  views  of  a  Christian  parent  on  their 


INDEX. 


707 


birth,  325.  The  baptism  of,  its  meaning, 
326.  Duties  of  a  parent  to,  349.  Rela- 
tion of,  with  parents,  not  dissolved  by 
death,  351.  Objections  to  the  employ- 
ment of,  in  manufactories,  490,  491.  What 
tlieir  lives  do  for  us,  619.  Relations  to  liis 
own,  ()54,  655,  656,  658.  Value  in  educa- 
tion of  appeals  to  their  best  feelings,  656. 

Christ,  prayers  of  thankfulness  for,  108. 
His  redemption  in  a  change  of  heart,  118. 
A  gift  of  God's  love,  161.  Holiness  of 
the  life  of,  162.  The  life  of,  the  strong- 
est evidence  of  his  gospel,  162.  The 
character  of,  163.  The  proof  of  his  son- 
ship,  163,  l(i4.  Majestic  claims  of,  164. 
Dignity  of,  164.  105.  The  light  of  the 
world,  166.  Character  of  the  teachings 
of,  168.  The  relations  of,  to  the  race, 
169.  To  the  churcli,  170.  The  end  of 
his  coming  to  make  men  real  friends, 
173.  Unites  human  nature  witli  the  di- 
vine, 238.  To  bring  in  a  divine  life,  308. 
To  deliver  the  world  from  moral  evil,  182. 
The  authorized  teacher  of  mankind,  194. 
Different  views  of  his  nature  and  rank 
held  by  Unitarians,  196.  Not  a  believer 
in  the  simple  humanity  of,  197 ;  nor  dis- 
tressed by  Trinitarian  views,  444.  Ac- 
cording to  Trinitarian  view,  210.  Ac- 
cording to  Unitarian  view,  210.  Accord- 
ing to  the  Bible  News,  212.  How 
atiirmed  by  the  Scriptures  to  be  Son  of 
God,  213.  Unites  human  nature  with  the 
divine,  238.  The  spirit  of,  251.  Love  of, 
for  man,  251.  A  mediator,  253.  Sent 
by  God,  310.  That  he  is  God,  opposed 
to  the  principle  of  Christian  belief,  310. 
The  glor}'  of,  311.  Not  a  inere  man, 
311.  The  character  of,  to  be  unfolded 
by  the  minister,  377.  A  manifestation 
of  man's  glory,  439.  The  moral  perfection 
of,  his  great  peculiarity,  444.  Understood 
himself,  447.  The  separation  of  his  mind 
from  his  surroundings,  448.  A  mere  fable 
without  miracles,  449.  The  perfect  char- 
acter of,  the  great  miracle,  450.  Reliance 
on  the  authority  of,  natural,  451.  A  being 
of  moral  perfection,  452. 

Christian,  meaning  of  the  word,  69.  Es- 
sential difference  between  Orthodox  and 
Liberal,  220.     Duties  of  the  Liberal,  221. 

Christian  Disciple,  what  is  proposed  in, 
188.  Contributor  to,  410.  Merged  in 
the  Christian    Examiner,  410. 

Christian  Examiner,  410.  His  essays  in, 
410. 

Christianity,  requires  an  active  life,  69. 
Its  great  roots  love  to  God  and  man,  70. 
Its  evidence  a  growing  evidence,  163.  Its 
universality  a  proof  of  its  divine  origin, 
166.  True,  the  best  defence  of  a  nation, 
177.  A  spiritual  svstem,  183.  Views  of 
the  true  spirit  of,  189,  190,  239.  Liberal, 
218.  The  highest  interest  of  human  be- 
ings, 219.  Its  great  end  to  exalt  the 
human  character,  250.  Pure,  421.  In- 
jured by  narrow  views  of  exhibiting  it, 


429.  A  religion  of  a  liberal  spirit,  430. 
Essential,  433.  Not  easily  set  forth  ia 
simplicity,  434.  Its  adaptation  to  man's 
spiritual  nature  an  evidence  of  its  divine 
origin,  444.  The  value  of  historical,  446 
Universal  love,  457.  In  its  relations  to 
society,  459,  463.  Fraternal  union  the 
spirit  of,  463.  Increasing  power  of  the 
spirit  of,  518,  519.  The  friend  of  the  mul- 
titude, 599.  The  power  of,  felt  at  the 
grave,  667.  Favors  unostentatious  liv- 
ing, 677. 

Christian  libertj',  216. 

Christian  Register,  incorrect  in  statement 
of  Dr.  Channing's  first  appearance  as  a 
preacher,  92. 

Christian  union,  215. 

Christian  virtue,  443. 

Church  of  Christ,  signification  of  the,  171. 
Scripture  use  of  the  term,  223.  Object 
of  the  institution  of,  223.  Character  of 
the  union  between  churches,  224.  His 
idea  of  the  true,  436. 

Circumstances,  decided  by  man  for  himself, 
62. 

Citizens,  their  right  to  assemble  to  defend 
their  rights,  553. 

Clarke.  l3r.  Samuel,  a  representative  of 
Liberal  Christian  views,  212.  His  belief 
concerning  God,  212. 

Clay,  Henry,  open  letter  written  to,  on  an- 
nexation of  Texas,  548.  Points  of  objec- 
tion to  the  letter,  549. 

Clerical  office,  etfect  of  society's  reverence 
for  the,  670. 

Codman,  Mrs.  Catherine,  letter  to,  on  the 
approaching  death  of  a  friend,  612.  Her 
character,  614. 

Codman,  Rev.  John,  sermon  at  ordination 
of,  136. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  T.,  letter  of,  to  Allston 
about  Channing,  343. 

Colleague,  vote  of  the  Society  in  favor  of  a, 
.391.  Replvof  Dr.  Channing  to  the  vote, 
391.  The 'advantages  of  a,  391.  E.  S. 
Gannett  settled  as,  392. 

College  life  of  Channing,  22-40. 

College  societies,  value  of,  bv  .Judge  White, 
28.     In  Harvard  College,"27-29. 

College  studies,  need  of  connecting  religious 
and  moral  influences  with.  294. 

Colonization  Society,  powerless  to  redeem 
the  United  States,  526.  Its  legitimate 
objects,  571.  Objections  to,  572.  Future 
of,  572. 

Combe,  George,  letter  to,  on  his  Constitu- 
tion of  Man,  440.  Letter  to,  442;  on  evils 
of  government,  585  ;  on  repudiation,  589; 
on  the  character  of  the  American  people, 
593,  594;  on  his  sketches  of  German 
character,  603. 

Commerce,  the  morals  of,  586. 

Common  schools,  Channing's  interest  in, 
499. 

Community  life,  its  difficulties,  512.  Its 
advantages,  513. 

Concealment  of  opinions  charged  against 


708 


INDEX. 


Liberal  ministers  in  the  Panoplist,  195; 
bv  Dr.  Worcester,  206.  Reply  to  the 
charge,  l'J7,  2UG. 

Contick'uce  in  God,  taught  by  the  fall  of 
Bonaparte,  27!i. 

Congregationalism,  principle  of,  223.  Se- 
curity of  Cliristian  freedom,  224. 

Congress,  weakness  of  the  Continental,  582. 
Fully  and  ignorance  of,  585. 

Connecticut  Kiver,  contrasted  with  the 
White,  329. 

Conscience,  liberty  of,  217.  The  supreme 
power  in  man,  438. 

Conscientiousness,  the  source  of  his  serious- 
ness of  manner,  99.  In  his  discharge  of 
pastoral  duties.  118-120.  Its  effect  on  the 
discharge  of  his  duties,  141.  In  relation 
to  slavery,  528.  534. 

Constitution,  Federal,  adoption  of,  by 
Rhode  Island,  146.  The  principles  of 
the  Republic  belied  by  its  compromises, 
525. 

Constitution  of  Man,  views  of  the  book,  in 
a  letter  to  Geo.  Combe,  440.  Success  of 
the  book,  442. 

Controversy,  aversion  to,  on  his  part,  and 
on  that  of  other  preachers  of  liis  time, 
198,  225.  Mischiefs  of  the  Trinitarian, 
200. 

Conversion,  74.  Use  of  the  technical  ex- 
pression, 75.     His  life  a  process  of,  75. 

Corporal  Punishment,  Vogel  on,  11.  His 
indignation  against,  11.  Amusing  an- 
ecdote illustrating  its  Heedlessness,  53. 

Coultas,  Harland,  letter  to,  on  inquiry, 
4.35. 

Courtesy,  importance  of,  513.  Frequent 
lack  of,  in  Congress,  540;  its  bad  effect 
on  the  country,  541. 

Cumberhmd,  336. 

Currency,  evils  of  inflated,  587,  588. 


Dana,  Chief  Justice,  his  house  Channing's 
home  in  college,  29. 

Davis,  Thomas,'  death  of,  121. 

Davis,  .ludge,  interest  of,  in  Berry-Street 
Vestrv,  2!I7.  Hesolutions  bv,  on  Chan- 
ning's death,  098. 

Dawes,  .Judge,  description  of  Wm.  Chan- 
ning  as  a  lawyer,  6. 

Death,  its  tc;u  h'iugs,  619. 

Dcgeraudo,  Iiaron,  letter  to,  on  religion  in 
l-'rance,  432. 

De  Gilder,  Rachel,  a  family  servant,  14. 
Intiuence  of  her  character  on  Channing, 
14. 

Deism  of  certain  popular  writers,  57. 

Democratic  party,  37.  Prominent  in  Vir- 
ginia, 47. 

Departed,  associations  with  the,  632. 

Despotism,  sources  of  its  strength,  576.  Of 
party,  583. 

Dewey,  Orville,  letter  to,  on  defects  in  the 
ministry.  367.  On  ("liamiing  as  a  preacli- 
er,  384,  385;  on  liis  manner,  670;  and 
character,  072      Letter  to,  on  the  min- 


istry, 404;  on  his  review  of  Channing's 
works,  406 ;  on  Wordsworth  and  Cole- 
ridge, 417;  on  the  narrowing  effect  of 
money-getting,  509;  on  an  intellectual 
laborer's  disappointment,  041. 

Dexter  Lecturer,  Buckminster  the  first, 
291.     Channing  his  successor,  291. 

Differences  between  Trinitarians  and  Uni- 
tarians often  verbal,  210.  More  in  sound 
than  idea,  214. 

Discipline,  purpose  of,  155. 

Disinterestedness,  Dr.  Hopkins's  theory  of, 
80. 

Doctrines,  the  greatest  disputes  about,  have 
not  related  to  their  truth,  200.  False, 
need  firm  resistance,  424. 

Domestic  service,  679. 

Domestic  ties,  breaking  of  his,  313.  For- 
mation of  new,  319. 

Don  Quixote,  his  opinion  of,  625. 

Dressing  plainly,  reasons  for,  078. 

Duchess,  a  colored  slave,  7. 

Dudleian  Lecture,  on  the  Evidences  of  Re- 
vealed Religion,  300. 

Duelling,  an  outrage  on  institutions,  faith, 
and  manners,  470. 


Earnestness,  power  of,  in  a  minister,  138, 
366.     Genuine,  rarely  seen,  139. 

Eddy,  a  Baptist  of  Newport,  14.  After- 
wards a  Unitarian,  14. 

Education,  value  of  a  liberal,  40.  Power 
of,  to  substitute  benevolence  for  selfish- 
ness, 64.  The  nobleness  of  human  facul- 
ties an  argument  for,  261.  National,  a 
means  of  elevating  the  laboring  classes, 
484.  True,  487.  Of  the  yie.oph,  488. 
Is  to  unfold  men's  faculties,  488.  The  de- 
mand for  better,  493.  The  great  objects 
of,  494.  Mercantile,  495.  True  character 
of,  502.  Universal,  more  needed  than 
universal  suffrage,  598.  Of  children,  his 
ideas  on  the,  655-657.  Agreement  of  his 
views  on,  with  Mrs.  Hamilton's,  656. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  80.  Indebted  to  Hop- 
kins for  his  later  views  of  religion,  80. 
Energy  of  his  intellect,  87. 

Ellery,  Lucy,  daughter  of  Wm.  Ellery, 
wife  of  Wm.  Channing,  mother  of  lir. 
Channing,  4.  Character  of,  9.  His  de- 
scription of,  10.  See  Channing,  Jlrs. 
Wm. 

Ellery,  William,  grandfather  of  Channing, 
a  lawyer,  1.  Delegate  from  Rhode  Isl- 
and t()  Continental  Congress,  2.  Signer 
of  Declaration  of  Independence,  2. 
Member  of  Congress,  2.  ("haracter  of, 
2,3.  Collector  "of  Newport,  3.  Letter 
to  Channing  on  his  father's  death,  20. 
Letter  on  Godwin's  Political  .luslice, 
67.  Letter  to,  on  his  own  ill-lualtli,  90. 
Reputed  a  llopUinsian,  91.  Letter  to, 
183,  184.  Letter  to,  on  his  sister's  mar- 
riage, 314. 

Elo(iU('uce,  his  youthful,  26;  stimulated  by 
debates  of  Virginia  legislature,  62.    True 


INDEX. 


709 


pulpit,  -30:3.  False,  304.  True,  not  in 
stvie  but  ill  conviction,  306.  In  love  of 
trtitli,  303. 

Embargo,  the  period  of  the,  134. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  classmate  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ninji:,  25. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  lectures  of,  684. 

Emotions,  tendency  of,  to  e.Khaust  them- 
selves a  wise  provision  of  Providence,  632. 

England,  344.  Relations  with,  5!J7.  Dis- 
grace of  the  opium  trafKc  to,  597.  Ser- 
vices of,  to  human  improvement,  600. 

Entluisiasm,  71.  Development  of  youth- 
ful, 574. 

Error,  opposition  to,  424. 

Evil,  origin  of,  455.  Many  forms  of  hu- 
man, the  souri'e  of  the  interest  and  dig- 
nity of  life,  455.  The  impression  of  its 
greater  prevalence  due  to  publicity,  517. 
Adheres  to  all  institutions,  584.  Has  a 
work  to  do  for  man,  621). 

E.xchanges,  the  freedom  of  his,  122. 

E.xclusion  from  the  churcli,  201. 

Executive  patronage,  582.  Dangerous  to 
the  balance  of  the  Constitution,  583. 


Faith,  of  happiness,  not  the  surest,  102. 
Needed  in  prayer,  382.  Sustaining 
power  of,  622. 

Familv,  his  care  of  his,  111.  Love  for  his, 
634." 

Fanaticism,  often  accompanies  a  good 
cause,  533. 

Faneuil  Hail,  refused  for  a  meeting  on 
Lovejoj-'s  death,  552.  Address  to  citi- 
zens on  the  refusal,  553.  Public  meeting 
to  consider  the  refusal,  556.  Meeting 
ill,  on  Lovejoy's  death,  557.  Description 
of  the  meeting.  561-6i)3. 

Fashion,  its  restrii  tions,  346. 

Federalism,  47,  48,  134.  Influence  of,  on 
his  political  opiuious,  581. 

Federalist  party,  possessors  of  wealth,  tal- 
ent, and  influence,  35.  Chaiining  devoted 
to  it,  47.  Opposed  to  negotiations  with 
France,  51.  Ihoroughlv  iu  svmpathv 
with  it,  134. 

Federal  Street  Society,  invites  Channing 
to  be  pastor,  93.  He  accepts  the  invita- 
tion, !)5.  Enlarges,  116.  New  church 
erected  for,  116.  Vote  of,  releasing  him 
from  service  to  go  abroad,  328.  Services 
in  the  church  when  lie  ])ivaches,  .'iSf?. 
Votes  to  settle  a  coileague,  •i!)!.  K/.ra 
Stiles  (j:iniiett  (U'daiued  associate  pastor, 
392.  Votes  and  correspondence  in  rela- 
tion to  C'lianniug's  relinquishment  of  his 
salary,  and  his  relations  to  the  society, 
394-401.  Iteply  of,  to  his  request  to  be 
relieved  from  his  public  fuiutious,  400. 
Formation  of  an  association  of  the  mem- 
bers of,  for  benevolent  purposes,  465. 
Relations  of,  to  antislavery  questions, 
570.  Resolutions  of,  on  Channiug's 
death,  698.  Funeral  services  at  church 
of,  098,  69'J. 


Fenelon,  his  ideal  of  a  divine,  GO.  Chati- 
ning's  desire  to  be  such,  74.  His  essay 
ou,'^411. 

Ferguson,  Adam,  on  civil  society,  33. 
Useful  in  guiding  his  thought,  87.' 

Florence,  345.     Letter  from,  353. 

Follen,  Charles,  letter  to,  on  the  ministry, 
366.  Letter  to,  on  a  workiugmen's  con- 
gregation, 482.  Petitioner  for  Knee- 
land's  pardon,  504.  Letter  to,  on  the 
prospects  of  the  age,  516;  on  a  new 
newspaper,  516;  on  Abolitionism,  530; 
on  the  arrangement  of  his  book  on  Slav- 
ery, 538  ;  on  justice  to  slaveholders,  543  ; 
oil  the  relation  of  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity to  antislavery,  546;  on  slavery 
agitation  in  (,'ongress,  547;  on  his  letter 
to  Clay,  548;  on  the  difliciilties  of  the 
Abolitionists,  564,  571.  His  growth  as 
a  reformer,  574.  Interest  in  Uevolutioa 
of  1830,  600.  Distinguished  by  his  will, 
603.  Letter  to,  on  the  reciprocal  influence 
of  the  Old  World  and  the  New,  604. 
Friendship  with,  608.  Character,  008, 
62  i.  Reception  of  the  news  of  the  death 
ot;  675. 

Follen,  Mrs.  E.  L.,  letter  to,  573;  on  Lenox, 
691;  on  her  husband,  608;  on  special 
providences,  627  ;  on  the  evils  of  life,  629. 

France,  controversy  between,  and  United 
States,  34.  Desperate  condition  of  the 
republic  in,  48.  Military  despotism  of, 
174.  Evils  of  an  alliance  with,  181. 
Channing  passes  through,  344.  Her 
moral  power  over  the  world,  430.  Re- 
ligion in,  431,  432.  See  "Revolution, 
French." 

Free  inquirers,  503. 

Free  Institutions,  danger  of,  in  their  capa- 
city to  be  abused,  258.  Unfaithfulness 
to,  in  America,  507.  The  foundation  of, 
575.  All  the  evil  in  the  United  States 
not  to  be  charged  to,  592. 

Free  speech,  sympathy  with,  in  case  of 
Parker,  453;  of  Abner  Kneiland,  503; 
of  John  Pierpont,  507,  508.  Funda- 
mental idea  of,  560.  Defence  of,  in 
word  and  by  the  press,  566,  567.  In 
what  it  mav  be  exercised.  672. 

Future  life,  237.     Ideas  of  the,  441. 


Gannett,  Ezra  Stiles,  ordained  associate 
pastor  with  Channing,  392.  Testimony 
of,  to  him,  393.  (Jhanning's  testimony 
to  the  uiitiriiig  fidelity  of,  393.  Ill-health 
of,  398.  Becomes  the  active  pastor,  401. 
Eulogy  of,  on  Channing,  699. 

Garrison,  Wm.  Lloyd,  a  printer,  publisher 
of  the  "Genius  of  Emancipation  "  and 
of  the  "  Liberator,"  521.  ( 'oad  jutors  of, 
526.     Seized  by  a  mob,  538,  569. 

Generosity,  instances  of  his  personal.  111, 
113,  129,  130,  295,  675;  to  the  members 
of  his  family,  316,  670,  677. 

Geneva,  letter  from,  344. 

German  character,  603. 


710 


INDEX. 


Gerry,  Elbridge,  48,  49. 

Ghent,  sermon  on  the  Treaty  of,  280. 

Gibbs,  Mrs.,  mother-in-law  of  Channing, 
319.     Cliaracter  of,  :i2(). 

Gibbs,  Ruth,  marries  Channing,  319. 

Glory  of  a  state,  the  development  of  hu- 
man nature,  266. 

God,  our  Father,  143,  155.  The  happiness 
of  being  loved  by,  147.  Blessedness  of 
access  to,  148.  Unworthy  views  of,  the 
spring  of  corruption  in  religion,  I'JO. 
Goodness  of,  one  of  the  last  lessons 
learned,  190.  Scriptural  ideas  of,  210. 
Dr.  Samuel  Clarke's  ideas  of  the  Su- 
preme, 212.  Walking  with,  227.  Re- 
semblance to,  228.  As  a  parent,  374. 
Moral  purposes  of,  towards  man,  376. 
As  revealed  in  nature  and  the  uni- 
verse, 439.  Relations  of,  with  man,  444. 
Kneeland  prosecuted  for  denial  of,  503. 
To  be  judged  by  His  universal  laws  rather 
than  by  "particular  dispensations,  628. 
The  knowledge  of,  and  the  love  of,  647. 

Godwin,  William,  his  Caleb  Williams,  57. 
Political  justice,  67. 

Goethe,  his  Correspondence  with  a  Child, 
625. 

Goodier.  character  of,  610. 

Gospel,  the  truths  of  the,  neglected  by  man- 
kind, 70.  Its  fitness  for  a  universal  reli- 
gion, 167.     The  demands  of  the,  251. 

Government,  duty  of  the  community  to  pro- 
vide itself  with  the  best,  581.  Channing 
a  believer  in  popular,  582.  The  Federal, 
582.    The  relations  of  the  States  in,  582. 

Grandparents,  1,  4. 

Grassmere  Water,  338-340.     Village,  342. 

Green  Mountains.  331. 

Griffin,  Rev.  Edward  D.,  Pastor  of  Park 
Street  Church,  272. 

Grimsel,  345. 

Guild,  Benj.,  328. 


Harit.s  as  a  student,  33,  34.  In  his  course 
of  reading,  55.  In  his  early  ministry,  99. 
During  his  ministrv,  681.  As  a  writer, 
409,  664,  681,  682.  " 

Hallett,  Benj.  F.,  559. 

Happiness  of  being  loved  by  God,  147. 
Of  a  religious  'life,  232.  True,  243. 
Only  in  goodness,  250. 

Hardships,  the  blessings  of,  156.  Prove 
and  exalt  human  character,  157. 

Hartford,  Convention  at,  280. 

Harvard  College,  enters  as  Freshman  at,  21. 
Life  at,  from  1794-98,  22-42.  Letter  of 
Judge  Story  on,  22.  Channing  on  the 
intellectual  condition  of,  at  that  time,  30  ; 
Judge  White  on,  30,  31.  Influence  of 
political  questions  on  the  students,  35. 
Address  by  a  committee  of  students  to 
President  John  Adams,  35.  Faculty  on 
the  Federal  side,  37.  ( 'banning  a  member 
of  the  (Corporation,  293.  Improvements 
suggested  bj-  him  in  the  system  of  educa- 
tion in,  497,  498. 


Hastv-Pudding  Club,  origin  of,  bv  Judge 
White,  29.  ' 

Hazard,  Rowland  G.,  letter  to,  on  the 
Colonization  Society,  57.  F.xtract  from 
his  Essav  on  Channing,  683. 

Heaven,  happiness  of,  152,  153,  2-32.  Er- 
roneous views  of,  233.  Its  inhabitants 
not  necessarily  perfect,  234.  Will  not 
change,  but  improve  our  nature,  235. 
A  progressive  state,  235,  236.  The  king- 
dovn  of.  a  reign  of  benevolence,  256. 

Helm's  Crag,  340. 

Hemans,  Mrs.  Felicia,  letters  to,  406,  415. 
Character  of  her  works,  415. 

Heresy,  what  it  is,  202.  Campbell's  dis- 
sertation on,  202. 

Hicks,  Elias,  448. 

Higginson,  Stephen,  Jr.,  97. 

Highest  classes,  degraded  condition  of  the, 
509.  SelHshly  tmiid,  519.  Continually 
filled  from  the  lower,  679. 

Hillard,  George  S.,  speaks  in  Faneuil  Hall 
on  Lovejoy's  death,  562.  Clerk  of  Fed- 
eral Street  Society,  699.  Conversation 
with,  on  the  "Three  Days  "  in  Paris,  601. 

Hitchcock,  Dr.,  character  of,  8. 

Holiness,  growth  in,  149.  Harmony  of, 
151.  Taught  as  a  blessing  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, 250. 

Hoi  lis  Street  Society,  its  controversy  with 
John  Pierpont,  507,  508. 

Holmes,  Dr.  Abiel,  minister  of  First  Church 
in  Cambridge,  90.  A  moderate  Cal- 
vinist,  90.  At  Mr.  Chanuing's  ordina- 
tion, 96. 

Home  life.  111,  6.34-697. 

Homesickness,  description  of,  54. 

Honesty  of  mind,  in  proportion  to  earnest- 
ness of  inquiry,  157.  The  distinction  of 
a  good  and  great  man,  159. 

Hopkins,  Dr.,  14.  His  denunciations  of 
slavery,  14,  15.  Character  and  descrip- 
tion of  his  manner  by  Channing,  15, 
80,84.  His  theorv  of  disinterestedness, 
80.  His  Hdelity  to  his  doctrine,  81.  Il- 
lustrations of  his  generosity,  81.  His 
views  of  divine  agency  irreconcilable 
with  human  freedom,  81.  Style  as  a 
preacher,  81,  82.  An  intense  student, 
82.  Facetious,  82.  Not  an  optimist,  82. 
A  strong  Federalist,  83.  A  man  of  hon- 
esty, 83.  Impatient  of  o]iposition  as  he 
grew  older,  83.     His  last  words,  83. 

Hopkinsian,  not  a,  92. 

Humanity,  his  interest  in,  131-133. 

Hmnan  liature,  the  principle  of  religion  in, 
154.  A  duty  to  estimate  it  highly,  100. 
Its  worth  attested,  160.  Its  sacr'edness 
attested  by  Scripture  and  acquaintance 
with  men,  161.  Its  virtues  and  e.Kcellences 
displayed,  163.  Its  greatness  revealed 
by  Jesus  Christ,  249.  '  The  great  capaci- 
ties of,  238.  His  views  of,  during  the 
Unitarian  controversy,  274.  Like  the 
divine,  377.  As  varied  as  external 
nature,  437.  Just  views  of,  important 
to  the  understanding  of  nature,  4J38. 


INDEX. 


711 


Humilitv,  true,  159.  Demands  a  high  esti- 
mate of  our  Tiatiirc,  161.  The  spirit  of, 
needed  in  the  ministry,  1381. 

Husbands  and  wives,  mutual  duties  of, 
••522. 

Huteheson,  Francis,  influence  of,  33.  Phi- 
losophy of,  80.  Useful  in  determining  his 
thoughts,  87. 


Ill-health,  at  Richmond,  53,  76,  89.  In- 
stances of,  115,  116.  His  power  dimin- 
ished by,  115.  Continuance  of,  327. 
Renders" him  unable  to  discharge  his  full 
work,  389,  034,  635,  636. 

Imagination,  the  function  of,  in  religion, 
446. 

Immigrants,  methods  for  aiding,  132. 

Immortality,  indicated  by  man's  capacities 
and  faculties,  244;  by  his  desire  of  ac- 
quaintance with  God,"  245;  by  his  moral 
sensibility,  245;  by  his  love  of  the  in- 
finite, 246;  by  iiis  capacity  of  attaining 
greatness  of  "character,  246 ;  in  frequent 
triumphs  over  death,  247 ;  in  the  con- 
stant progress  to  perfection,  248.  The 
proof  of,  dependent  on  revelatian  rather 
than  nature,  617.  Affection  a  ground  of, 
to  many,  628.  His  own  faith  in,  rests 
on  human  excellence,  628.  Grows  more 
real  to  him  with  age,  651. 

Independence  (of  the  world),  necessary  to 
a  politician,  54. 

Industry  and  property,  his  interest  in  es- 
tablishing just  relations  between,  509- 
514. 

Infallibility,  inconsistency  of  Protestants 
in  claiming,  218.  Spirit  of,  the  worst 
evil  of  Popery,  578. 

Inquiry,  the  aim  of  free,  182.  Its  impor- 
tance, 193.  Its  influence,  193.  Theologi- 
cal, not  attractive  to  the  people,  367. 

Inspiration  of  a  writer,  the  reward  of  toil, 
682. 

Institute  of  1770,  27. 

Intemperance  to  be  prevented  by  better 
physical  education,  474.  By  intellectual 
im"provemenl,  475.  Admits  of  perfect 
cure,  476. 

Intolerance  illustrated  in  Dr.  Worcester's 
letter,  211. 

Investigator,  The,  organ  of  Free  Inquirers, 
503.  ' 

Inward  struggles,  revealed  in  his  preach- 
ing, 141.  In  regard  to  the  dogmas  in 
which  he  was  educated,  182. 


Jacobins,  37.  Hostility  of,  to  the  Presi- 
dent, 51. 

James  Iliver,  description  of  scenery  on  its 
banks,  57. 

Jay,  John,  at  Newport,  13. 

Jenyns,  Soame,  irrefutable  arguments  of, 
66. 

Jesus.     See  Christ. 

Jouffroy,  on  Dr.  Price's  Dissertations,  34. 


Jungfrau,  345. 
Juniata,  687. 

Justice,  an  essential  attribute  of  God,  145. 
Divine,  one  with  benevolence,  225. 


KiRKLAND,  John  T.,  on  Channing  and 
Buckminster,  116.  Style  of  tlie  preach- 
ing of,  122.  Presitient  of  Harvard 
University,  123.  Sanctions  Channing's 
political  preaching,  134. 

Kneeland,  Abner,  case  of,  50-3-507.  Prose- 
cution of,  503.  Sentence,  504.  Petition 
for  the  pardon  of,  504,  505. 


Laboring  Classes.   See  "Workingmen." 

Lafavette,  600. 

Lakes,  the  English,  337. 

Lancaster,  letter  from,  336.  Castle  of, 
336. 

Language,  importance  of  strictness  in 
using,  190. 

Law,  Wm.,  mystic  piety  of,  87. 

Laws  in  a  free  country  the  voice  of  the 
people,  560. 

Lectures,  suitable  subjects  for  courses  of, 
120. 

Lee,  Mrs.  George,  account  by,  of  Chan- 
ning's religious  meetings,  2i)9.  Letter 
to,  on  her  mother's  death,  631;  on 
bereavement,  632. 

Legislatures,  their  ignorance  of  finance,  587. 
Prodigality  and  i-ecklessness  of,  588. 

Lenox,  a  summer  in,  689,  690,  691.  The 
region  about,  692. 

Lexington,  Normal  School  at,  500,  501. 

Liljeral  Christians,  meaning  of  the  term, 
195.     Objections  to  assuming  it.  195. 

Liberator,  The,  established  by  Garrison, 
621.  Its  struggles,  525.  Letter  in,  to  the 
Abolitionists,  564. 

Liberty,  the  great  social  good,  347.  The 
valiie  of,  537.  Rests  ou  a  free  press, 
595.  Not  the  growth  of  violence,  596. 
To  be  diffused  by  the  spirit  of  love,  596. 
"Always  young  for,"  601. 

Life,  the  "purpose  of,  142.  "Value  of  its 
discipline,  156.  Its  value  to  be  esti- 
mated by  the  capacity  of  action  it  gives, 
641.  A  gift  of  co"nstantly  increasing 
value,  650.     His  love  of  life.  652. 

Literary  pursuits  in  Richmond,  55. 

Liverpool,  336. 

Locke,  John,  34.   Price  a  corrective  of,  34. 

London,  letter  from,  on  his  chihlrcn,  349. 

Loneliness  while  a  tutor  at  Richmoiul,  73. 

Loring,  Ellis  Gray,  a  friend  of  freedom, 
504.  Author  ofa  petition  for  Kneeland's 
pardon,  504.  Letter  to,  on  Kneeland's 
case,  .506. 

Loughrigg,  338. 

Love,  tlie  harmonizing  principle  of  the  uni- 
verse, 143.  Of  tiod,  a  rational  senti- 
ment, 146;  and  a  cheerful  principle, 
147.  Christ  a  gift  of  God's,  161.  Of 
truth  consistent"  with  the    reception    of 


712 


INDEX. 


errors,  208.  The  fountain  of  spiritual 
life,  ;i70. 

Lovejoy,  Elijah  P.,  death  of,  551.  Faneuil 
Hall  refused  for  a  meeting;  on,  552.  Com- 
ments on  the  murder  of,  555 ;  Clianning's 
address  on,  557.     Resolutions  on,  559. 

Lyceum,  the,  a  promise  of  something  better, 
proves  intellectual  life,  498. 


Magee,  Wm.  (Bishop  of  Raphoe),  Car- 
penter's reply  to,  27-J. 

Man,  the  divinity  in  the  nature  of,  63. 
Capacities  of,  for  goodness,  239.  The 
sublime  destiny  of,  247.  Christ's  love 
for,  251.  Dignity  of  the  nature  of,  205. 
Greatness  of  the  destiny  of,  377.  The 
child  ot  God,  439.  Assertion  of  the 
worth  of,  the  strength  of  antislavery, 
568.  Channing's  desire  for  the  elevation 
of,  679. 

Mann,  Horace,  letter  to,  on  education,  499. 
Secretary  of  Mass.  Board  of  Education, 
590. 

Manners  as  a  student,  26.  As  a  minister, 
98,  130.  Due  to  conscientiousness,  99. 
As  a  preacher,  117. 

Manual  labor,  schools  for,  the  true  manner 
of  educating  the  laborer,  489. 

Marriage,  his,  319.  Views  of  the  relation, 
320.     Its  indissolubleness,  321. 

Marshall,  John,  Ciiief  Justice,  44.  Char- 
acter of,  51.    Answers  to  a  Freeholder,  51. 

Martiiieau,  Harriet,  letter  to,  435.  An- 
ecdote by,  509.  Letter  to,  on  her  novel 
"The  Hour  and  the  Man,"  572.  Crit- 
icism of  her  travels  in  America,  591. 
Letter  to,  oti  England,  599 ;  on  West- 
minster Review,  605;  on  hopefulness, 
606.  Letters  of  farewell  to,  617,  618. 
Letter  to,  on  the  estimate  of  life,  641 : 
on  growth  of  mind,  641 ;  on  Penrisvl- 
vania,  (i87.  Norwegian  tale  bv,  688,  089. 
"Crofton  Boys,"  by.  088.  689^ 

Martineaii,  Rev.  James,  lectures  of,  435. 
Letters  to,  435,  447.  Letter  to,  on  mira- 
cles, 454;  on  French  Revolution,  603. 
I'aper  bv,  on  live  points  of  Calvinism, 
689. 

May,  Rev.  Samuel  .Joseph,  Character  of, 
528.  Letter  of,  on  Dr.  Channing's  in- 
tei'est  in  antislavery,  528-530.  An  Abo- 
litionist, 528.  x\gent  of  the  Ant.islaverv 
Society,  530,  569." 

McKcan,  Joi-ei)h,  minister  at  ^lilton,  70. 
Lcller  to,  on  religions  zeal,  71. 

M'Duliie,  Gov.,  liieory  of,  that  slavery  is 
the  salety  of  property  at  the  North,  542. 

Meal,  .labcz,  tribute  of,  to  Dr.  Channing, 
485. 

Mediator,  Christ  an  ever-living,  253-256. 

Meditation,  value  of,  to  personal  character, 
402.  To  protitable  conversation,  402. 
The  religion  ot,  not  the  highest  form,  639, 
642.     The  li  c  ot  the  soul',  645. 

Meditations,  91).  103,  104,  105,  112,  118. 
On  his  birthday,  120.     On  a  new  year, 


126.  On  the  death  of  his  brother,  316; 
sister,  318;  child,  3.50;  mother,  667.  On 
God  and  Christ,  646. 

Mendon  Community,  454. 

Mercy  an  essential  attribute  of  God,  144. 

Methodism,  Channing  opposed  to  its  spirit 
of  domination,  427.  The  belief  that  its 
day  is  drawing  to  a  close,  436. 

Milton,  essay  on,  411. 

Mind,  source  of  maturitv  of,  641. 

Minister,  the  duties  of  a,  42,  402.  Useful- 
ness of,  to  society,  74.  Channing  as  a, 
98.  The  needs  of,  in  respect  to  personal 
character,  101.  Duties  of,  in  regard  to 
politics,  134.  "The  Good,"  a  sermon, 
130.  Character  of  a  good,  137-139.  De- 
liciencies  of  nian}-,  140.  True  spirit  for 
the,  302.  Mind  of,  should  be  habitually 
under  religious  influences,  307.  Objects  to 
be  sought  by.  307.  Private  character  of, 
makes  the  influence  of  Christianity,  360. 
Responsibility  of,  362.  Need  of  com- 
munication with  intelligent  laymen,  368. 
Moral  greatness  needed  by,  369.  The 
true  authorit}'  of,  370.  Duty  of,  in  the 
reproof  of  evil,  373.  In  the  quickening 
of  his  own  spirit,  373.  Love  for  man  as 
man,  the  true  spirit  of,  376.  Rousing 
moral  principle  the  success  of,  378. 
The  relative  rank  of  the  duties  of,  402. 
A  teacher,  a  student,  402.  Danger  of 
being  a  gossip,  403.  Lost  by  yielding  to 
the  temptation  to  be  agreeable  to  his 
hearers,  403.  Consolation  of,  when  he 
sees   no  visible  result  of  his  labors.  612. 

Ministry,  responsibility  of  the,  99.  LVeful- 
ness  in,  how  to  be  developed,  100.  Rules 
for  increasing  his  own  usefulness  in,  118. 
His  gradual  growth  through  his,  136. 
Mechanical  sluggishness  the  great  dan- 
ger of,  305.  The  purpose  of,  300,  307, 
304.  His  review  of  his,  310,  420.  In- 
creased sense  of  the  importance  of  the, 
300.  His  own  aim  in  the,  3()5.  Estimate 
of  the  professiiu  of  the,  366.  Success  ill 
the,  depends  on  heartiness,  366.  Priv- 
ileges of  the,  372.  His  enthusiasm  in 
and  desire  to  increase  the,  380.  A  spirit 
of  martyrdom  needtui  to,  381. 

Ministry  at  Large,  origin  of,  4(i5.  Its  pur- 
pose, 477.  Need  of  its  spirit  to  Uiiitari- 
anism,  479-481. 

Miracles  of  Christ,  in  harmony  with  and 
conlirm  his  truth,  440;  aiul  his  char- 
acter, 450.  .Adapted  to  man's  nuu-al 
wants,  447.  The  rejection  ot,  the  rejec- 
tion of  Christ,  449.  The  religion  and 
character  of  Christ  the  great  evidence  of^ 
451.  How  Christ  is  a  moral  miracle, 
4.52.  No  inconsister.cy  between,  and  the 
spiritiuil  basis  of  Christianity,  454. 

Mis-iouri  ('ompromise,  a  surrender  to  slave- 
holding  politicians.  52(!. 

Mobs,  evils  of  their  toleration  by  the  re- 
spectable, 533.  In  behalf  of  slavery,  in  a 
free  nation,  show  a  low  public  sentiment, 
533.      Deserving  reprobation,  533,   576. 


INDEX. 


713 


The  spirit  of,  560.  Convent,  at  Charles- 
town,  575,  577.  The  perils  of,  577.  The 
lessons  of,  579. 

Moore,  Thomas,  objections  to  his  doctrine 
about  genius,  414. 

Morality,  union  of,  with  piety,  231.  Flows 
from  religion,  438. 

Moral  nature,  the  voice  of  God,  442. 

Jloral  purpose,  force  of,  241. 

Morals,  improvement  of,  among  young 
men  in  Boston.  4'J2.  Of  laborers'  and 
mechanics'  sons  and  apprentices  growing 
worse,  403.  Suggestions  for  the  improve- 
ment of,  493. 

Motiier's  love,  a,  G32,  6G7. 

Mount  Auburn,  90.     Burial  at,  700. 

Mt.  Benedict,  sermon  on  the  destruction  of 
the  convent  on,  575. 

Music,  the  power  of,  625. 


Naples,  345. 

Nature,  the  influence  of,  688.  General 
ignorance  of  the  power  of,  693.  The 
mode  of  teaching  of,  694.  Continuance 
of  the  beautv  of,  amid  human  changes,  a 
proof  of  immortalitv,  617.  His  love  of, 
57.  58,  649,  650. 

Nece.ssity,  philosophical,  Martineau's  pro- 
test against,  447. 

Nelson,  victory  of,  51. 

New  Hampshire,  grandeur  of  its  moun- 
tains, 330. 

New  London,  19,  20.  Revival  in,  21. 
His  feelings  towards,  21. 

Newport,  birthplace  of  Channing,  1.  De- 
scription of  the  beach,  42,  79.  Descrip- 
tion of,  79.  Scenery  of,  332.  Changes 
in,  610,  634. 

New  York,  Unitarian  church  established, 
312.  Invites  Clianning  to  be  its  minis- 
ter, 312.  His  reply,  declining  the  invi- 
tation, 313.     Riots 'in,  531. 

Niagara  Falls,  liis  impressions  of,  686,  687. 

Nicliol's  "Architecture  of  the  Heavens," 
448,  628. 

Non-resistance,  not  a  right  principle,  466, 
467. 


Oakland,  his  life  at,  653,  663-665. 
Ocean,  life  on  the,  333.     The  restlessness 

of,  334.     After  a  gale,  335. 
Old  World,  the  influence  of,  in  the  New, 

604. 
Olney,  Miss  Ruth  P.,  letter  to,  on  Shelley, 

414;   on  the  idea  of  death,  440. 
Onion  River,  330. 
Opponents,  good-will  to,  must  not  be  lost 

in  diti'ercnce  of  opinion,  203.     Treatment 

of,  271   42i.     Requirements  from,  425. 
Opportunities  of  the  present  age  as  great 

as  of  tiie  past,  601. 
Oration  at  graduation,  38. 
Ordination  of  Channing,  96. 
Orthodoxy-,  the  error  of  those  who  oppose, 

308. 


Osgood,  Dr.,  pleased  with  Channing's  pul- 
pit appearance  and  service,  92.  Makes 
ordaining  praj'er  at  his  ordination,  96. 
Sanctions  his  political  preaching,  134. 

Ossipee  Mountain,  329. 

O'Sullivan,  John  L.,  letter  to,  on  war, 
469;  on  the  evils  of  party,  585. 

Owen,  his  social  svstem,  510.  Objections 
to,  510,  511. 


Panoplist,  reply  to  a  review  in,  194. 
Assertions  of  the  review,  195. 

Parentage  of  Clianning,  1-10. 

Paris,  344. 

Parish  Library,  the  usefulness  of  forming 
a,  296.         •  ^ 

Park,  Edwards  A.,  letter  to,  on  Dr.  Hop- 
kins, 80. 

Parker,  Theodore,  makes  truth  unnecessa- 
ril}'  repugnant  by  exaggerations,  449. 
Review  of  tlie  Discourse  of,  on  the  Tran- 
sient and  Permanent  in  Christianity,  449- 
451.  Sympathy  with  his  efforts  to  preach 
his  sincere  belief,  453. 

Party,  power  of,  in  the  United  States,  582. 
Danger  of,  making  government  the  mo- 
nopoly of  a  few,  583.  Government  not 
a  trustworthy  means  of  human  eleva- 
tion, 584.  Success  the  great  object  of, 
585. 

Pastoral  visiting,  value  of,  302,  402.  May 
be  a  dissipation,  402. 

Patten,  Dr.,  minister  of  Channing,  15. 
Reminiscences  of  Dr.  Hopkins,  b\',  81- 
83.  ^ 

Pauperism,  removal  of,  477.  Excluded  by 
slavery,  510. 

Peabody,  Miss  E.  P.,  letter  to,  on  John 
Woolman  and  Nichol's  "Architecture 
of  the  Heavens,"  448;  on  Theodore  Par- 
ker, 449;  on  clear  convictions,  451,  453; 
on  education,  502. 

Peabody,  Mary  T.,  letter  to,  on  Normal 
School  at  Lexington,  500. 

Peace,  on  earth.  172.  The  blessings  of,  281. 
jMovement,  284.  Heaven's,  may  come  in 
this  life,  622. 

Peace  Society  of  Jlassachusetts,  formation 
of,  284.     Memorial  of,  to  Congress,  285. 

Pell,  Ferris,  letter  to,  405. 

Pennsylvania,  687. 

Perfection,  man's  spiritual,  the  end  of 
Providence,  154.  Consists  in  knowl- 
edge, love,  and  activity,  154.  Tlie  con- 
stant progress  toward-^,  an  indication  of 
immortality.  248.  .Man's  true,  the  idea 
of  the  moral  sciences,  437. 

Petition,  right  of,  outraged  bv  Consress, 
543.     Vindicated  l)y  .1.  (J.  Adams,  544. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa,  Dr.  Clianning  a  member 
of,  28.  Declines  to  give  an  oration  be- 
fore, 135. 

Philadelphia,  penitentiary  in,  473.  Beset- 
ting sin  of,  508. 

Philanthroiiv,  cliaracter  of  true,  181.  Con- 
solation of,  610. 


714 


INDEX. 


Phillips,  Jonathan,  557.  His  character, 
607. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  speech  in  Faneuil  Hall 
on  Lovejo3''s  death,  562. 

Philosophers,  German,  275. 

Philosophical  opinions  of  Channing,  438, 
439. 

Pickering,  Timoth}',  49. 

Pierce,  teacher  of  Lexington  Normal  School, 
his  character  as  a  teacher,  500. 

Pierce,  Dr.  John,  description  of  Channing 
as  a  student,  25.  Description  of  Dr. 
Tappan,  86.  Opinions  held  of  Chan- 
ning's  orthodoxy,  when  "approbated," 
by,  91.  Testimony  to  Channing's  inter- 
est in  the  cause  of  peace,  284. 

Pierpont,  John,  controversy  of,  with  Hollis 
Street  Church,  507.  Letter  to,  giving 
counsel,  after  the  result,  507. 

Piety,  spiritual,  18L  The  dignity  of,  228. 
One  with  active  goodness,  229.  Uuion 
of,  with  morality,  230.  An  essential  ele- 
ment of  high  character,  294.  Instances 
of  Channing's,  646. 

Plumer,  Wm.,  Jr.,  letter  to,  on  the  inter- 
est of  the  laity  in  religion,  367;  on  a 
proposed  work,  418. 

Poles,  sympathy  with  the,  601,  602. 

Political  influences,  in  college,  in  forming 
his  character,  34.  In  Virginia,  47.  In 
life,  134. 

Political  institutions,  value  of,  48. 

Political  power,  should  be  withheld  from 
the  unfit,  581. 

Political  sermons,  Channing  a  preacher  of, 
134. 

Politics,  a  minister's  relation  to,  134.  His 
habits  in  regard  to  their  discussion,  134. 
The  Christian  has  no  right  to  be  indif- 
ferent to,  501.  The  body  of  religion, 
574. 

Poor,  how  to  improve  their  social  condition, 
131;  and  develop  their  capacity,  132; 
to  exalt  their  life,  132.  Each  rich  family 
should  care  for  one  familv  of,  132.  Jus- 
tice to  the,  260.     Duties  to  the,  263. 

Poperv.  its  worst  evil,  578. 

Portsmouth,  R.  I.,  letters  from,  332,  366. 

Potter,  Elisha,  character  of,  8. 

Poverty,  Channing's  own  experience  of, 
53. 

Praj'er,  examples  of,  107-109.  For  self- 
knowledge,  309.  For  sympathy  with 
men,  309.  Fulness  of  the  Divine  8]iirit, 
310.  The  end  of  public,  382.  Dehni- 
tion  of,  382.  Breathes  a  spiritual  want, 
382.  Requires  faith  and  consciousness  of 
want,  382.     The  spirit  of,  648. 

Preacher,  must  draw  from  his  own  experi- 
ence, 305.  Description  of  Channing's 
manner  and  power  as,  384,  386-389;  as 
an  extemporaneous,  666. 

Preaching,  his  early  impression  of  the 
want  of  sincerity  in,  15.  Favorable  im- 
pression made  by  his  first,  92.  Character 
and  power  of  his  earl}',  92,  122.  Politi- 
cal, and  reasons  for  it,  134.    Character 


of  his  ordinary,  141,  142.  Of  Unitari- 
ans, defended  against  charges  of  vague- 
ness, 207.  The  eloquence  and  effective- 
ness of  his  mature,  300.  Characteristics 
of  good,  303.  Impression  the  test  of,  303. 
Change  in  the  character  of  his,  365. 
True,  379. 

Press,  vindication  of  freedom  of  the,  554. 

Price,  Richard,  doctrine  of  ideas  of,  34. 
Useful  in  determining  his  thought,  87. 

Priestle}',  Joseph,  influence  on  the  Uni- 
tarian movement,  427.  Channing  not  a 
sj'mpathizer  with,  427.  Speculations  of, 
on  man's  moral  nature,  injurious  to  the 
cause  of  trutii,  447. 

Princeton  College,  4,  6. 

Prison  discipline,  471-474. 

Privateering,  a  barbarous  custom,  288. 

Professional  life,  the  struggles  and  disap' 
pointments  of,  514. 

Progress,  his  faith  in,  604,  606. 

Property,  community  of,  letter  on,  63.  Fa- 
vored bv  Christianitv,  66. 

Prophet,  the  function  of  the,  368.  Dr. 
Channing  a,  417. 

Prospect  Hill,  the  view  from,  90. 

Prostitutes,  need  of  a  home  for,  132. 

Providence,  manifested  in  the  progress  of 
society,  171. 

Public  opinion,  its  power  in  England,  595. 

Punishment,  object  of,  471. 


Quaker  Hill,  665. 

(^inkers,  of  Philadelphia,  448. 

Quincy,  Josiah,  letter  to,  on  education  at 
Cambridge,  497.  Incident  at  his  centen- 
nial address,  674. 


Randolph,  David  Meade,  43.  United 
States  Marshal  for  Virginia,  44.  Life  in 
his  family,  44,  76. 

Randolph,  Mrs.  D.  M.,  opposed  to  slavery, 
45,  46. 

Rathbone,  William,  letter  to,  on  social 
progress,  515;  on  the  Federal  govern- 
ment, 582;  on  the  morals  of  commerce, 
586;  on  the  relation  of  education  to 
trade,  590;  on  the  opium  tratKc,  597; 
on  the  death  of  Spurzheim,  614. 

Rathbone,  Mrs.  Wm.,  letter  to,  on  execu- 
tive power,  583.  On  the  death  of  J. 
Blanco  White,  627. 

Reason,  the  same  principle  in  God  and 
man,  502. 

Redwood  Library,  79. 

Reformer,  his  stirinking  from  the  work  of 
a,  456.  His  spirit  ns  a,  457.  His  creed 
as  a,  515.  His  caution  as  a,  527.  The 
development  of  the,  574. 

Reforms,  Social,  456-520.  Society  in  Fed- 
eral Street  Church  for  promoting,  464. 
Time  needed  to  produce,  517.  No  limit 
to,  520. 

Regeneration,  what  it  implies,  145.  Its  re- 
sults, 146.     Is  progressive,  146. 


INDEX. 


715 


Religion,  another  name  for  happiness,  42. 
The  rectification  of  the  soul,  149.  Signs 
of  growtii  in,  150.  Beauty  of  real,  151. 
Principle  of,  in  human  nature,  154.  Re- 
quirements for  a  universal,  1G8.  Cnn- 
sists  of,  188.  Freedom  of  inquiry  in, 
191.  Not  inconsistent  with  useful"  pur- 
suits, 229.  The  glory  of  our  nature, 
294.  Importance  of  its  investigation  by 
others  than  the  clergy,  .367.  Central 
truths  of,  374,  377.  Not  always  to  be 
identified  witli  its  loud  professors,  414. 
Channing's  idea  that  it  is  a  life,  428. 
Pure  and  rational,  necessary  to  freedom, 
432.  A  product  of  imagination  as  well 
as  reason,  44G.  Narrowed  into  bigotry, 
an  obstacle  to  truth,  578. 

Religious  inlluences  in  college,  29. 

Religious  meetings  held  by  him,  described 
by  an  auditor,  299. 

Religious  union  to  be  desired,  118. 

Religious  zeal,  letter  on,  71. 

Remington,  Ann,  grandmother  of  Chan- 
ning,  1. 

Reproof,  the  minister's  duty  in  respect  to, 
373. 

Repudiation,  dangers  of,  in  United  States, 
587. 

Resurrection  of  Christ,  the  certainty  of,  44G. 

Reverie,  au  enemy  to  virtue,  58,  59.  His 
sense  of  its  ill  effects,  (545. 

Revival  at  New  London,  21.  The  true, 
374. 

Revolution,  English,  essav  on,  referred  to, 
34. 

,  French,     his    father    early     hopeful 

of  it,  7.  Disappointed,  8.  Influence 
of,  on  society  and  Harvard  College,  30, 
31.  Efforts  made  in  college  to  counter- 
act its  pi'inciples,  31.  Topics  suggested 
by  it  discussed  in  Commencement  ora- 
tion, 38.  Interest  of  America  in  its  decis- 
ion, 50.  Agreement  of  his  views  on,  with 
those  of  Wordsworth,  277.  Good  done 
by,  518.  Naturally  followed  by  a  re- 
action, 519.  Encouraging  aspects  of, 
520.  Of  1830,  GOO.  "His  impressions 
on,  603. 

Richmond,  life  in,  42-76.  Society  in, 
44.  Slight  interest  in  religion  in,  73. 
One  church  in,  73.  Prevalence  of  infi- 
delity, 74.  His  description  of  his  life 
in,  7G. 

Robbins,  Asher,  on  the  character  of  Wm. 
Channing,  4. 

Robertson,  character  given  to  Westminster 
Review  by,  605. 

Robertson's  Charles  the  Fifth,  as  an  histor- 
ical guide,  55. 

Robinson.  James,  husband  of  Jlary  Cha- 
loner,  4. 

Rochambeau,  Count,  at  Newport,  17. 

Rogers,  D.  D.,  328. 

Rogers,  teacher  of  Channing,  11.  School 
of,  17. 

Rome,  345.  Letter  from,  on  death  of  a  child 
and  a  sister-in-law,  350. 


Roscoe,  Miss  Jane  E.,  letter  to,  on  non- 
resistance,  4G6:  on  prison  discipline,  471, 
472;  onautislavery,  521 ;  on  acquaintance 
between  England  and  the  United  States, 
59G;  on  the  relations  between  England 
and  the  United  States,  599 ;  on  P(>iand, 
602;  on  the  influences  of  character,  GIO; 
on  her  father,  610,  611. 

Roscoe,  the  Misses,  letter  on  woman  in  re- 
ligion, GIO. 

Roscoe,  Wm.,  his  work  on  prison  discipline, 
471,  472. 

Rousseau,  as  a  writer,  57. 

Russell,  William,  a  reader,  685. 

Rydal,  342. 


St.  Soion,  religion  of,  511.  Letter  to 
Wm.  Burns  on,  511. 

Salvation,  the  work  of  the  individual  soul, 
.362. 

Sandy  Hill  (N.  Y.),  letter  from,  330. 

Santa  Cruz,  slavery  in,  610,  511.  Illustra- 
tions of  slavery  in,  521-523. 

Sawyer,  Artemas,  classmate  of  Channing, 
25. 

Sceptici-m,  prevalence  of,  in  college  and 
.society,  1794-1798,  30,  31. 

School  lite,  his  own,  11.  Advice  to  his  son 
on  the  conduct  of,  G57,  G58. 

Scott,  Walter,  estimate  of  the  character  and 
works  of,  416.  The  ideal  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  417. 

Scriptures,  the  standard  of  truth,  183. 
That  Jesus  is  the  Christ,  the  great  truth 
of  the,  209.  Do  not  teach  the  mode  of 
Christ's  derivation,  213.  Importance  of 
a  rational  interpretation  of,  221. 

Secession,  the  deliberate  purpose  of  the 
South,  544. 

Sectarianism,  his  freedom  from,  91,  422. 
The  guilt  of,  215.  His  disgust  at,  428. 
Influence  of  nature  in  repressing,  429. 

Sects,  multiplicity  of,  not  produced  by  in- 
quiry, 192.     Heads  of,  ambitious,  192. 

Sedgwick,  Jlrs.  Charles,  impressions  of 
Channing  from  her  journal,  G89,  690. 
Her  hymn,  690. 

Sedgwick,  Mrs.  Susan,  her  hymn,  690. 

Self-consecration,  his  early  act  of,  74.  In 
mature  ministry,  306.  In  sermon  on  re- 
turn from  Europe,  358. 

Self-denial,  illustrations  of  his  habit  of, 
111,  116,  677. 

Self-discipline,  rules  for,  77,  78.  Practice 
of,  103-lOG.  Further  rules  for,  112, 
•301.     Its  results  upon  himself,  663. 

Self-distrust,  letter  on,  AOH. 

Self-examination,  habit  of,  99.  Prayer  of, 
309. 

Selfishness,  not  necessarv  in  man,  64. 

.Self-rebuke,  God's  call  to  effort,  633. 

Self-scrutiny,  usefulness  of,  59. 

Seminoles,  letter  to  Worcester  on  the  war 
against  the,  287. 

Sensibility,  GO.  Moral,  a  preparation  for 
love  of  God,  154. 


716 


INDEX. 


Sentiments,  important  as  indicating  state 
of  heart,  18:J. 

Seriousness,  his,  98.  A  pain  to  himself, 
11.3,  G(K).       ' 

Senter,  Dr.  Isaac,  8. 

Sewali,  Sanuicl  K.,  530,  552. 

Siiaw,  Lemuel,  Judij;e,  506. 

Shaw,  William  S.,  letter  to,  on  colleji^e  life 
and  the  choice  of  his  profession,  41,  42; 
on  Virginians,  45;  on  French  Republic, 
48;  on  life  in  Riciimond,  54;  on  sensi- 
bility, 51);  on  community  of  property,  63; 
on  want  of  a  friend,  72. 

Shelley,  Percy  B.,  letter  on,  414. 

Sincerity,  his  sense  of  the  value  of,  384. 

Sismondi,  JI.  J.  (J.  L.  Simonde  de,  letter 
to,  on  the  moral  power  of  France,  430; 
on  essential  Christianity,  432;  on  social 
reform,  517;  on  C(mimercial  depression, 
587.  Remark  to,  on  the  women  of 
America,  G60. 

Skiddaw,  340,  341. 

Slaithwaite,  letter  to  the  Mechanic  Insti- 
tute of,  483. 

Slave,  tlie  jjliysical  condition  of,  not  worse 
than  tiiat  of  others,  524.  The  moral  dan- 
gers of  a,  525. 

Slavery,  in  Virginia,  45.  Opposition  of  in- 
telligent slaveholders  to,  46.  Evil  prac- 
tices of,  46.  His  indignation  against,  46. 
Destructive  of  man's  moral  agency,  47. 
Fatal  influence  of,  on  whites,  47.  Ex- 
cludes pauperism,  510.  In  St.  Croix, 
510,  521-523.  Origin  of.  520.  Character 
of,  in  America,  520.  True  grounds  of 
opposition  to,  and  illustrations  of  its 
ill  effects,  521-523.  Discipline  of, 
523.  Ameliorations  of.  524.  Tiie  infinite 
evils  of,  to  the  slave,  524,  625.  Im- 
provement in,  in  West  Indies,  525.  To 
be  destroyed  by  moral  convictions  of  the 
civilized  world,  525,  535.  Pidjlication  of 
his  book  on,  530,  537,  5-38.  Public  in- 
difference to  its  evils,  533.  Purpose  of  his 
book,  53!),  54G.  His  convictions  in  pub- 
lishing the  book  on.  543.  Obstacles  to 
right  feeling  on,  at  the  North,  543.  547. 
Pros|)ects  ol  its  abolition  in  the  District 
of  Cohnnbia.  544.  -Agitation  of  the  ques- 
tion in  Congress,  547. 

Slave  States,  barbarity  of  their  laws, 
523. 

Smitii.  Samuel  S.,  President  of  Princeton 
College.  6. 

Smyth,  Professor,  censures  of,  on  demo- 
cr.ilic  iii-titutions,  reply  to  the,  582, 
58!. 

Social  improvements,  i)lans  for,  131-133. 

Social  iufiuenci'.s  of  his  youth,  12-15. 

Society,  tiie  progress  of,  m  inifosts  Provi- 
dence. 171,  172.  Perfect,  244.  Unity 
of  everv  state  of,  345.  Its  restraints,  346. 
Reflections  on,  347.  The  best  condition 
of,  348.  In  its  relations  to  Cliristianity, 
450.  Its  spirit  not  the  love  of  man  as 
man,  461.  The  truths  which  are  to  reno- 
vate it,  508.     Not  saved  by  peual  laws, 


but  by  the  labors  of  Christian  love,  579' 
Changes  in,  GOG. 

Solitary  confinement,  objections  to,  472,  473. 
More  effective  in  slavery  than  the  lash, 
524. 

Soul,  greatness  of  the,  445. 

Speculation,  evil  ef^'ects  of,  58:).  590.  Rage 
of  the  spirit  of,  in  tiie  United  States,  592. 

Spirit,  the,  and  the  world,  may  be  friends, 
631. 

Spirit  of  God,  119. 

Sjiirit  of  the  Pilgrims,  271. 

Spiritual  body,  wliat  mav  be  hoped  from 
the,  637. 

Spiritual  growth,  the  mystery  of  the  pro- 
gi-ess  of,  G44. 

Spiritual  influences  not  irresistible,  but  per- 
suasive. 228. 

Spiritual  lile,  prayer  for.  109. 

Spui-zheim,  letter  to  W.  Rathbone  on  the 
death  of,  614.  Sickness,  death,  and  fu- 
neral of,  615. 

Standing  armies,  objections  to,  40. 

Stansfield,  Hamer,  letter  to,  on  tiie  laboring 
classes,  485-487. 

State  of  heart,  determines  acceptance  with 
God,  184. 

Stiles,  Dr.  Ezra,  minister  at  Newport,  7, 
13.  President  of  Yale  College.  13.  In- 
fluence of,  on  Clianning,  13.  Character 
of,  by  him,  14.  Removal  to  New  Ha- 
ven, 15. 

Stone  Chapel,  service  in.  in  commemoration 
of  the  fall  of  Bonaparte.  278. 

Story,  Joseph,  classmate  of  Channing,  22. 
Letter  to,  on  college  life  in  1794,  25. 
Description  of  Channing  in  college,  25. 
Channing's  estimate  of.  27.  Account  of 
Channing's  associations  in  college,  and 
influence  of  college  life  on  him,  31.  On 
his  position  as  a  student,  33.  On  his 
inteiest  in  political  questions.  34.  On  his 
oration  at  graduation,  38.  Declines  the 
use  of  wine,  .38. 

Strong,  Caleb,  Governor  of  jMassachusetts, 
13.5'. 

Stuart,  Closes,  letter  on  religious  liberty, 
271. 

Stuart,  ,  excites  Dr.  Iloiikins's  indig- 
nation by  atheism,  83. 

Students,  requirements  of,  in  Harvard  Col- 
lege, 22. 

Studies  in  divinity,  69. 

Sturge,  .Joseph,  letter  to,  on  the  Chartists, 
598. 

Sturgis.  Hon.  Wm.,  563. 

Suffering,  source  of  strength  in,  Gil, 
612. 

Suffrage,  the  errors  of  the  party  of,  580. 
Ciianuin:;"  not  in  fa\or  of  unrestricted, 
581).  Right  of.  too  far  exten<lcd  in  the 
United  States,  58 L  The  right  of,  a  dig- 
nity, 581.  Conferred  witii  too  much 
levity,  581.  (Jiialilicalions  ouglit  to  be 
required  for,  58L  The  unworthy  should 
be  excluded  from.  .'")8I.  598.  Education 
ought  to  be  directed  towards  uni\ersal, 


INDEX. 


717 


581.     Solemnity  of  the   right  of,    581. 

Men  siiould  be  educated  to  exercise  it, 

581;    and   have  ojiportuuity   to   qualify 

themselves  for,  598. 
Sullivan,  Hon.  Kichard,  ou  the  character  of 

Chauniny,  3!). 
Susquehanna,  087. 
Swift,  Dr.,  his  physician,  696,  697. 
Switzerland,  mountains  of,  341,  345. 
Sympathy,  with    men,    prayer    for,    309. 
"With  God,  the  soul's  capacity  for,  444. 


Talleyrand,  quotation  from,  426. 

Tappan,  Prof.,  lectures  of,  on  Jewish 
anti(iuities,  86.  Character  of,  by  Dr. 
Pierce,  86.  Preaches  Cliauning's  ordina- 
tion sermon,  96. 

Taylor,  JMiss  Emily,  letter  to,  on  divine 
light  in  the  soul,  441 ;  on  the  soul's  ca- 
pacity of  sympathy  with  God,  444. 

Taylor,  Rev.  Edward  T.  (Father),  his  mis- 
sion to  seamen,  487.    His  preaching,  487. 

Teacher,   importance  of  training  for,   501. 

Temperance  in  Harvard  College,  in  1794, 
23.  Discourse  upon,  288,  474.  His  posi- 
tion upon,  474-476.  Objections  to  the 
reform,  476.  Movements  in  Baltimore, 
520. 

Texas,  annexation  of,  548.  Letter  to  Henrv 
Clay  on,  548,  549.  Results  to  follow  the 
crime,  549,  550.  Danger  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Union  from,  550,  551. 

Thacher,  Dr.  Samuel,  desires  a  colleague, 
93. 

Thacher,  S.  C,  his  catechism,  121.  Student 
with  Channing,  123.  Pastor  of  New 
South  Church,  123.  Letter  from,  123. 
Ordination  of,  123.  Character  of,  124. 
Joins  in  preparing  Biickminster's  ser- 
mons for  publication,  125.  Letter  to,  on 
a  review  in  the  I'anoplist,  194. 

Theological  opinions,  273,  310-312,  428. 

Theoliigy,  not  a  monopoly  of  the  clergy, 
307.  How  stutlies  in,  should  be  pur- 
sued, and  a  school  of,  made  ethcient,  292. 

Thnm,  Rev.  J.  H.,  letter  to,  on  Unitarian- 
ism,  434;  on  the  death  of  J.  Blanco 
White,  620. 

Thompson,  George,  Stimulates  the  anti- 
slaverv  feeliui;,  532.  JMob  spirit  against, 
538.    ■Lectnre\>f,  570. 

Thornely,  Thomas,  letter  to,  on  accumula- 
tion, 518;  on  repudiation,  587. 

Thought,  means  of  promoting  original,  88. 

"  Three  Days  "  in  Paris,  000. 

Thursday  lecture  crowded  when  Channing 
preached,  116. 

Thurston,  Father,  Baptist  minister  of  New- 
port, and  a  temperance  reformer,  illus- 
tration of  his  principles,  15. 

Ticknor,  George,  description  of  Chan- 
ning's  ordination,  by,  90.  On  the  pub- 
lication of  Mr.  Buckminster's  sernmns, 
125.  Letter  of  Channing  to,  giving  his 
estimate  of  his  own  works,  407.  Letter 
to,  on  education,  494;  on  the  encouraging 


prospects  of  the  time,  516;  on  the  evils 
of  the  thirst  for  gain,  586;  on  improve- 
ments in  despotic  nations,  002.  Author 
of  the  inscription  on  Channing's  monu- 
ment, 700. 

Toussaint,  his  character,  572. 

Trade,  the  most  powerful  influence  in  so- 
ciety, 519. 

Travellers,  presumptuousness  and  dogmat- 
ism of,  591. 

Travelling,  the  art  and  object  of,  345,  346. 

Trevilcock,  W.,  letter  to,  on  Clianning's 
relation  to  Unitarians,  427. 

Trinitarian,  never  a,  75,  91. 

Trinitarianism  but  a  mystical  form  of  Uni- 
tarian doctrine,  214. 

Trinity,  scheme  of,  not  assailed,  199. 

Truth,  pursuit  of,  requires  patience,  88. 
Duty  of  seeking,  157.  Sense  of  its  value 
necessary  to  honesty  of  mind,  157.  How 
to  be  sought,  158.  The  temper  it  is 
designed  to  promote,  ]84.  Love  of  di- 
vine, 208.  Greater  good  than  peace,  424. 
A  clear  conviction  of,  essential  to  a  re- 
ligious teacher,  451. 

Tuckerman,  Joseph,  classmate  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning, 26.  Gives  "  right  hand  "  at  his 
ordination,  96.  In  the  Ministrv  at  Large, 
381,  404.  Letters  to,  418,  42,5',  441.  His 
Ministry  at  Large,  originated,  405.  Let- 
ter to,  on  prison  discipline,  473.  The 
spirit  of  his  ministry,  479.  Letter  to,  on 
A.  Kneeland's  case,  506;  on  slavery  in 
St.  Croix,  510;  on  West  Indian  emanci- 
pation, 571;  criticising  i\Iiss  Martineau's 
travels,  591.  His  intimate  friend  in 
life,  607.  Character  of,  607.  Letter  to, 
on  the  relations  between  the  mind  and 
body,  637;  on  activity,  639;  on  sym- 
pathy with  the  poor,  040;  on  hope  for 
more  active  work,  642.  His  spiritual 
growth,  643.  Desire  to  write  a  book  on 
the  subject,  643,  644.  His  harmony  with 
God,  646-648.  Letter  to,  on  Channing's 
indifference  to  his  own  writings,  684. 

Tvler.  John,  evils  of  his  veto  of  National 
"Bank  Bill,  585. 


Ulles-Water,  337. 

Uniformity,  produced  by  inquirj'  rather 
than  constraint,  192. 

Union,  dissolution  of  the,  deprecated,  281. 
Danger  of  its  destruction  through  an- 
nexation of  Texas,  550.  Its  preserva- 
tion less  valuable  than  the  rights  of 
humanity,  551. 

Unitarian," meaning  in  calling  himself  a, 
428. 

Unitarian  Controversy,  181.  A  contro- 
versy, not  with  intidels,  but  between 
believers,  220. 

Unitarian  Orthodoxy,  reasons  for,  435. 

Unitarianism,  of  Belsham,  195.  Of  Bos- 
ton ministers,  196.  Defence  of,  in  reply 
to  the  Panoplist,  196-205.  Distinction 
between,  and  Trinitarianism,  210.   Needs 


718 


INDEX. 


imagination  and  poetical  enthusiasm, 
276.  Has  suffered  by  Biblical  criticism 
and  theological  controversj',  270.  His 
view  of,  as  an  advance  towards  Chris- 
tianity, 428.  Characterized  by  spirit  of 
freedom  and  individuality,  4-32.  De- 
scribed in  a  letter  to  Kev.  J.  H.  Thom, 
4-34.  Adapted  to  the  wants  of  the  great 
mass  of  human  beings,  480. 

Unitarians,  cannot  be  excluded  from  the 
Church  of  Clirist,  208.  Duties  of,  in  de- 
fending the  Gospel,  221. 

United  States,  relations  of  the  States  to 
the  Federal  government,  582.  Peculiari- 
ties of  the  people,  592.  Prospects  of  de- 
velopment. 592.  Material  tendencies  of 
the  people,  593.  Clianning"s  earnestness 
that  tlieir  standard  should  be  high,  594. 
Comparison  of,  with  Great  Britain,  595. 
Institutions  of,  the  means  of  developing 
human  nature,  600. 

Unit3'  in  varietj%  269. 

Universal  brotherhood,  anticipated  by 
Channing,  439. 

Unworthiness,  consciousness  of,  reconciles 
to  outward  evil,  101. 

Usefulness,  future  rewards  of,  152.  Of  the 
good,  not  finished  at  death,  237. 


Vestry-hall,  proposal  for  building  a,  296. 

The  value  and  uses  of,  296.     Address  at 

the  dedication,  298. 
Virginians,  manners  and  character  of,  45. 
Virtue,  acting  from  a  sense  of  duty,  61. 
Voting.     See  "Suffrage." 


Waj-ker,  Dr.  James,  his  lectures,  684. 

Walter,  Arthur  Mavnard,  classmate  of 
Dr.  Channing,  40.'  Letters  of,  40,  61. 
Letter  of,  in  retrard  to  conjmunitv,  03. 

War,  horrors  of^  50.  Of  1812,  not  to  be 
justified,  178.  Demoralizing  influences 
of,  179.  Evils  of  civil,  281.  Guilt  of  an 
unnecessary,  282.  Hepugnant  to  Chris- 
tianity, 282.  Defensive,  not  condemned, 
283.  Unlawfulness  of,  review  of  a  book 
on  the,  466.  Letters  on  the  evils  of, 
467-409. 

Ware,  Henry,  Jr.,  on  Channing,  136.  Pro- 
fessor at  Cambridge,  380.  Letter  of 
Channing  to,  380. 

Washington  at  Newport,  13.  A  first-rate 
general,  51.  Impossibility  of  familiarity 
with,  670. 

Wayland,  Francis,  letter  to,  on  war,  468; 
on  suffrage.  580;  on  union  in  improv- 
ing the  world,  605. 

Wealth,  dangers  of  the  worship  of,  509. 

Wednesday'  Evening  Association,  465. 

Wells,  Rev.  E.  M.  P.,  557. 

Wengern  Alp,  345. 

West  Indies,  emancipation  in,  571. 

Westminster  Review,  its  character,  005. 

Westmoreland,  336. 

Wheeler,  David,  448. 


White,  D.  A.,  letter  on  Channing  as  a 
member  of  college  literary  societies,  27- 
29.  Value  of  college  societies,  28.  Let- 
ter describing  Channing  after  his  return 
to  Cambridge,  84;  on  his  theological 
studies  and  o|)portunities,  86.  On  Chan- 
ning not  a  sympatliizer  with  Hopkin- 
sianism,  91.  Hears  Channing  preach,  for 
the  first  time,  92. 

White,  J.  Blanco,  letters  to,  419,  425;  on 
historical  Christianity.  446;  on  book  on 
Slavery,  540 ;  on  approacliing  death,  621 ; 
on  Charles  Folleii,  623;  on  pain,  624. 
Letter  to  J.  H.  Thom,  on  the  death  of, 
626;  to  Mrs.  Wm.  Kathbone,  on  the  same, 
627. 

White  River  (Vt.),  letter  from,  329.  De- 
scription of,  330. 

Whitman,  Bernard,  two  letters  on  religious 
liberty,  271. 

Wife,  first  letter  to,  33.  Ruth  Gibbs, 
319. 

Wilde,  Jaidge  S.  S.,  in  the  case  of  Knee- 
land,  503.  Instructions  of,  to  the  jury, 
504. 

Wilkesbarre,  688. 

WiUard,  President,  reasons  of,  for  estab- 
lishing the  office  of  Regent,  86. 

Williams,  Caleb,  recommended,  57. 

Williams,  Wm.,  classmate  of  Channing, 
25.     Letter  of,  on  him  as  a  student,  34. 

Windermere,  Lake,  337,  339. 

Winnipiseogee,  Lake,  329. 

Witherspoon,  Dr.,  o. 

Wolstonecraft,  Mrs.,  letters  of,  superior  to 
Sterne's,  56.  The  greatest  woman  of  her 
age,  50.  Her  "  Riglits  of  Woman  "  to  be 
studied,  56.  Her  princii)les  on  marriage 
fatal  to  societ}',  50.  Of  a  masculine  mind 
but  feeling  heart,  57. 

Woman,  the  sense  of  hersacredness  aroused 
at  school,  11;  continued  through  life, 
320.  Rulers  of  the  world,  32.  Faith  in 
the  power  of  disinterested  virtue  of,  33. 
The  state  of,  in  United  States,  favorable 
to  domestic  happiness.  320.  His  respect 
for  the  rights  of.  320  '  The  deity  of  the 
Catholics  a.  610.  Home  her  empire,  610. 
His  honor  for,  600. 

Woolman,  .lohn,  Charles  Lamb  on  the  writ- 
ings of,  448. 

Worcester,  Noah,  Bible  News  b}'.  187.  Let- 
ter to,  on  estaljlishiiig  tiie  "  Christian 
Disciple,"  187.  Editor  of  ''Christian 
Disciple,"  284.  Father  of  the  peace 
movement,  284.  Letter  to,  on  war,  469; 
on  the  book  on  Slavery,  539;  on  his 
growing  old,  620. 

Worcester,  Rev.  Samuel,  reply  to  letter  of, 
205.  Object  of  his  letter.  '206.  Wishes 
to  widen  the  breach  between  believers, 
209,  210.  Spirit  of  his  letters  to,  272. 
His  remarks  on  the  death  of,  273. 

Words,  often  mistaken  for  idi'as.  88. 

Wordsworth,  William,  a  mental  benefactor 
of  Channing,  275.  The  ICxcursion  of, 
275.     The  character  of,  276.     The  influ- 


INDEX. 


719 


enceof,  over  Channing,  276.  Sympathy 
of  Channiny  with  his  views  of  Napoleon 
and  the  Freucli  Kevolution,  277.  Clian- 
ning's  affection  for,  ;j-ll.  Visit  to,  34-3. 
luHuence  upon,  of  a  remark  of  Channing, 

Worivingmen,  hatred  of  the  rich,  one  cause 
of  a  tendency  to  intidelity  in,  481.  So- 
cieties for,  482.  Tlie  lot  of,  easier  tlian 
tliat  of  business  or  professional  men, 
514.  Dangers  of  tlieir  life,  514  Cir- 
culation of  Chauuing's  boolcs  among, 
686. 


Wright,  Francis,  deacon  of  Federal  Street 

Society,  93. 
Writing,  rules  for  effective  sermon,  301. 
Wyoming,  087,  688. 


Young  men,  movements  for  the  benetit  of, 
492,  493.  Should  be  admitted  to  be  voters 
with  solemn  acts,  581. 


Zeal,  should  pervade    ministerial  duties, 
138.    Christian,  139.     True,  140. 


University  Press  :  John  Wilsou  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


DATE  DUE 

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